At the stroke of midnight, inside the grand council hall of Black-Rock Border City, a crisp golden chime echoed inside Pei Xuan’s head.
DING-DONG!
The midnight daily settlement had arrived!
Pei Xuan didn’t hesitate for a single second. Sitting in the tiger-skin chair that used to belong to his father, he tapped [UPGRADE NOW] in his mind!
BOOM—HUMMMMM!
A wave of invisible golden energy rolled out from Dry-Well City fifty miles to the west, swept across the entire desert highway, and connected straight into the foundations of Black-Rock Border City!
Deep beneath the original Sweet-Spring Well back in Dry-Well Village, Old Dragon Ao Ming—who was currently chewing on a spicy roasted lamb leg while curled around the underground heating pipes—felt the spiritual vein beneath his scales expand by three times!
“ROOOAAAR! What a refreshing gush of Earth Qi!” Ao Ming’s delighted voice echoed through Pei Xuan’s telepathic link. “Little Mayor Pei, whatever you just did, the water pressure in my well just tripled! I can pump clean spring water all the way to Black-Rock City through the stone canal now!”
At the same time, the Territory Screen in front of Pei Xuan flashed with brand-new Level 3 features:
As the 100-mile Map Fog of War vanished inside Pei Xuan’s mind, a huge, high-definition bird’s-eye view of the three western provinces of the Great Yan Kingdom—Red-River County, Yellow-Earth County, and Wind-Bell County—appeared before his eyes.
What he saw made him sit up straight.
Across the eastern border, the land of the Great Yan Kingdom looked like a dried-up tortoise shell.
For four straight months since mid-winter, not a single drop of rain had fallen on the western provinces. The mighty Red River had shrunk into a trickle of yellow mud. The young spring wheat sprouts had burned into dry yellow straw under the scorching sun.
Even worse, Pei Xuan’s RTS map zoomed in on the county capitals of those three provinces.
Inside the high walls of Red-River County City, the royal granaries were actually half-full of grain from previous years. However, Lady Wang’s older brother—Count Wang Ba, a greedy fat nobleman—had locked the granary doors with heavy iron chains and posted signs outside:
GRAIN PRICE: 5 SILVER TAELS PER PECK (10x NORMAL PRICE)! NO CREDIT! NO RELIEF!
Because no ordinary farmer had five silver taels for a small bag of millet, hundreds of thousands of starving families were digging up dry grass roots, stripping the bark off elm trees, and even eating white clay-mud just to stop their stomachs from cramping!
Down in the center of Black-Rock City’s council hall, the dusty border merchant who had just ridden in through the East Gate knelt on the floor, gulping down a bowl of water that Hong Ling handed him.
“Lord Pei, everything I said is true!” the merchant gasped, wiping his cracked lips. “I just came from Red-River County and Yellow-Earth County! Count Wang and the county magistrates teamed up with the greedy grain shops to raise the price of millet ten times over! Anyone who complains at the magistrate’s court gets beaten with thirty heavy bamboo planks!”
The merchant pulled a crumpled, dirty flyer out of his coat and held it up with both hands.
“Three days ago, salt peddlers who traded at Dry-Well City brought back word that you have endless sweet well water, fist-sized potatoes that taste like mutton, and that you never charge a single copper coin of gate tax! Now, over fifty thousand starving refugees from the border villages have packed their children into wheelbarrows and are walking west along the dry riverbeds toward Black-Rock City!”
Inside the council hall, several former Black-Rock City clerks who had just surrendered looked panicked.
One old clerk stepped forward, wringing his hands. “My Lord! We must close the East Gate immediately! Fifty thousand starving refugees—and maybe hundreds of thousands more behind them! In every dynasty, when drought refugees flood into a border city, they eat up all the food in three days, spread plague, and cause riots! Even a rich prefectural city always uses soldiers to drive refugees away with spears!”
BANG!
General Tie Zhan slammed his heavy iron gauntlet onto the council table, glaring at the old clerk. “Drive starving farmers away with spears?! Ten months ago, half the people in Dry-Well City were starving refugees too! If My Lord had driven us away with spears, you wouldn’t even have had that meat bun in your belly tonight!”
Meanwhile, Pei Xuan was staring at the old clerk as if the man had just suggested throwing piles of gold ingots into a toilet.
Drive away refugees?!
In Pei Xuan’s RTS System, what was a refugee?
A starving refugee who got a bowl of hot potato stew and a cup of sweet water was an instant 85+ Loyalty Citizen who generated +1 LP/day as a mortal, +10 LP/day after a week of martial exercises, +100 LP/day after a month of eating scorpion snacks, and +10,000 LP/day once they graduated from the Furnace-Blood Night School!
Count Wang and the corrupt magistrates of the Great Yan Kingdom thought they were getting rid of “useless mouths to feed.” In reality, they were gifting Pei Xuan millions of walking Loyalty Point generators for free!
“Nobody is closing the East Gate,” Pei Xuan stood up from his chair, a bright smile spreading across his face. “In fact, take the wooden doors off the East Gate hinges completely so the wheelbarrows don’t get stuck in a traffic jam!”
The old clerk blinked in shock. “Take the gate doors off?! My Lord, are you really going to take in all fifty thousand refugees?!”
“Fifty thousand is just the first batch,” Pei Xuan laughed, walking over to the giant sand-table map in the center of the hall. “I want all five hundred thousand people in the three western counties! Abacus Su!”
“Present, My Lord!” Abacus Su stepped forward with his brush poised over a fresh ledger.
“Take the three thousand captured Blood-Blade Mercenaries and my dear family members in yellow vests,” Pei Xuan ordered briskly. “March them five miles east of Black-Rock City right now and build Ten Refugee Welcome Stations along the provincial border road! I want twenty Sweet-Spring Water Taps piped out from the canal, one hundred giant soup cauldrons boiling twenty-four hours a day, and registration desks where every family gets a wooden Citizen ID Tag, a clean towel, and a hot meal the second they step onto Red-Sand Prefecture soil!”
“Yes, My Lord!” Abacus Su’s eyes gleamed behind his spectacles. “I will also put up a giant wooden billboard at the border facing Count Wang’s territory: FREE MEAT-POTATO BUFFET & PAID BRICKLAYING JOBS INSIDE—NO TAXES FOR THREE YEARS!”
“Wait, My Lord!” Sword Genius Ye Guhan—who had been leaning coolly against a stone pillar near the door, wearing his patched white robes and hugging his iron sword—suddenly spoke up.
“The dirt road leading east from Black-Rock City to the provincial border is full of ruts and crooked rocks,” Ye Guhan said in a deadpan, deadly serious voice. “Those bumps insult my Way of the Flat Horizon Sword. Allow me to walk five miles east before sunrise and slice that bumpy dirt road as flat as a mirror.”
Pei Xuan pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t laugh out loud, cupping his hands solemnly. “Brother Ye’s dedication to the Supreme Sword Dao moves my heart! Uncle Guo, pack Brother Ye three big jars of spiced beef brisket and ten sesame flatbreads for his morning sword practice!”
Ye Guhan’s ears twitched slightly, and he gave a cool nod before vanishing out the hall door like a white gust of wind.
SHING—SHING—SHING!
Seconds later, brilliant thirty-foot silver sword-beams flashed outside the East Gate as the Rank 5 Foundation Establishment prodigy happily shaved the bumpy border hillocks into a six-lane, billiard-table-flat stone highway!
***
When the sun rose the next morning, a heartbreaking sight appeared at the eastern border of Red-Sand Prefecture.
Stretching as far as the eye could see across the dusty plains came a long, staggering river of humanity.
Over thirty thousand drought refugees—the first wave from Red-River County—were dragging themselves westward. Fathers pulled creaking wooden wheelbarrows holding gaunt old mothers and crying babies; little children chewed on dry willow twigs; everyone’s lips were cracked and bleeding from thirst.
At the front of the crowd walked a tall, broad-shouldered village blacksmith named Zhao Dahu, carrying his feverish six-year-old daughter on his back while his elderly father leaned on a cracked hoe.
“Dahu... how much further to Black-Rock City?” the old father wheezed, his legs giving out as he stumbled to his knees. “Wait... if Marquis Pei Zhan’s guards are still at the border, won’t they beat us with whips and charge us gate tax?”
“Don’t give up, Father!” Zhao Dahu bit his lip until it bled, though despair filled his eyes. “Even if we have to beg on our knees, we can’t go back to Red-River County! Count Wang’s soldiers took our last bag of bran yesterday... Wait! Look ahead! Why is the dirt road suddenly as flat and smooth as polished jade?!”
Zhao Dahu blinked his bloodshot eyes and looked up.
Right across the county boundary line stood ten massive red-and-gold wooden arches. Above the middle arch hung a thirty-foot banner painted in huge, friendly letters that even a farmer could read:
[ WELCOME HOME TO RED-SAND PREFECTURE! ] [ STEP ACROSS THIS LINE FOR FREE SWEET WATER, HOT MEAT-POTATOES, AND 50 COPPERS/DAY WORK! ]
Beneath the arches, rows of steaming iron cauldrons were bubbling over brick stoves, tended by three thousand burly men wearing bright yellow Debtor Vests.
And right at the front water station, Lady Wang (#888) and Eldest Brother Pei Heng (#889)—their shock-collars humming softly under Old Wei’s watchful eye—were forced to stand behind wooden barrels, scooping out dippers of crystal-clear, ice-cold Sweet-Spring Spirit Water for the arriving refugees!
“Step right up! Drink carefully, don’t choke!” Old Wei boomed cheerfully, sitting on his giant armored scorpion beside the arch. “Every man, woman, and child gets two full dippers of Spirit Spring water first, then move to Booth Two for hot lamb-potato porridge and Booth Three for your free housing token!”
Zhao Dahu stumbled across the boundary line as if walking into a dream.
Pei Heng—whose wrist was still bandaged from yesterday—trembled under Old Wei’s fierce glare and hurriedly handed two wooden bowls of sparkling well water to Zhao Dahu and his old father.
Zhao Dahu held the cool water to his feverish little daughter’s lips first, then took a big gulp himself.
Gulp!
The moment the Level 3 Sweet-Spring Spirit Water slid down their dry throats, a miracle happened right before everyone’s eyes.
The little girl’s burning fever vanished in three breaths! Her pale cheeks turned rosy pink, and she opened her eyes and giggled: “Daddy, that water tastes like sweet honey! My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore!”
Beside him, Zhao Dahu’s old father straightened his bent back with a crisp pop, the heatstroke dizziness completely washed away by the mild spiritual energy in the water.
Then they walked ten steps to Booth Two, where Old Guo’s kitchen team handed each of them a massive clay bowl filled to the brim with mashed Meat-Belly Giant Potatoes swimming in rich, salty lamb broth and topped with two crunchy Deep-Fried Red Scorpions!
Zhao Dahu took one mouthful of the hot, savory meat-potato porridge.
After starving on dry tree bark for twenty days, the rich taste of roasted lamb and warm grain hit his tongue like heaven’s own banquet.
The big, six-foot-tall blacksmith couldn’t hold back anymore—he dropped to his knees holding his bowl and bawled like a child!
“It’s real meat! They didn’t lie! Lord Pei really gives free meat and sweet water to starving folks!”
Behind him, thirty thousand refugees poured across the smooth stone highway into the ten welcome camps. Within an hour, thirty thousand people were sitting at long wooden tables slurping hot lamb-potato porridge, while thirty thousand floating green tooltips exploded across Pei Xuan’s vision like a festival of lanterns!
Pei Xuan stood on the watchtower of Welcome Camp #1, watching his daily income cross the one million LP per day mark for the very first time!
One million points every single day!
Suddenly, however, the bright morning sun overhead dimmed as if someone had pulled a dirty black blanket across the eastern sky.
A low, terrifying buzzing sound—like ten million rusty saws grinding against iron—rose from the horizon over Red-River County.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Zhao Dahu looked up from his soup bowl, and the color drained completely from his face.
“LOCUSTS!” Zhao Dahu screamed in pure terror, pointing at the three-mile-wide black tornado rushing across the sky from the east. “It’s the Black-Iron Locust Plague that ate all the wheat in Great Yan! There are tens of millions of them—their jaws can chew through wooden hoe handles, and they’re flying straight toward Lord Pei’s potato fields!”