137: Slave Freedom Order

The night wind blew from the east, carrying the scent of soil and hay.

Shen Xiaochuan stood on the city tower, gripping a copper gear pendant tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

Scattered lights flickered in the camp below, and tents stretched out in an unbroken expanse.

Thirty-five thousand five hundred people had all arrived; not a single one was missing.

He did not return to the Main Hall, turning instead to walk down the tower.

His footsteps thudded dully against the stone steps.

His guards followed behind, none of them speaking.

"Have the arrangements for the high platform been made?"

"It has already begun." The adjutant took a quick step forward. "As you instructed, we are welding the frame with steel plates and laying wooden planks on top; it will be finished before dawn."

"And the banners?"

"They are being printed. Six meters wide, twelve meters long, with the words written exactly as you requested—'Effective immediately, all those formerly of the black market are now free people.' Red background with yellow characters; it's very eye-catching."

Shen Xiaochuan nodded. "Add a line of smaller text below the banner: Those who wish to stay will be allocated land, given employment, and paid a salary; those who wish to leave will be given travel expenses and escorted out."

The adjutant took notes. "Should we add a name? For example, 'Skydome City Lord Shen'?"

"No need," he said. "This is not an order; it is stating a fact to everyone. This is not a benefit I am bestowing upon them; it is something they should have possessed all along."

The adjutant did not ask further, lowering his head to continue writing.

Shen Xiaochuan walked forward, passed through the city gate, and entered the eastern suburb camp.

The medical team was still busy, with stretchers rushing back and forth.

Some people had fevers, others were dehydrated, and several children were curled up in blankets crying with hoarse voices.

He walked to the clothing distribution area.

Logistics personnel were handing out new clothes.

The clothes were made uniformly—gray cotton-padded fabric, the same for men and women, but sorted carefully by size.

Those who received them stood there holding the clothes, unsure whether they should change.

"Tell them to change now," Shen Xiaochuan said. "Burn the old clothes; don't keep them."

The staff member hesitated. "Some people are reluctant; they say the old clothes can still be sold for money..."

"Then tell them the new ones are free, and the old ones are not allowed to be sold," he said, his voice not loud. "Here, no one lives by selling rags."

The person nodded and ran off.

Shen Xiaochuan went to the kitchen.

Large pots had been set up, simmering meat soup with potatoes and carrots inside.

The aroma wafted out, and many people gathered around, yet no one reached for it.

"Why aren't you eating?" he asked a young man.

The youth shook his head, his lips moving, but no sound came out.

An old woman nearby whispered, "We... in the past, if we stole a bite of food, our hands would be chopped off."

Shen Xiaochuan was silent for a few seconds, took a bowl from the side, filled it with soup, and handed it over. "I'm treating you to this."

The youth froze.

"Take it," he said. "This is what you deserve; it is not a reward."

The youth took it with trembling hands, drank a mouthful, and suddenly squatted on the ground, weeping loudly.

The people around him also began to wipe away tears.

Shen Xiaochuan did not console them.

He knew these people weren't afraid of hunger; they were afraid of waking up.

The next morning at nine, the sun was just past the zenith.

The high platform was built, and the banners were hung, flapping in the wind.

The crowd had been organized and stood in formation by area.

Most people kept their heads down, walking slowly, as if they still couldn't believe they could stand upright with dignity.

Shen Xiaochuan walked onto the platform, without guards, and not wearing battle armor, just a dark blue work uniform with that copper gear pendant sewn onto the cuff.

He picked up the megaphone.

"Yesterday, you were chained, locked in cages, and transported for over three hundred kilometers," he began. "Some died, were thrown into ditches, and had their organs harvested to be sold for money. I know you are afraid, and I know you don't believe this."

No one in the crowd looked up.

"But now, I am standing here, telling you one thing—" He pointed to the banner. "From today on, you are free people."

The wind blew the banner, making it snap, and the words were clearly visible.

"Your names are not numbers, not 'that woman' or 'the third one on the left.' You have names given by your parents, nicknames used by your childhood friends. Your hands are not for wearing shackles; they are for building houses, farming, cooking, and holding children. Your feet are not for kneeling; they are for walking, running, and walking through your own doors."

Some people began to look up.

"Those who wish to stay in Skydome City, we will allocate housing, register your household, and arrange work based on your skills. Those who can build walls go to the construction site, those who can cook go to the canteen, and those who can write will become clerks. You will be paid a salary every month, have doctors when you are sick, and be cared for in your old age."

He paused for a moment.

"For those who want to leave, we will also let you go. Each person will be given three months' worth of food, five gold coins for travel expenses, and we will send people to escort you to the border of the safe zone. Whether you want to go to another city, go to the countryside to farm, or even want to return to your original home, you may. No one will stop you, and no one will check on you."

The whole place was silent for a few seconds.

Then, a woman suddenly rushed out, knelt down with a thud, and knocked her forehead against the ground.

Then a second, a third... more and more people knelt, their movements chaotic, as if they had held it in for too long and finally exploded.

But they were not kowtowing.

They were slapping the ground with their hands, hitting the dirt with their foreheads; some were crying out, some were tearing off their old clothes and throwing them into the sky, and some were hugging the people around them and weeping.

Shen Xiaochuan did not ask them to get up. He just stood on the platform and watched.

At this moment, a teenager stumbled and climbed onto the platform, face full of tears, and roared at him: "I am not cargo! I am a living human being!"

The crowd below exploded all at once.

"Yes! I am a living human being!"

"I am not a slave!"

"I am still alive! I am still alive!"

Shen Xiaochuan raised his hand, and the crowd slowly quieted down.

"The contracts," he said. "Bring them up."

The adjutant walked up holding an iron box, opened it, and inside was a stack of papers—the slave trade records obtained from the gray-robed people last night.

Shen Xiaochuan pulled one out and held it up.

"This thing says how much you are worth, who bought you, and who is in charge of you," he sneered. "How absurd."

He took out a lighter, lit a corner, and the flame ignited.

One sheet, two sheets, three sheets... He burned them one by one, the ashes flying away with the wind.

When the last sheet was burned, he threw the box into the brazier as well, burning it all.

"From now on, no one can ever use this kind of paper to say you are their property," he said. "You belong to yourselves. This is the rule of Skydome City."

The crowd below was silent.

Then, someone shouted "Long live," and then tens of thousands of people shouted together.

"Long live Skydome City!"

"Long live God Shen!"

"We are free people!"

The sound was so loud that the ground was shaking.

Shen Xiaochuan walked off the platform and into the crowd.

Some pulled his clothes, some touched his hands, and some knelt and kissed the ground he had stepped on.

He helped them up one by one, saying no extra words, only repeating one thing: "Get up, you are supposed to be standing."

After noon, the resettlement work began in full swing.

Seven thousand five hundred people voluntarily registered their skills—there were chefs, carpenters, tailors, electricians, drivers, nurses, teachers... Suddenly, there were many capable people in the city.

The wall-building team was organized that day and began reinforcing the temporary housing; the canteen expanded three times, able to feed twenty thousand people at once; medical stations were divided into minor and major injury types, with minor injuries treated on-site and major injuries sent for treatment.

Throughout the afternoon, the camp became lively.

In the evening, Lilivian arrived.

She was wearing a light gold dress and a thin gauze cloak, standing on the edge of the new city square, looking from afar at the camp that had once been filled with Death Qi and was now constantly busy.

Shen Xiaochuan was verifying the list at the registration point and looked up to see her.

"Why are you here?" He walked over, a bit puzzled.

"I heard you released all thirty thousand people," she said, her tone cold. "Regardless of whether they are good or bad, you gave them all freedom?"

"It wasn't me who gave it," he said. "It was something they should have had all along."

"Are you not worried at all?" She stared at him. "Aren't you afraid they will take the money and run? Aren't you afraid someone will set a fire at night? Aren't you afraid there are spies sent by the enemy inside? Do you know how many gods rely on slaves to make money? By releasing these people, you are destroying the business of the entire black market!"

Shen Xiaochuan smiled. "I know. That's why I had to release them."

"You are crazy," she shook her head. "This world doesn't run on kindness. The strong are kings, and the weak are trampled. Doing this will only make people think you are easy to bully."

"I don't need them to think I am strong," he said. "I just need them to know that here, someone treats them as human beings."

"But how long can you protect them?" She stepped forward. "One city is fine, but what about ten cities? One hundred? There are thousands of black markets outside, and new people are being captured every day. Can you save them all?"

"I can." He looked into her eyes. "Starting from one city, then to a country, then pushing to the whole world. As long as someone is willing to follow, the fire will not go out."

Lilivian sneered. "You want to change the world? Ridiculous. The black market has existed for thousands of years, and even the gods recognize its legitimacy. Can you clean it up?"

"I can." His voice did not change. "I don't expect it to all get better overnight, I just want to take it step by step. Today we release thirty-five thousand people, tomorrow we can release three hundred thousand. Today there is one city that doesn't buy slaves, tomorrow there will be ten cities that don't sell them."

She laughed even more coldly. "If there really comes a day like that, I, Lilivian, will be your servant, sweeping the floor and pouring water."

Shen Xiaochuan extended his hand.

"Then it's a deal. You aren't joking, are you?"

She was stunned.

The wind blew the loose hair on her forehead, she looked at his extended hand, her eyes complex.

A few seconds later, she raised her hand, palm down.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Three crisp claps.

"It's a bet," she said.

Shen Xiaochuan withdrew his hand, the corners of his mouth slightly raised.

"Remember what you said."

"I also remember what you said today," she stared at him. "Don't think that a few pretty words can be eaten as food. Reality won't be gentle to you just because you have ideals."

"I know," he said. "That's why I want to change it with my own hands."

She didn't speak again and turned to leave.

"Wait," he called out to her.

She turned back.

"The purple gold card you brought helped a lot," he said. "Next time you come into the city, I'll treat you to a meal. The canteen has a new Sichuan cuisine chef, and it's very flavorful."

She was stunned, then immediately put on a straight face. "Don't try to get close to me."

After saying that, she turned and left.

Shen Xiaochuan watched her back disappear around the corner before turning back.

From the camp, there came sounds of hammering, laughter, and children running.

A group of young people were learning to build walls, the old master was scolding while teaching, but with a smile on his face.

Several women were distributing tableware, the hot soup in the pot was rolling, and the aroma drifted far away.

He stood in the middle of the square, the wind blowing the corner of his clothes.

In the distance, the sun slowly set, casting its remaining light on the newly built high platform, and the banner was still flapping in the wind.

He took out the copper gear pendant, looked at it for two seconds, and stuffed it back into his clothes.

Then he walked toward the Main Hall.

On the way, a girl who had been whipped by an electric whip ran over and handed him a cup of hot tea.

"I... I want to thank you," her voice was still shaking. "My name is Xiaolan, I know how to sew, and I have already registered for a position."

Shen Xiaochuan took the tea and took a sip.

"It tastes quite good," he said.

The girl grinned, but tears streamed down.

He didn't say anything more, just nodded, and continued walking forward.

When it was almost dark, he sat at his office desk and opened the first livelihood report.

On the front page was written: "The employment rate in the eastern suburb camp has reached 68%, and the full resettlement is expected to be completed within three days."

He picked up his pen and wrote four characters: Steady progress.

Outside the window, the lights of the new city turned on one by one, illuminating many faces that had just been reborn.