“Big brother, I’m hungry.” Li Ya’s voice was faint as a mosquito’s buzz. Her little face was sallow, her eyes sunken, and only her large eyes still held a trace of life. She was just seven years old and had been fleeing famine with Li Ming for three months.
Li Ming’s throat bobbed. He reached into his robes and pulled out the last half of a dark, coarse bran cake. He had found it yesterday in an abandoned village. It was hard as a stone, and he had never been able to bring himself to eat it.
