That afternoon, Red Tide City's commercial square buzzed with voices. Wooden stalls stood in rows, draped with brightly colored banners.
The aroma of stewed meat, the heat of freshly baked flatbread, and the colors of southern brocade mingled together. The square was as lively as a market in the Imperial Capital.
Amid the bustling crowd, two merchants from the South stood close together, chatting.
"Whew, this north wind is cold, but this city is even livelier than what I saw outside the Imperial Capital's east gate." The old merchant patted the wineskin at his side, his eyes full of surprise.
"Who would have thought? I assumed the Northern Frontier was finished. After two major disasters in a row, the whole Empire was saying there was nothing left here but bones. I never imagined a place like this still existed, let alone that it could feed so many people!"
The other merchant, a fat man, stroked his beard, his voice filled with wonder.
Both belonged to merchant caravans from the Empire's southwestern provinces. Meeting someone from home so far away had moved them deeply, so they had set up their stalls together and chatted whenever they had a moment.
Several bolts of southern silk lay on their stalls, their glossy sheen still shimmering in the cold wind.
Passersby stopped to examine them, occasionally taking out silver coins to negotiate a purchase.
Behind them, a thin assistant silently arranged the cloth. He had not joined the conversation once, observing everything with an indifferent gaze.
"I'm telling you, if you really want to do business, this place is better than Frost Glaive City. They're rationing grain over there, yet here the common folk actually have money to spare. They even dare to buy things like ours."
The fat merchant lowered his voice, his