The laborers marched slowly and arduously under the whipping and shouting of the officials. Dust flew, sweat mingled with gasps for breath. Xuán Mò leaned on his crutch, each step an immense effort. The sharp pain in his left leg made his face deathly pale, cold sweat soaking his forehead, but he gritted his teeth and never stopped.
Tiě Zhù followed closely by his side, subtly supporting him from time to time, his eyes urging him to persevere. Around them were numb or complaining faces; no one paid much attention to this "sickly weakling" who looked as if he might collapse at any moment.
After nearly two hours of trekking, they finally reached their destination—a severely silted river section that urgently needed dredging. Laborers who had arrived earlier were already working by the riverbed, a dense crowd scattered across the riverbed and embankment like a busy ant colony. The number of supervising officials had clearly increased; they wielded leather whips, their sharp eyes scanning everyone.