The next day was the Red Sleeve Beckons' day off, which came once every ten days.
Before dawn, Qing Chen took Qing Jie out of Ford City.
The moment they stepped through the city gates, a stench of decay hit them in the face.
On the wasteland outside, more than a dozen enormous iron pots stood over bonfires.
The gruel in the pots bubbled in the intense heat, sending up clouds of white steam.
Nearby, three hundred soldiers patrolled back and forth with spears in hand, maintaining order.
The line waiting for gruel had already stretched into a long dragon, but no one spoke. Only coughing and labored breathing sounded intermittently.
"Gruel's ready!"
A shout broke the deathly silence.
The soldiers began distributing the watery gruel to the disaster victims with large, long-handled wooden ladles.
But each ladleful barely covered the bottom of a bowl, only enough to keep a life hanging by a thread.
The refugees who received their gruel treated it like a priceless treasure, immediately shielding their chipped bowls carefully with their bodies and wolfing it down.
At the edge of the clearing, many refugees lay collapsed in the mud, staring hollow-eyed at the great pots, their strength to crawl over already exhausted.
Clearly, they would not survive.
"How strange. Little brother, these refugees aren't causing trouble everywhere. Are they really that disciplined?"
"Big brother, it's because they're starving. They barely have any strength. Even if they wanted to cause trouble, they couldn't."
Qing Jie followed closely behind Qing Chen. "Big brother, look over here. That sister and brother's thatched hut is over there, not too far from the army camp."
Qing Chen nodded slightly. His little brother was getting increasingly efficient at handling things.
He looked no further and followed Qing Jie briskly along the edge of the clearing.
They had not gone far when the sounds of an argument came from beside a low thatched hut ahead.
A woman with a filthy face but a somewhat well-proportioned figure was struggling with a burly man over a chipped bowl.
There was a little rice gruel in the bowl.
"Give me back my gruel! It's mine!" The woman's voice trembled, but she still clung tightly to the rim of the bowl, refusing to let go.
"Heh heh! What do you mean, yours? I saved this up myself! You thieving bitch are clearly trying to steal my gruel!" The burly man did not wrestle hard for it, merely leering with a lewd chuckle.
Qing Jie's gaze sharpened. He leaned toward Qing Chen and said, "Big brother, this woman has a mole on her chin and is wearing a gray cloth shirt. It all matches."
Qing Chen did not respond, but his pace abruptly quickened as he headed straight for the hut.
Hearing the footsteps and seeing people approaching in the distance, the burly man did not rein himself in. Instead, he roared viciously:
"Where the fuck did you two worthless bastards come from? Get the hell away!"
Qing Chen stopped five paces in front of him and scoffed. "Who the fuck do you think you are, bristling at me?"
The words made the burly man's head feel ready to explode. "You're fucking asking to die! You must be tired of living!"
Before he had finished speaking, his palm chopped toward Qing Chen's face.
His stance showed hints of rudimentary martial skill.
Qing Chen was already prepared. Without dodging or retreating, he thrust out his right hand in an instant. Though he moved second, he arrived first, precisely clamping onto the pulse point at the burly man's wrist.
Immediately afterward, his five fingers tightened like an iron vise and twisted sharply!
Crack!
With a sharp snap, the burly man's wrist was dislocated on the spot.
He let out a scream like a pig being slaughtered, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
Yet the burly man did not beg for mercy. Instead, with astonishing ferocity, he endured the pain in his wrist and suddenly raised his left foot, kicking viciously at Qing Chen's groin!
Groin kick!
Qing Chen snorted coldly, turned sideways to evade the kick, and brought his left palm down like a blade against the outside of the man's knee!
Crunch!
There was another dull crack, and the burly man's left leg immediately twisted to an unnatural angle.
Unable to stand any longer, he crashed to the ground, letting out piercing wails in the mud. He rolled and struggled, but could no longer get up.
The woman beside them had already turned deathly pale with fright.
She had not expected this stern-faced young man to strike so ruthlessly or possess such formidable martial skill, crippling a burly man in just a few moves.
She had personally seen this burly man beat back two refugees and steal their rice gruel.
Qing Chen glanced expressionlessly at the burly man on the ground, then turned toward several dumbstruck refugees nearby and casually pointed out three of them:
"You, you, and you. Throw this thing farther away."
They hurriedly murmured their assent, lifted the burly man, and walked away briskly. They would get another meal and something to drink.
Only after finishing all this did Qing Chen turn to the woman.
"Th-thank you for stepping in to uphold justice, big brother." The woman thanked him, but wariness remained in her eyes.
Qing Chen chuckled and waved a hand. "It's nothing. Hardly any effort."
Only when his expression grew gentle did some of the tension ease from the woman's face.
As the two spoke, a series of heavy footsteps suddenly sounded in the distance, drawing nearer.
They looked toward the sound and saw a lame youth hobbling toward them with difficulty.
The youth was about sixteen years old, dressed in rags.
The left side of his face was badly swollen, his right eye socket was bruised dark, and the corner of his mouth was split, with dried blood still clinging to it.
The air seemed to freeze at that moment.
The woman's eyes instantly widened, fixing tightly on the youth, filled with heartache.
She opened her mouth but could not speak for a moment.
"Little brother!" At last, the woman cried out and stumbled forward.
Not long ago, they had still been a fairly wealthy family. Now they had fallen to such a state.
The youth forced a smile, his voice hoarse. "Sis, I'm fine... I just, I just wasn't careful while walking and fell."
But his gaze flickered as he spoke, and he instinctively avoided his sister's eyes.
Standing nearby, Qing Chen keenly caught the hatred deep in the youth's eyes.
He knew the time was ripe.
So he stepped forward at the right moment, his voice certain. "Those injuries definitely weren't from a fall. They have distinct edges, caused by fists, feet, and hard objects. You were clearly beaten."
Only upon hearing his voice did the youth notice Qing Chen's presence, and his whole body instantly tensed.
He warily sized up the stern-faced young man before him, pressing his lips together without a word.
The woman hurriedly wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and took hold of the youth. "Little brother, hurry and thank this benefactor!
If he hadn't stepped in today and driven away that thug who kept harassing me, we'd probably have gone hungry again."
Hearing this, the youth's tense body relaxed a little, but the wariness in his eyes remained.
With Qing Chen exposing the truth in a single sentence, the lame youth could no longer suppress the fury inside him and roared through gritted teeth:
"It was a street thug! He saw that I was alone and injured, so he blocked my way and tried to steal the tribute money I'd begged for today!
I protected it with my life, but... but I couldn't beat him! He took all the money! Not a single coin was left!"
Veins bulged on his forehead, and his eyes were red. "To-tonight, the Twin Eagles Association's men will come to collect the money. What am I supposed to give them?
They'll beat me to death! Sis, they'll beat me to death!"
By the end, despair had shrouded the youth's eyes.