Becoming the Villainess: I Dominate the Cultivation Realm with My Wok!-Chapter 121:

Coming to Qingshan County again, without entering the city gates, the government had set up the porridge distribution site outside the gates, indicating that refugees were not welcome inside the city.

After all, letting refugees in made maintaining public order difficult, as no one knew what desperate acts they might commit.

Chen Muxue first found a corner inside the city to set up a fire and cook porridge.

This time, it was a simple white porridge, drawing too much attention would be bad, so there weren’t any particular requirements for the cooking setting.

Chen Muxue deliberately avoided using an iron pot, instead opting for a large urn. Finding it too troublesome to fetch water, she continued using her little finger to add water.

"Sect Leader, won’t it be too thick?" Changgui couldn’t help but remark upon seeing the finished product.

In ancient times, disasters struck some places every few years. Changgui’s original family was quite poor too, and they’d always find a way to get free porridge. The relief porridge he had drunk was mostly rice water with hardly any grains of rice.

Yet, with this urn cooked by Chen Muxue, a chopstick could be stuck in and stand upright.

"At least it’ll fill people’s stomachs," Chen Muxue said, then added, "First come, first served. There won’t be any more once it’s gone."

"Others distributing porridge might have objections."

Chen Muxue wasn’t too concerned. You should know, during the Qianlong Period, there was a law stipulating that if the chopstick didn’t stand upright in the government porridge, the person responsible would be executed.

But even with such a law, officials still found ways to sneak around it, claiming the government was only responsible for cooking the porridge, and once the chopstick test was shown, they would immediately water it down, leaving refugees with a thin porridge with just a few grains of rice.

Such porridge couldn’t change anything.

Chen Muxue put a lid on the urn, and then moved it into the shelter outside.

She deliberately cooked the porridge inside the city, unlike others who cooked inside the shelter, for her own reasons.

She wanted to wait until people had almost lined up before she opened the lid. Others would distribute porridge first; those with strength would rush to queue, while the weak, who couldn’t engage in a struggle, would just wait silently and end up in her line.

This way, she could ensure that those who received the thick white porridge were the ones truly in need.

She definitely wouldn’t allow anyone to cut in line, and as for those who came later, whether they got any or not would depend on luck. First come, first served; once it’s gone, it’s gone.

A row of shelters, each displaying the emblem of different sects or families, also having their corresponding names written.

In the other shelters, porridge cooking was in full swing, some had already started distributing. The fragrance of rice wafted far away, and the ragged refugees gazed with longing eyes, lined up yearningly.

But if you looked closely, you’d find that some of them didn’t seem like real refugees. Although they smudged their faces dirty and wore tattered clothes, their expressions were totally different.

Even if it’s just a bowl of rice water, isn’t it free?

However, those with a little extra at home wouldn’t lower themselves to do such a thing. Those pretending to be refugees, besides those whose families truly couldn’t make ends meet, were usually shameless individuals well-known in the region.

But Chen Muxue’s shelter remained deserted, only a few people who looked like they could barely walk were queuing feebly. Occasionally a relatively healthy person would approach, curious about why the line was so short with no one there, and someone would tell him it was the Qian Ding Sect’s shelter.

Firstly, the Qian Ding Sect was currently in the limelight, and secondly, people couldn’t see the actual porridge. Comparing the bustling porridge distribution at other places with the cold desolation of the Qian Ding Sect, where not even a shadow of porridge could be seen, the relatively healthy refugees turned and ran to join other queues.