The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the settlement, the golden light painting the wooden huts and tents in warm hues. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of freshly cooked broth, and in the distance, the faint laughter of children could be heard.

  Under the shade of a large tree near the center of the settlement, Zhao Ming sat with Xu Liang and Lin Yue, a wooden cup of tea in his hands. The past few days had been exhausting, moving between the Murong Trading House and the settlement, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

  Xu Liang leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Zhao Ming, I know you’ve been busy running between here and Beihai, but things here have been improving,” he said with a satisfied nod. “The people have settled into a routine. Hunting parties are more organized now, and foraging groups know where to find food without risking danger. We’re no longer entirely dependent on outside help.”

  Zhao Ming took a sip of his tea, letting the warmth seep into his bones. “That’s good to hear. When I first brought the refugees here, I was worried about whether they’d even survive. Now, it sounds like they’re not just surviving but adapting.”

  Lin Yue smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, but it wasn’t easy. At first, many were still afraid—worried about attacks or another betrayal. After what happened with Zhao Feng and those bandits, trust was fragile. But now, after weeks of working together, people are more confident. They feel safe.”

  Zhao Ming nodded, his expression serious. “Trust is the hardest thing to rebuild. Once it’s broken, it takes more than words to fix it. I’m glad to see they’re moving forward.”

  Xu Liang hesitated for a moment before continuing. “That’s why we wanted to ask you about something. Since we’re no longer struggling for food, we were thinking… Can we sell some of our extra supplies? Meat, fur, even crafted tools—anything we don’t need. If we could trade them, people could buy things they lack, like proper clothes, blankets, and other necessities.”

  Zhao Ming raised an eyebrow. “Are the supplies from the governor’s office or Murong Trading House not enough?”

  Lin Yue shook her head. “It’s not that. The governor and Murong Trading House have provided enough to keep people alive. But with winter approaching, people want to do more than just survive—they want to live with dignity. They want proper clothes instead of patched-up rags, better tools for their work, and maybe even small luxuries to make their homes more comfortable.”

  She glanced toward a group of children playing near a fire pit. “Many of them have decided not to return to Langya. For them, this settlement is home now.”

  Zhao Ming exhaled slowly. “I see… So, they need something beyond survival. They want a future.”

  Xu Liang nodded. “Exactly. Right now, they don’t have much control over their own lives. If we can start trading, they can earn their own money and become self-sufficient. Even if it starts small, it’ll give them a sense of independence.”

  Zhao Ming tapped his fingers against his cup, deep in thought. “It makes sense. But selling goods openly means we need permission from the governor. If we don’t get it, nobles or other merchants might accuse us of illegal trade.”

  Lin Yue sighed. “That’s what we were afraid of.”

  Zhao Ming leaned back against the tree, looking up at the branches swaying in the wind. “I’ll speak to the governor about it. If he agrees, we can start trading officially. I’ll also ask Murong Trading House if we can make this location permanent for the settlement.”

  Xu Liang and Lin Yue exchanged glances before bowing slightly.

  “Thank you, Zhao Ming,” Xu Liang said sincerely. “You’ve done so much for us already.”

  Lin Yue smiled faintly. “It’s because of you that we even have a chance at a future.”

  Zhao Ming waved a hand dismissively. “No need for thanks. This settlement isn’t just about survival anymore—we’re building something here. And if that’s the case, we might as well do it properly.”

  The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of burning wood and freshly cooked food. For the first time in a long while, Zhao Ming felt that the settlement was not just a place for refugees—it was becoming something more.

  As the conversation wound down, Lin Yue hesitated before speaking again. "Zhao Ming, would you like to stay for dinner?" she asked with a warm smile. "It’s nothing fancy, but we’d like to have you join us."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Xu Liang nodded in agreement. "You’ve done so much for us. It’s the least we can do."

  Zhao Ming considered for a moment before nodding. "Alright, I’ll stay."

  The small house where Xu Liang’s family stayed was modest but well-kept, built from sturdy wooden planks with a thatched roof. Inside, the room was lit by an oil lamp, casting a warm glow over the simple furnishings—a wooden table, a few chairs, and a small cooking area.

  Lin Yue and Xu Liang’s children, Xu Jian and Xu Mei, helped set the table. Xu Jian, a quiet but sensible boy of nine, carried the bowls with steady hands, making sure nothing spilled. His movements were careful, almost too mature for his age. Xu Mei, a lively six-year-old, was the opposite—humming a tune as she skipped around the room, occasionally stealing a bite of food when she thought no one was looking.

  "Xu Mei," Xu Jian sighed, catching her in the act. "Mother already told you to wait."

  "But I was just tasting it!" Xu Mei protested, pouting.

  Xu Liang chuckled, ruffling his daughter’s hair before gesturing for Zhao Ming to sit. "Let’s eat before she 'tastes' everything."

  The meal, though humble, was prepared with care. Steaming bowls of rice sat alongside a fragrant fish stew seasoned with wild herbs and ginger. There were stir-fried greens gathered from the nearby forest and a plate of roasted game meat, likely from a recent hunting trip.

  Zhao Ming sat down as Lin Yue served the stew. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the room, comforting and familiar.

  “Eat while it’s hot,” she said, handing him a bowl.

  As they ate, Xu Mei chatted excitedly, telling Zhao Ming about the birds she had seen near the river and how she wanted to raise one as a pet. Xu Jian, on the other hand, was more reserved, eating quietly but listening attentively.

  After a while, he finally spoke, looking at Zhao Ming. "Is the settlement really going to last?" His tone wasn’t that of a naive child but of someone who had seen hardships and wanted reassurance.

  Zhao Ming paused before answering. "It will, but it won’t be easy. That’s why we’re working hard to make sure everyone has what they need."

  Xu Jian nodded slowly, seeming to accept the answer. "Then I’ll work hard too."

  "You’re already helping a lot," Xu Liang said, patting his son’s back.

  Zhao Ming smiled slightly. Xu Jian reminded him of himself when he was younger—forced to mature faster than he should.

  After finishing the meal and sharing a few more stories, Zhao Ming finally stood up. "Thank you for the dinner. It was good to have a proper meal for once."

  Lin Yue waved him off. "You’re always welcome here."

  Xu Mei beamed. "Come again, Brother Zhao!"

  With that, Zhao Ming bid them goodnight and made his way back to the Murong estate.

  The night air carried a crisp chill as Zhao Ming returned to the Murong estate, his steps steady but unhurried. The evening had been a rare moment of warmth—sharing a meal with Xu Liang’s family reminded him of simpler times, of what life could be if not burdened by politics, warfare, and survival. Yet, such moments were fleeting. The world outside was still chaotic, and responsibilities awaited him.

  The estate was quiet at this hour, the usual activity of merchants and workers having died down. A few lanterns flickered along the corridors, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. Zhao Ming stepped into his room, untying the belt of his outer robe as he moved toward a basin of warm water left by the servants.

  Dipping his hands into the basin, he let the warmth seep into his skin before splashing his face, washing away the fatigue of the day. He exhaled slowly, enjoying the brief sensation of relief before drying himself off. He changed into a fresh robe, the fabric cool against his skin, before sitting at his desk.

  The candlelight flickered as he unrolled a fine sheet of paper. The inkstone was ready, the brush resting beside it. Zhao Ming took a moment to gather his thoughts before dipping the brush in ink, letting the tip soak just enough before pressing it onto the paper.

  Each stroke was deliberate, forming the precise characters of his calling card:

  To Governor Kong Rong,

  I, Zhao Ming, seek an audience regarding an important matter concerning the settlement and the people under your protection. Your time and consideration would be greatly appreciated.

  — Zhao Ming

  The strokes were sharp yet refined, a reflection of his composed demeanor. He studied the writing for a moment before setting the brush aside, allowing the ink to dry. With practiced ease, he folded the paper carefully and sealed it.

  Stepping outside, he found one of the estate’s night-duty servants standing at the far end of the hallway, keeping watch.

  "You," Zhao Ming called, his voice steady but not loud.

  The servant straightened and approached, bowing respectfully. "Young Master Zhao, what do you require?"

  "Deliver this to Governor Kong’s residence first thing in the morning," Zhao Ming instructed, handing over the sealed letter. "Make sure it reaches him directly or his trusted aide."

  The servant accepted it with both hands, nodding. "It will be done, Young Master."

  Zhao Ming gave a slight nod before turning back toward his room. He extinguished the candle, plunging the chamber into darkness save for the moonlight filtering through the window.

  He sat on the edge of his bed, gazing toward the sky outside. The moon hung high, cold yet serene, watching over the land as countless men schemed, fought, and struggled for power. Luoyang was in turmoil. The court was a battleground, where eunuchs, warlords, and noble clans vied for control. And here he was, in a small corner of the empire, building something that could either be a refuge or a future target.

  His fingers unconsciously traced the wooden frame of the bed as he thought.

  If the Murong Trading House were to align with the wrong side, their prosperity could turn to ruin. If the settlement were to grow too strong, it could attract unwanted attention. If Governor Kong himself was entangled in court politics, what side would he take?

  These were not answers he could find in a single night.

  But tomorrow, he would take the next step.

  Lying back, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into sleep, knowing that the next day would bring more challenges—and more choices to make.