141: Chapter 141 Visiting the Grassroots, the Quagmire of Social Classes (2)

Lu Changyuan glanced at him. The soldier was not old—looking to be under thirty. But his skin was roughened by the sea breeze—a layer of extremely fine cracks lined the skin on his cheekbones. Of his armor, only the chest piece remained—the left half of the chest piece was the original, while the right half was a piece of raw, unpainted iron plate. Someone had drawn a crooked line on the iron plate with a charcoal pencil—they had likely intended to draw an Array Pattern, but the charcoal pencil had snapped halfway through.

"What crime did you commit?" Lu Changyuan squatted down. He squatted opposite the soldier—about two steps apart.

"Gambling in the barracks—lost everything and stole my superior's sword to sell." When the soldier said this, the corners of his mouth tugged upward—a gesture of self-mockery. "And you?"

"Transferred here."

"Transferred?" The soldier picked up the bowl from the ground—his fingers wiped along the edge of the rim. "No one in this place is 'transferred.' They are only thrown here."

He stood up holding the bowl—his right knee buckled slightly as he rose. There was an old injury on his knee. The old injury was right above the kneecap—the flesh there was sunken into a deep scar. The scar was shaped like a horizontal line—left by a heavy object smashing into his knee from the front. He took two steps toward the tents while holding the bowl—his right toe turned slightly outward as he walked.

Lu Changyuan continued walking deeper into the camp. He passed the porridge shed—passed two rows of tents—and reached the very back of the camp. The innermost row of tents was near the dark trench on the outer edge of the camp—the water in the dark trench was black. A layer of scum mixed with bits of straw and Spirit Beast feces floated on the surface of the water—the scum shimmered with a faint, grayish-green hue in the morning light.

A person was squatting by the edge of the dark trench. The squatting posture was very peculiar—legs together, knees pressed against the chest. Both hands were wrapped around the front of the knees—ten fingers interlocked. This posture—curling oneself into as small a ball as possible.

He was wearing an old silk robe belonging to a noble family's scion. The original color of the silk robe had likely been moon-white—but after being soaked in muddy water too many times, it had turned a permanent, grayish-yellow. There was a trim on the cuffs of the silk robe—the threads of the trim were silver-gray. Only noble families used silver-gray silk thread for cuff trim—someone from the East Sea Governors Office.

Lu Changyuan stopped in his tracks.

"Xue Mingyuan?"

The person's body stiffened. His fingers abruptly released from their interlocked state—his knuckles snapped twice the moment they let go. He raised his head—his face had thinned by nearly half. His cheekbones protruded outward, and his eye sockets were sunken inward. His face was stained with mud—mud he had rubbed off from the edge of the dark trench, which had dried into streaks of gray on his left cheek.

"Lu..." Xue Mingyuan's lips moved. Only half a syllable of the word "Lu" came out—the second half was swallowed back. He recognized Lu Changyuan. Three years ago, he had met Lu Changyuan once at the East Sea Governors Office—back then, Lu Changyuan was still a minor lord of Blue Moon Island, accompanying Governor Xue Zhen to the Governors Office to process military supply allocation documents. At that time, Xue Mingyuan had been standing under the veranda of the side hall of the Governors Office—wearing a new moon-white silk robe, holding a cup of Spirit Tea in his hand.

Now, he was squatting by the edge of the dark trench. He had no shoes on his feet—his shoes had been confiscated. A layer of dried mud was plastered onto the tops of his feet—after the mud cracked, it revealed streaks of light red abrasions underneath, caused by gravel.

"Why are you here?" Lu Changyuan squatted down. He squatted beside Xue Mingyuan—crouching side-by-side with him at the edge of the dark trench.

Xue Mingyuan turned his face away—after turning, his eyes fixed on the black water in the dark trench. The surface of the black water reflected his face—a face so thin it had lost its shape, distorted on the water's surface by the filthy water of the trench. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down several times—he was searching for words. He searched for three breaths and could not find any.

"Right Commander Li Feng." When he finally said these two words, his voice was very low—so low that the sound of the water flowing in the dark trench almost drowned it out. "Three years ago, I used Right Commander Li Feng's connections to enter the fortress—holding a sinecure in the Grain Supervision Office. Uncle said at the time—qualifications in the fortress are harder than those in the East Sea Governors Office, and after staying in the military camp for five years, I could be transferred back to the East Sea. If transferred back, I would be an Assistant Inspector."

He moved his fingers away from his knees—his fingers clawed at the muddy ground by the edge of the dark trench. A very shallow groove was clawed into the mud by his fingertips—in the groove, a layer of darker, wet mud was revealed underneath.

"Last month—the matter of Uncle helping you retrieve old files at Liyuan Ferry was discovered by Right Commander Li Feng. Right Commander Li Feng used me to make an example—he dug up an old account from three years ago. He claimed that a batch of military grain I handled had losses—normal wear and tear, every batch has it. But he investigated me. He just threw me into the Sin Battalion."

Lu Changyuan did not speak immediately. He squatted by the edge of the dark trench—the morning light slanted against his back from the direction of the sea. The Xuanwu True Ring Armor under his casual clothes was not on him—it had already been flying toward Blue Moon Island for a day and a night. But as he squatted here, he felt a cold seeping out from the marrow of his bones.

He investigated the old case—he asked Governor Xue Zhen for help—he obtained Vice Commander Han Yi's secret order. Every step was pushing forward. Every step was trampling another person into the mud.

The matter of Xue Mingyuan being thrown into the Sin Battalion—it was caused by him. When Governor Xue Zhen helped him, he should have known there was this risk—but Governor Xue Zhen helped anyway. Governor Xue Zhen was gambling—gambling that Right Commander Li Feng would not touch his nephew. He lost the bet.

"The old military head in charge of the Sin Battalion now—do you know him?"

Xue Mingyuan's fingers stopped on the muddy ground.

"I know them—three of them. One is surnamed Cai—he has a scar on his face stretching from his eyebrow to his chin. He is the person with the hardest fists in the Sin Battalion. The other two—one is surnamed Zeng, the other is surnamed Shen. The one surnamed Zeng manages the porridge shed—the porridge ladle in his hand can decide who in the camp gets to have an extra mouthful." Xue Mingyuan withdrew his hand from the muddy ground—he wiped his fingers on the hem of his silk robe. "The one surnamed Shen manages the water trough—in the morning when queuing to scoop water, no one dares to reach out unless he nods."

"Take me to see the one surnamed Cai."

Xue Mingyuan turned his head. For the first time, he looked directly at Lu Changyuan—there was a hint of surprise in his eyes that he hadn't yet had time to process. He opened his mouth—closed it—and opened it again.

"You—are you here to audit the headcount?"

"I am here to take over."

Xue Mingyuan's pupils contracted. The contraction was very small—but the speed was extremely fast. The moment he heard the two words "take over," his eyes swept toward the sword wrapped in a cloth sheath at Lu Changyuan's waist. The cloth sheath could not hide the outline of the Spirit Stone inlay slot.

He pressed his hands onto his knees—bracing against his knees to stand up. His right leg trembled as he rose—he had squatted for too long, and the tendons in the back of his knees had stiffened. His bare feet stepped onto the muddy ground—the mud under his feet was pressed into two extremely deep imprints. He turned around—and walked along the muddy path by the edge of the dark trench, heading deeper into the camp.