The Yellow River rose and erased Yang Yishen's world in a single night. His fish stall, his living, his past—w…
The Yellow River rose and erased Yang Yishen's world in a single night.
His fish stall, his living, his past—washed away as if they'd never been there. His youngest daughter never made it out. The river took her hand and would not let go. No corpse. No grave. Not even a place to kneel and cry.
He was swallowed by the tide of refugees, legs shuffling forward while his spirit lagged somewhere far behind. He didn't know where the road led. He didn't care.
At some point, he fell in with a pack of refugees dressed in rags and mud.
They told him to follow them, to keep moving forward together, toward a blessed land watched over by a Goddess.
They said she would guide the desperate to the Haven. Floods could drown the earth, but Haven lay in the heavens, far beyond the reach of water.
Yang Yishen had never believed in gods or spirits. But when he looked into their eyes, he saw a feverish light, like people staring straight at their last way out.
With nowhere left to go, and nothing left to lose, he hardened his heart. If believing this lie would keep him alive, then so be it. And so he followed them onward.