CHAPTER 147: CHAPTER 147: HOPE IN SUFFERING_1

"Let him in and go get yourself a bowl of porridge."

"Thank you, sir." The man bowed respectfully. He carefully avoided the soldiers as he walked to the porridge shed, his eyes fixed greedily on the porridge in the pot shimmering with oil.

The person in charge of cooking the porridge didn’t say another word and directly filled a full large bowl.

"Eat over there, and if it’s not enough, you can have another bowl."

"Thank you, sir," the man repeated as he took the bowl. Not caring about anything else, he immediately took a bite.

It was scalding hot, yet the saltiness couldn’t be masked. Upon savoring it, he could even detect the faint texture of fish meat.

Not to mention the slight fishy taste that opened up his long-dulled taste buds, making him feel as if he had never eaten anything as delicious as this before.

A bowl went down, and a warm rush rose, invigorating his body that had been famished for so long.

The man finished the first bowl in a few gulps. With a grateful smile, he accepted the second. "HEH HEH HEH. Another bowl, please."

But this time, he didn’t rush to finish it. Instead, he took small sips, savoring each mouthful, wanting the rich taste to linger in his mouth for a longer time.

Yet, as he ate, he suddenly burst into tears, sobbing softly with the bowl in his hands, as murky tears fell into it.

If only it had been sooner, perhaps his son wouldn’t have been beaten to death for resisting those who stole grains, his daughter-in-law might not have been taken away, and his newborn grandson might not have starved to death...

He was the first one to respond to the call. The other refugees were all watching him, to see if the promises were true.

When they saw him wolfing down the first bowl of porridge with satisfaction, many were tempted. Their lives were already so miserable, barely clinging to life, that they didn’t care about their status as freemen. After all, their lives were not much different from that of Serfs.

When they saw him really getting a second bowl, some started to move closer, but they couldn’t understand why the man who had food was crying.

Those who had had previous contact with the old man began to tell others about his situation, and it was a sorrowful tale for all those who heard it.

"Sir, I am a carpenter and can work on a farm, and my wife knows how to weave. We will work even harder. May we bring our children with us? They can herd sheep for you."

A family stepped forward to meet Lance’s gaze; the man was in the prime of his life, and the woman robust as well, which was why they were able to protect the two children beside them.

Lance sized them up, noticing the children were so emaciated their bones protruded, with no flesh on their faces—clearly, they had come forward as a last resort.

An ordinary farm owner would not want such people, as the woman and children were seen as burdens; they preferred robust adults.

After all, a Serf is just like chives; as long as they’re not cut down, they’ll just keep growing in the fields.

But Lance was different. With a longer-term perspective for the development of his domain, he preferred those with families. They were more likely to settle down and be motivated to work, which benefited his rule.

It’s like the old farmer from earlier; only such a person could be calm enough to farm, whereas the restless spirit of young people made it hard for them to settle down to fieldwork. Thus, one experienced old farmer could be worth several young ones.

"You may. Come and register."

Upon hearing this, smiles broke out on the faces of the two adults. When they had come forward, they had already braced for rejection, never expecting to be accepted.

The absence of the registration step for the earlier man had been intentional on Lance’s part, meant to expedite the process.

But now, they had to register their basic information and sign a contract to officially be bound to him.

"Take this and go get your porridge. The children eat first."

"No need... Just give my share to the children. I won’t waste your food, sir," the father said, mistakenly thinking his children had upset Lance and quickly stepping forward to take responsibility.

Lance clearly understood what he meant and, for a moment, felt even more moved. How severe is the oppression of people in this world?

It even made him, an exploiter, feel it was a bit too much.

"I didn’t mean that. Children’s bodies are not like adults’, and after being hungry for so many days, eating too much at once can be overwhelming for them. So they should start with one bowl to let their bodies adjust. Starting tomorrow, everyone, young and old alike, will get two bowls, twice a day."

The couple understood Lance’s intentions and, realizing their mistake, quickly apologized while urging their two children on.

"Aren’t you going to thank the master?"

The two children, not understanding the situation and seeing the man looking at them, could only instinctively grasp their parents’ hands. "Thank you, master..." they uttered in weak voices.

"Alright, alright, go inside."

Lance withdrew his gaze and turned to look at the people who had gathered behind him.

His actions indeed touched the nerves of those onlookers. Many with able hands and feet wondered why they hadn’t wanted to leave this place—it was because they didn’t want to be separated from their families.

And now this gentleman was willing to accept them and had not shown harshness toward children. In fact, he was quite lenient. Consequently, they had nothing to worry about except the fear that if they were too slow, there would be no space left for them.

It was only when those people tasted the hot porridge that they understood why that man had cried.

Emotions are contagious, and suddenly there were many sounds of weeping within the camp.

They had lived so miserably during this time that they had almost forgotten what it meant to be alive.

Lance was also somewhat helpless. When he first arrived, there were still 3,000 to 5,000 refugees. However, after three days, a portion of those able to move had migrated, leaving only about 1,000 or 2,000 who couldn’t. The quality of these remaining people could be described as very poor. Out of them, only about 500 could be selected for use, and the rest were worthless.

And of these 500, only about two-thirds could truly be considered part of the labor force. The rest were elderly and children.

However, it was fortunate that men who could work usually took on other tasks as well, so there were quite a few craftsmen among them. He even found a blacksmith, which was undoubtedly the biggest gain of the trip.

All those willing to come had already been screened once, but still, a portion of people refused to leave, clustering around the periphery of the camp.

Those outside, watching people inside eating fish porridge while they got nothing, instantly felt the disparity in treatment. With the crowd gathered and feeling more emboldened, they even dared to provoke and jeer at the camp.

"Why don’t you want me?"

"Exactly, exactly! Are you looking down on us?"

"Damn it! Brothers, let’s go and teach them a lesson!"

"Don’t push! Why don’t you go, damn it?"

"..."

Those guys shouted loudly, but none dared to come forward. They had managed to escape to this place and were no fools. The stern-faced Guards were obviously not to be trifled with. They were content to shout a few words to apply some pressure, but actually stepping forward was out of the question.

Lance saw through their pathetic tricks, yet he didn’t waste this excellent opportunity to establish his authority. He needed to demonstrate his power in front of these people.

"You, come here," Lance called to the first man who had joined, beckoning him over. Lance then faced the jeering refugees with him.

"Now tell me, who was it that bullied you?"