Chapter 674: The Yuan Court's Indifference

Great Capital, Huangcheng, Privy Council duty room.

The charcoal fire in the copper basin burned brightly, yet it could not dispel the indoor chill.

The air was filled with a rich sandalwood scent, mixed with the rancid smell of old goatskin maps, and a faint hint of decay.

Several Mongol and Semu officials in purple and scarlet robes gathered around a huge desk.

Laid out on the desk was neither a map nor a military report.

It was the budget details for the New Year grand audience and the banquet rewards, just sent by the Ministry of Rites.

"The Qixue Army's rewards this year, following precedent, will be increased by thirty percent."

A Mongol noble with a fleshy face and two carefully trimmed mustaches pointed at a line on the ledger with his fingertip, his tone unquestionable.

"The tribes to the north have presented fine horses this year; their chieftains also deserve generous rewards to show favor."

Beside him, a Han-looking official in a scarlet robe immediately bowed, his face full of a fawning smile.

"Senior Chancellor, please take note. However… the budget, the Ministry of Revenue has said several times, tax collection in various places is weak, the treasury really…"

"The treasury?"

The Mongol noble called Senior Chancellor lifted his eyelids and gave a cold glance.

"That's your Han people's affair."

"The Great Yuan is rich across the four seas; why lack this bit of grain and money?"

"If it can't be collected, it's because the underlings are useless; kill a few and replace them with those who can."

The Han official's forehead beaded with cold sweat; he repeatedly assented, daring not to speak further.

Another official took the opportunity to step forward, pointing elsewhere.

"Sir, look at this South of the River tribute silk, and the High Beauty ginseng…"

The topic quickly turned again to how to divide the spoils and how to display the majesty of the Celestial Empire.

As for the several military intelligence reports haphazardly stacked in the corner, even stained with tea—

No one inquired about them.

One report from Henan North-of-the-River Province stated that Liu Futong's Red Turban Army had captured Benevolent Peace Prefecture with fierce momentum, requesting the dispatch of large troops to suppress it.

Another from East of Mountains reported that local uprisings had spread across the region, with county officials either fleeing or dead, the situation out of control.

The latest, from Huai Xi, briefly said that refugees had gathered in the Haozhou area, with small disturbances, but "not yet a threat," and ordered the local garrison to "suppress and pacify as circumstances dictate."

"Huai Xi..."

That Senior Chancellor finally glanced at the document, picked it up casually, and gave it a quick look.

"Just another bunch of starving peasants causing trouble."

"Let the local overseers handle it; kill a batch, and the rest will naturally submit."

He casually tossed the document back into the corner, as if discarding a worthless piece of scrap paper.

"What's important now is the year-end rewards for each department, and the preparations for the spring hunt next year."

"Have the accounts for this year's harvest from those southern manors all been checked?"

The topic shifted again.

Outside the duty room, the cold wind howled.

Faintly, the sounds of artisans shouting and hammering could be heard from afar in Huangcheng, as they built the New Year lantern tower.

A scene of extravagant busyness, a "prosperous age."

What the neglected Huai Xi military report did not detail was:

Outside Zhongli County in Haozhou, the largest refugee encampment.

The number of those who had starved to death had significantly decreased over the past seven days.

It was not because the government opened granaries to release grain.

Nor was it due to sudden relief efforts.

But rather a kind of… indescribable, subtle "order" that began to stubbornly emerge in the mire of despair.

Xijing, the Office of Peace and Stability.

Before Qian Gui lay a detailed record, relayed back and forth from the Great Capital, of that very scene inside the Yuan Court's Privy Council duty room.

The record came from a deeply embedded covert agent.

It did not involve specific military affairs, only describing the atmosphere and dialogue.

But it was enough.

"Indeed… neglect."

Qian Gui set down the secret report and rubbed his brow.

The Yuan Court's reaction was even more sluggish and arrogant than he had anticipated.

This certainly gave the "Spark" a breathing space.

But it also meant that, once the "Spark" truly spread like wildfire, the Yuan Court's initial suppression might become especially frenzied and cruel due to its earlier contempt.

He needed more accurate intelligence.

His gaze turned to another recently decoded cipher.

From Huai Xi, Zhongli.

The informant's description remained vague, but the captured details were more numerous.

"They take Zhu Zhongba as their leader, gathering about thirty or more able-bodied men."

"Their usual tools: modified scrapers and digging sticks, crude in form but practical."

"Their livelihood: initially gathering river clams and snails at West River Bay; in the past three days, they seem to have cleared a small patch of frozen ground at the edge of the camp, attempting to pile up rotting matter, purpose unknown."

"He speaks little, but his orders are clear and well-founded; his comrades Xu Da, Tang He, and others all obey his commands."

Among the remaining refugees in the camp, their attitude toward him gradually shifted from suspicion and fear to watchful waiting; occasionally, the weak received his leftover food aid, and thus began to feel favorably toward him.

For the time being, there were no signs of contact with other rebel forces nearby, nor had he raised any banner.

Zhu Zhongba.

Xu Da.

Tang He.

Qian Gui's fingers lightly tapped on these few names.

They were all extremely ordinary commoner names.

Especially Zhu Zhongba.

This name, in the Huai Xi region, numbers not a hundred but eighty.

But to organize people, seek a stable food source, and even begin to try some primitive form of 'planting' or 'composting'?

This is not something an ordinary refugee leader could accomplish.

Especially the eight characters 'clear orders, assignments with basis'.

An untrained person would find it hard to maintain such orderliness in the dire circumstances of not knowing if they'd survive morning to evening.

Unless… this person is innately gifted with organizational talent.

Or, he has some other background.

Spark……

Qian Gui murmured to himself.

Could that fleeting silvery-white radiance sensed by the sovereign possibly belong to this ordinary refugee named Zhu Zhongba?

Might it be too…… insignificant?

He trusted the sovereign's judgment.

He also believed in the person who could, within the crack where the Iron Crow Army hastens the chaos and the Yuan Court's corrupt numbness, tenaciously ignite and sustain a cluster of 'order' flames.

It would certainly not be 'insignificant'.

He picked up his pen and wrote in the responding order:

Focus on observing the content of his 'attempts' to see whether they involve unconventional planting or construction methods.

Assess his means of winning people's hearts; aside from food, are there any others?

Beware of any possible contact with the 'black-robed ones' or abnormal phenomena.

Keep your distance; do not startle them.

The pen tip paused, and he added another line.

If his survival model is indeed effective, we could seek to subtly spread this method to other nearby small refugee groups.

To observe the aftermath.

He wanted to see whether this cluster of 'sparks' could only illuminate itself, or truly had the potential to ignite elsewhere.

This, too, is an important basis for judging its value.

The secret order was quickly encrypted and sent via a dedicated channel.

Qian Gui rose and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the streets and alleys of Xijing were already hung with ever more lanterns, preparing to greet the new year.

A scene of peace and harmony.

Meanwhile, beyond the light curtain, the young man named Zhu Zhongba might be, on the cold Huai Xi wilderness, pondering over the frozen soil how to make seeds sprout.

Two worlds.

Two rhythms.

One gathers strength in order, gaze piercing the light curtain to fix upon the faint flame.

One, in numbness, accelerates decay, turning a blind eye to the sparks burning beneath its feet.

The torrent of history, in this great contrast, quietly shifts its course.

Qian Gui withdrew his gaze.

He had a premonition.

After the year's end, many things will become different.

Whether for the Chen Dynasty,

or for that young man struggling to survive on the frozen soil.