140: Chapter 140 Visiting the Grassroots, the Quagmire of Social Classes (1)

Lu Changyuan swept his gaze over the five people.

"Wei Chuan—tomorrow you will enter the Sin Battalion with me. Jiang Shi and Pan Haisheng will wait outside the camp—do not follow too closely, keep the distance at thirty zhang. Fang Yan will stay here in the Central Army to guard the luggage. Duan Xiaoshi—you will follow Lu Hu. He is going to the Pier to deliver goods. After he finishes, you two will go together to the fortress Logistics Department—take the inventory list of the first batch of supplies shipped from Blue Moon Island, make two copies, and submit one to the Commander's Office and one to the Logistics Supervision Department for filing. It must be stamped with the military seal."

The five of them nodded in unison.

The sea breeze poured in from outside the fence—a layer of extremely fine, grayish-white salt dust was whipped up by the wind on the gravel road in the Central Army area.

The salt dust was blown in from the Outer Sea—the white spray from waves crashing against the reefs was torn apart by the wind and drifted for several miles over the camp.

Lu Changyuan stood inside the Central Army's fence gate—the spiritual light lines on the fence intersected in the air behind his shoulders, forming an invisible net.

In the world outside that net—the great camp of over a hundred thousand people was contracting in the same direction.

The main army was about to set off—the first few rows of the Vanguard Battalion were already moving toward the Outer Sea.

A horn sounded from deep within the camp.

This horn was heavier than the departure horn when the flying ships arrived at the port—so heavy that one could feel the ground trembling slightly beneath their feet.

Lu Changyuan pulled the transfer order from his sleeve—the bamboo slip envelope shimmered with a very thin, dark gold under the intersection of the spiritual light lines.

The three characters written in vermilion brush—"Lu Changyuan"—the ink was completely dry.

These three characters looked thicker in the sunlight than inside the tent—the iron powder mixed into the cinnabar shimmered with a very subtle dark red reflection in the light.

Three thousand people in the Sin Battalion.

I will go in and take a look tomorrow.

Early the next morning, Lu Changyuan changed into casual clothes.

The casual clothes were brought by Lu Hu from the Pier—a gray-blue old cloth robe with the collar worn down to a layer of extremely fine frayed edges.

The robe was a common product from the Blue Moon Island weaving workshop—no Array Patterns on the fabric, no trim on the cuffs.

After putting it on, standing in a crowd of soldiers, one couldn't tell the difference between him and the people beside him.

He wore his sword horizontally at his waist—the scabbard was covered by a coarse cloth sheath, which hid the Array Pattern on the scabbard and the Spirit Stone slot on the hilt.

Wei Chuan was waiting for him outside the tent.

Wei Chuan had also changed into casual clothes—a dark brown coarse cloth short shirt, with a sheathless short blade hanging at his waist.

The hilt of the short blade was wrapped in an old leather cord—the cord had been soaked in sweat too many times, and its color had turned from brown to deep black.

"Young Lord—Jiang Shi and Pan Haisheng have already arrived at the outskirts of the Sin Battalion. Thirty zhang—they are crouching behind a row of gray tents outside the wooden stakes."

"After we go in, call me Deputy Envoy Lu—do not call me Young Lord."

Wei Chuan nodded.

Walking out of the Central Army area—when passing through the fence gate, the spiritual light lines on the gate flashed dark gold.

The guard at the gate glanced at Lu Changyuan—and did not stop him.

Adjutant Tie had already given instructions last night: Deputy Envoy Lu is inspecting the outer barracks today, and the Central Army guards are not to follow.

But after Lu Changyuan walked away, the guard's gaze shifted to the side—the direction it shifted toward was the direction of the outer barracks.

Crossing the military road.

The gravel road turned into a muddy road at the end of the military road.

The muddy road had been trampled by who knows how many feet—the surface was a layer of packed dry mud crust, with slop underneath.

When stepping on it, the dry mud crust cracked—dark gray mud seeped out from the cracks.

The mud had a very faint fishy smell—the sour, fishy stench that seeps out of the soil after being trampled too many times by humans and livestock.

The wooden stakes of the Sin Battalion appeared at the end of the muddy road.

The morning light struck diagonally from the direction of the sea—the shadows of the wooden stakes were stretched extremely long on the muddy ground.

Through the gaps between the wooden stakes, one could see people in the camp—more than seen yesterday afternoon.

The Sin Battalion in the morning was alive—some people were moving things, some were lining up, some were arguing.

There were no sentries at the camp entrance.

A thick hemp rope was stretched between the wooden stakes—the rope was tied to two wooden stakes, sagging in the middle.

A wooden sign hung on the hemp rope—on the sign, the three characters "Sin Battalion" were written crookedly in charcoal.

The hand was unsteady when writing with the charcoal—the last stroke of the character "Sin" slanted downward by a fraction.

Lu Changyuan ducked under the hemp rope.

Wei Chuan followed behind him.

The people in the camp paused for a moment.

Dozens of eyes turned toward the camp entrance simultaneously—after turning, they lingered on Lu Changyuan for about half a breath, then turned back.

A new face wearing an old cloth robe—there were some every day.

Too many people came and went in the Sin Battalion—those stuffed in, those transferred away, those who died and had no one to collect their bodies.

No one had the energy to recognize every new face.

Lu Changyuan walked deep into the camp.

The muddy ground was covered with a very thin layer of broken straw—the straw had been trampled to pieces and mixed with the mud, turning into a blackened paste.

Stepping on it, one could feel the sensation of straw stalks sliding in the mud underfoot.

The distance between the tents was nearly half as narrow as in the outer barracks—there was only enough space for two people to pass each other between two rows of tents.

The tent fabric was full of patches—the fabric of the patches was a different color from the tent fabric itself.

A piece of dark gray tent fabric was patched with three light brown patches, the stitches on the edges of the patches were crooked—the person who sewed them clearly had no foundation in needlework.

The place where people were lining up was the water trough in the center of the camp.

The water in the trough was murkier than yesterday afternoon—a few extremely thin, grayish-white fragments were floating on the surface.

The people in line held bowls in their hands—the bowls were made of coarse pottery, with several chips knocked out of the edges.

The people in the front ladled water and left—not washing, not boiling.

The people in the back waited for the person in front to finish ladling, then extended their bowls into the trough—the bottom of the bowl knocked against the stone wall of the trough, making a dull thud.

Beside the water trough was a porridge shed.

The roof of the porridge shed was an old piece of hemp cloth taken from a tent—the edges of the hemp cloth were blown outward by the sea breeze.

Under the shed was a large iron pot—the iron sheet at the bottom of the pot was dented in one place.

The porridge in the pot was grayish-brown—broken grains of Spirit Rice floated in the porridge water, and tiny black dots could be seen between the grains.

Rice that had been eaten by insects—the hollowed-out parts split open during boiling, and a very thin layer of empty shells floated out from the cracks.

A soldier came out of the porridge shed carrying a bowl.

There was only more than half a bowl of porridge in the bowl—a layer of almost invisible oil floated on the surface of the porridge.

The soldier carried the bowl and squatted by the water trough—took three sips, and placed the bowl on the ground.

Half was still left in the bowl.

He pushed the bowl aside—not drinking anymore.

Saving it for noon.

Another soldier squatting by the water trough turned his head—he saw Lu Changyuan.

To be precise—he saw the sword with the cloth sheath at Lu Changyuan's waist.

The cloth sheath covered the Array Pattern on the scabbard—but it could not cover the outline of the Spirit Stone slot at the end of the hilt.

A Spirit Stone slot—in the Sin Battalion, it was equal to a label of "person from the outside."

"New here?"

The soldier placed his bowl on the ground.

The bottom of the bowl knocked against the muddy ground—the mud was too soft, and the bottom of the bowl sank in half an inch.

"I see you are wearing an old cloth robe too—but your hands don't look like they've done heavy labor. The knuckles of your fingers aren't thick—the calluses are only where one holds a pen."