With the little girl in his arms, Zhao Ming made his way through the bustling entrance of the refugee camp. The air was thick with the scent of unwashed bodies, smoke from makeshift fires, and the faint stench of decay. People milled about in clusters, their faces worn with exhaustion, their clothes tattered from hardship.

  As he approached the gate, a militia captain stationed nearby took notice of him. The man was middle-aged, with a sturdy build and a sharp gaze that carried the weight of responsibility.

  “Young master, you don’t look like someone who belongs here,” the captain remarked, eyeing Zhao Ming’s relatively clean robes before shifting his gaze to the little girl in his arms. “What’s your business?”

  Zhao Ming adjusted his hold on the child and replied calmly, “I found this girl lost in the market. She said her parents are here, so I brought her back.”

  The captain’s expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “Good of you to bring her back, but you should be careful in this place. The refugee camp is chaotic, and we barely have enough hands to keep order. There are desperate people here—thieves, outlaws, and those who wouldn’t think twice before taking advantage of others.”

  Zhao Ming nodded, taking note of the warning. “I understand. I won’t stay long.”

  The captain sighed and motioned toward the inner part of the camp. “Check with the guards near the officer’s camp. If any parents are looking for a missing child, they’d know.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Zhao Ming inclined his head in gratitude before heading further into the camp.

  As Zhao Ming walked deeper inside, the atmosphere became even more oppressive. Makeshift tents stretched as far as the eye could see, with entire families huddled together under thin cloths or crude wooden shelters. The sight was a stark reminder of how dire the situation had become.

  The girl clung tightly to him, her small fingers gripping his robe as she anxiously scanned the sea of people.

  “Do you see your parents?” Zhao Ming asked gently.

  The little girl hesitated before pointing toward a cluster of tents near the officer’s camp. “Over there…”

  Before they could take another step, a desperate cry pierced the air.

  “Mei’er!”

  The child in Zhao Ming’s arms stiffened. Her tiny hands trembled as she turned her head toward the voice.

  A woman, her face pale and gaunt from hardship, rushed toward them, tears streaming down her cheeks. Behind her, a thin but sturdy-looking man and a teenage boy followed, their expressions filled with relief and urgency.

  “Mother!” the girl cried out, wriggling out of Zhao Ming’s arms before running toward the woman.

  The mother fell to her knees, catching her daughter in a crushing embrace, her sobs muffled as she buried her face in the child’s hair. “You scared me to death, Mei’er… I thought— I thought we lost you forever.”

  The father let out a breath of relief, placing a firm but gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. His eyes, red from exhaustion, softened as he gazed at his daughter.

  The teenage boy crouched down, ruffling the little girl’s hair. “You little troublemaker, where did you run off to?”

  The girl pouted. “I didn’t run off! I got lost.”

  Zhao Ming watched the reunion in silence, a warmth spreading through his chest. Even in the bleakest circumstances, a family’s love remained unwavering.

  After a long moment, the father turned to Zhao Ming and bowed deeply. “Young master, we owe you a great debt. If not for you, we might never have seen our daughter again.”

  Zhao Ming waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no need for thanks. I only did what anyone should do.”

  “No,” the mother said, wiping her tears. “There are many who would have ignored a child like her, especially in these times. You didn’t. That means everything to us.”

  The father straightened, his gaze filled with gratitude. “We don’t have much to offer, but at least let us make you some tea. It’s the least we can do.”

  Zhao Ming hesitated for a moment. The refugee camp was struggling—food and supplies were scarce. However, he knew that refusing outright might hurt their pride. Besides, this could be an opportunity to learn more about their situation.

  Finally, he nodded. “Alright. I’d appreciate that.”

  The mother smiled through her weariness and turned to her husband. “Dear, let’s go. I’ll boil some water.”

  The little girl beamed up at Zhao Ming. “Big brother, you have to try mother’s tea! It’s the best!”

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  Zhao Ming chuckled. “Then I’ll look forward to it.”

  With that, he followed the family toward their makeshift tent, the weight of the refugees’ struggles lingering in his thoughts.

  Zhao Ming followed the Xu family toward a communal tent nestled deeper in the refugee camp. The structure was a patchwork of different fabrics stitched together, barely holding against the wind. Inside, several refugees huddled around makeshift tables, some sharing meals while others sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

  As Zhao Ming entered, conversations quieted. Dozens of eyes turned toward him—some filled with curiosity, others with suspicion. His clean robes and composed demeanor made him stand out like a sore thumb amidst the weary, ragged refugees.

  Xu Liang, noticing the tension, stepped forward and spoke in a firm yet calm voice. "This young master helped bring my daughter back safely. He is a guest. I don’t want anyone causing trouble."

  A few of the refugees exchanged glances before nodding. One of the older men sighed. "We understand, Xu Liang. We won’t be reckless."

  Satisfied, Xu Liang gestured toward a spot near a small fire pit, where Lin Yue was already preparing tea. The scent of brewing leaves, though faint, was a rare comfort in this place.

  As everyone settled down, Xu Liang formally introduced his family. "Young master, I am Xu Liang. This is my wife, Lin Yue, my son, Xu Jian, and the little one you saved, Xu Mei."

  Zhao Ming nodded. "I am Zhao Ming. No need for formalities."

  As the introductions were exchanged, Zhao Ming observed the people around them. It was clear from their expressions and demeanor that they regarded Xu Liang with a level of respect. The way they listened when he spoke, how they deferred to him—it was subtle, but undeniable.

  Curious, Zhao Ming asked, "You seem to hold some authority here. Are you the leader of this camp?"

  Xu Liang sighed. "Not officially, but I suppose you could say I have some influence. When we arrived, many of us were left to fend for ourselves. People needed someone to maintain order, and I did what I could."

  Zhao Ming took a sip of the tea Lin Yue offered him, nodding. "Where did you come from before all this?"

  Xu Liang's face darkened slightly. "I was a hunter. We lived in a village on the outskirts of Langya." His grip on the tea cup tightened. "But when the Yellow Turbans took over Langya City, they didn’t stop at the city walls. They ransacked the countryside, burning farms, looting homes. We barely managed to escape with our lives."

  Zhao Ming frowned. "So it’s as bad as I feared…"

  Xu Liang nodded. "Worse, actually. Those who resisted were slaughtered. Those who surrendered were conscripted into their ranks or enslaved. When we heard that Beihai was still holding strong, we fled here, hoping for safety."

  Zhao Ming glanced around the communal tent, taking in the wary faces of the other refugees. He could sense the desperation beneath their silent stares.

  "How is life in the camp now?" he asked.

  Xu Liang sighed. "The governor made sure we had food and shelter, so we’re not starving. But for many, that’s not enough. The guards keep us from leaving the camp without permission. Most of us have lost everything, and without work, we have no future."

  Zhao Ming tapped his fingers against the cup, deep in thought. "If things stay like this for too long, people will start getting restless."

  Xu Liang nodded grimly. "It’s already happening. Some young men are talking about sneaking out to look for work, others about joining up with mercenaries. And then there are those who think of taking what they need by force."

  Zhao Ming let out a slow breath. It was exactly as he feared—this wasn’t just a humanitarian crisis, it was a ticking time bomb.

  As he pondered his next move, Xu Mei tugged at his sleeve. "Big brother, are you going to help us?"

  Zhao Ming looked down at the little girl’s hopeful eyes. He had no answer yet, but he knew one thing—he couldn’t just ignore this situation.

  For now, he needed more information.

  "I'll see what I can do," he said. "But first, I need to understand everything that's happening."

  Xu Liang studied him for a moment before nodding. "Then let me tell you everything I know."

  As the warm glow of the fire flickered against the worn canvas of the communal tent, Xu Liang took a deep breath and began explaining the situation in the camp.

  “The people here… most of them are from my village,” he said. “We left together when the Yellow Turbans took over Langya. Some others joined along the way, but the majority of us are from the same place.”

  Zhao Ming nodded, listening carefully. It made sense why they followed Xu Liang’s lead—familiarity bred trust, and in times of crisis, people clung to what little stability they had left.

  “We have some able-bodied men,” Xu Liang continued. “A handful are skilled hunters like me, while others can do labor work—building, carrying loads, that sort of thing. If given a chance, they’d be more than willing to work for food or coin.”

  Zhao Ming noticed a slight hesitation in his voice. “But?” he prompted.

  Xu Liang exhaled, rubbing his temples. “But it’s not that simple. Not everyone in the camp is under my influence. My group is relatively united—we help each other and keep order among ourselves—but beyond that, things are more uncertain.”

  He glanced around, lowering his voice. “Some refugees are desperate, some are selfish, and some… well, let’s just say not everyone here has good intentions.”

  Zhao Ming’s gaze sharpened. “You mean there are troublemakers?”

  Xu Liang nodded grimly. “Most of them haven’t acted out yet, but tension is growing. The biggest concern isn’t the able-bodied men—it’s the ones who can’t fend for themselves. The sick, the elderly, pregnant women, and children… they’re the ones suffering the most.”

  Zhao Ming understood immediately. “And because they have no guarantee of support, the able men don’t dare leave the camp to work. They can’t risk abandoning their families.”

  “Exactly,” Xu Liang said, his face darkening. “If a man leaves for work and something happens to his wife or child in his absence, who will take responsibility? There’s no law, no order here… just survival.”

  Zhao Ming tapped his fingers on his knee, deep in thought. The situation was more complicated than he had anticipated. Even if the city allowed some refugees to find work, there was no security for those they left behind. It was a vicious cycle—without work, they had no stability, but without stability, they couldn’t work.

  “How many people can you directly control?” Zhao Ming finally asked.

  Xu Liang considered the question carefully. “Fifty to seventy households, give or take. That’s around two hundred to three hundred people, including women and children.”

  It was a significant number. If they were well-organized, they could be an asset… or a liability if desperation drove them to act recklessly.

  Zhao Ming met Xu Liang’s gaze. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll think of a way.”

  Xu Liang studied him for a moment before nodding. “That’s all I can ask.”

  As the night deepened, Zhao Ming sat quietly, piecing together a plan. This crisis wasn’t just about charity—it was about survival. If he played his cards right, he might just find a way to turn this situation into an opportunity.

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