159: Chapter 159 Battlefield Sales: Miraculous Drugs Show Their Power (2)

The Quartermaster pushed aside the roster on the low table—beneath the roster, a wooden pad with insect-eaten edges was revealed.

He traced a line on the wooden pad with his fingernail—the motion was light, but his nail dragged forcefully across the wood, leaving a white scratch.

Then he stood up—moving much faster than when he had crouched down.

He walked toward the outside of the tent—as he lifted the tent flap, the light from outside sliced through the gap, casting a beam of light onto the hay inside the tent.

About an incense stick's time later, he returned.

Following him were three people—all Quartermasters, wearing the same dark grey military robes as him, though the wear on their cuffs varied.

The first Quartermaster's cuffs were the most worn—he was from the Left Wing Forward Battalion, which was on the front lines and had the most wounded soldiers.

The second one's cuff had a small piece burned away—he was from the Left Wing Central Battalion, which bordered the sea cliff where fish Yao Beasts often surged up from the mist.

The third one's cuffs were half-new—he was from the Left Wing Rear Battalion, which was furthest from the front lines but had to take in the wounded brought down from the front.

The four men stood in a row—standing before Lu Changyuan.

The Forward Battalion Quartermaster spoke first—he reported a number.

The Central Battalion reported second.

The Rear Battalion reported third.

The Left Wing Chief Quartermaster reported last.

The four numbers were muttered in their mouths—their lips moved as they recited them, and after finishing, each turned their head to look at the person beside them.

After all four had reported—the sum of the numbers far exceeded eighty pills.

It was more than double the amount.

Lu Changyuan did not haggle.

He took the porcelain bottle out from his sleeve and placed it on the low table—the porcelain bottle rested on the roster, pressing down on three lines of names crossed out in red ink.

Then he stated the actual total: "It is just eighty pills. There are no more."

The four Quartermasters exchanged glances.

Those looks crossed back and forth above the low table twice—the first glance confirmed that the others would not yield, and the second glance began the process of mentally slashing the numbers they had just reported.

"How do we split these eighty pills—" The Forward Battalion Quartermaster pressed his hand onto the low table.

On the back of his hand was an old scar from being sliced by a fish-bone knife—the wound had healed flat, but the scar would tighten toward his wrist whenever he straightened his fingers.

"Our Forward Battalion—"

"Sort out the distribution amongst yourselves." Lu Changyuan stood up from the edge of the low table.

He also placed the purification liquid bottle next to the porcelain bottle—the bottle bodies clinked together, emitting a very faint, crisp sound.

"Come back next month—it will still be eighty pills next month. When the time comes, tell me in advance how many each of you wants."

He walked toward the outside of the tent.

He passed by the wounded soldier leaning against the tent post—the soldier's lower leg was still festering, but he was watching the half-empty porcelain bottle in Lu Changyuan's hand.

The wounded soldier's eyes followed the porcelain bottle as it turned from left to right—then he leaned his head against the tent post and closed his eyes.

After closing his eyes, his lips moved slightly—perhaps reciting a number.

Lu Changyuan walked outside the tent.

The sea breeze blew from the direction of the Pier toward the tent area—the wind carried the salty scent of seawater hitting the boardwalk at the Pier, and the faint fluttering sound of the grey cloth on the stretchers being lifted by the wind.

Outside the Quartermaster tent was a patch of trampled mud—he stood on the mud and tried to wipe the wounded soldier's bloodstains from his cuff onto his trouser leg—it wouldn't come off.

The bloodstain had been soaked through again after drying—it had stained two layers on the Quartermaster's bandage, a dry base layer and a semi-dry top layer.

He stood on the mud, looking toward the Pier—in the distance, soldiers from the Sin Battalion were unloading Yao Beast corpses from the deck.

The Yao Beast corpses were carried by six men—carried onto the Pier and placed on a flat area covered with oilcloth.

Duan Xiaoshi was crouching beside the Yao Beast, still registering them—his list was being written from the last page forward, and by the time he reached the last few lines, the handwriting began to shrink, with characters squeezed together.

Several soldiers from other transport battalions gathered around to watch—looking at the Yao Beast's size, the thickness of its scales, and the arrangement of its teeth.

Someone crouched down and used their finger to touch the circle of dark markings at the base of the Yao Beast's teeth—after touching it, they repeatedly wiped their finger on their pants.

Inside the tent—the four Quartermasters sat down around the low table.

The Forward Battalion Quartermaster flipped the roster to the back—the back was blank.

He used his finger to draw a circle on the paper—dividing the circle into four pieces, the largest of which took up more than half.

The Central Battalion Quartermaster covered the circle with his palm—drawing a new one, dividing the largest piece into two.

The four men's voices were kept very low—low enough that the specific numbers couldn't be heard outside the tent, but their tones were becoming urgent.

The Rear Battalion Quartermaster's voice suddenly raised by half a notch—he was arguing that the Forward Battalion had taken the entire largest piece, leaving the Central and Rear Battalions to split the remainder.

The Forward Battalion Quartermaster pushed the bottle of purification liquid on the low table forward by an inch—the meaning of pushing it forward was: whoever held this would be able to suppress the mortality rate of the wounded in their own battalion before the next distribution.

The Rear Battalion Quartermaster looked at that bottle of purification liquid—he did not reach out to touch it—instead, he took a bag of Spirit Stones from his sleeve and placed it on the low table.

The Spirit Stone bag tipped over on the low table—the mouth of the bag loosened, and four or five Mid-Grade Spirit Stones rolled out.

The Spirit Stones rolled across the low table—wiping away a layer of dust where they passed.

Lu Changyuan did not look back into the tent.

He was watching the Yao Beast's corpse—the Yao Beast's teeth gleamed in the morning light with a pale ivory color that could only appear after wear.

A hundred years of cultivation was compressed into those four rows of teeth—now all registered on Duan Xiaoshi's list.

After every item on the list, there would be a distribution number—two thousand seven hundred people, with each person's name written on the right side of the list.

Those who went into battle, those who retreated, those who took an extra step forward, those who retreated half a step—he had remembered them all on the ship.

He turned and walked back to the temporary resting tent arranged for him next to the Quartermaster tent.

The tent was nearly ten times smaller than the wounded soldier's camp—inside the tent, there was only a cot and an upside-down ammunition box.

On top of the ammunition box sat an iron kettle—the Spirit tea inside the iron kettle had been brought from the fortress, and now it had gone completely cold.

A very thin layer of oil sheen floated on the surface of the tea.

He sat on the ammunition box—picked up the teacup and took a sip.

The tea was cold.

The cold tea had no sweet aftertaste on his tongue—only bitterness.

He did not put down the cup.

Outside the tent—the sound of the four Quartermasters' discussion turned from being kept very low to being uncontrollably urgent.

The Forward Battalion Quartermaster flipped the roster back to the front—writing a line of text on the blank space on the front.

The Central Battalion Quartermaster nudged that bag of Spirit Stones half an inch toward his side—not to take it, but to emphasize with the action that he would not retreat.

The Rear Battalion Quartermaster stood up and sat down again—standing up to look outside the tent to see if Lu Changyuan had truly left—then sitting back down.

When he sat down, he tapped his copper spoon against the edge of the iron pot—the dull sound from the bottom of the spoon echoed once throughout the wounded soldier's tent.