The tremendous boom was out of the ordinary, startling the entire prefectural city.
Within just fifteen minutes, Zhao Chonghong's Prefectural Soldiers and the Iron Clothes Department's constables had arrived at the site of the flames.
Quite a few plainly dressed commoners stood nearby, a trace of panic still lingering in their eyes.
Only when they saw the soldiers and constables arrive did they relax somewhat, though their faces remained pale.
Zhao Zheng and Zhao Fu exchanged a glance, each seeing a hint of confusion in the other's eyes.
The leading figures from various trades who had come along with the group all breathed sighs of relief.
The people who lived in this district were the poorest commoners in Xiangfeng Prefecture.
Almost none of the businesses under their control were located here.
"Put out the fire!"
Zhao Qing barked the order, his face livid.
The Iron Clothes Constables immediately began extinguishing the flames.
The Prefectural Soldiers sealed off the passages and maintained order.
Yang Ling gazed at the sea of flames before him, slowly extending his perception.
"Lord Zhao, what is this place? Why did it catch fire?"
Kong Xinghu asked casually, without giving it much thought. This was not his jurisdiction, and it did not look like a district where wealthy families lived.
This fire would not cause much damage.
Zhao Chonghong said nothing, merely glancing at the clerk beside him.
The middle-aged clerk said quietly, "My lord, this area has recently been used to house displaced people. Their numbers have kept increasing everywhere over the past few months, and most have been settled here."
Displaced people? Everyone inwardly breathed another sigh of relief.
Even if people had died inside, they were not ordinary commoners.
Displaced people no longer had an official identity. Until they were registered again, they did