Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 276 Ian's Day

Before dawn, a faint warmth already filled the domed room.

The wooden wall panels were still slightly warm from last night's fire, and a faint scent of ash and charcoal lingered in the air.

Ian slowly opened his eyes under the thick wool blanket.

For a moment after waking up, he even forgot where he was. He had moved here for half a year, but he was still not used to it.

The bed is too soft, the blankets are too warm, and the ceiling above is too neat and clean.

He habitually turned his head and saw a small cloth doll in the corner of the bedside table. Its ears were slightly curled and one eye was crooked. It was a toy made by Mia.

Low footsteps came from outside, like patrolling knights passing through the muddy alleyway, or early-rising craftsmen carrying tools.

Ian lay quietly, staring at the little doll for a long time, when suddenly he felt it was unreal.

He used to be a carpenter in Baishi Village. He dealt with wood every day, drank porridge cooked by his wife in the morning, and fell asleep at night holding his daughter and listening to the crackling of firewood.

Life may not be wealthy, but it is warm and fulfilling.

Until three years ago, in the winter, the Snow Oath was like a dagger slicing through his life, dissecting him bit by bit into a bloody, mangled outline.

That day, he went into the forest ahead of schedule just to cut a few decent fir branches.

When they returned, all they saw was black smoke, collapsed rooftops, and the well that had long since crumbled.

He knelt at the doorway where the bloodstains had not yet dried and picked up his wife's apron.

He didn't cry; he didn't have time to cry.

Mia was still alive. He found her behind the ruins of the barn. Her usually smiling eyes were now wide with fear, and she was huddled behind a haystack, too afraid to make a sound.

Finally, on the fifth night, when she began to have a high fever and fall into a coma, they almost died on a frozen stone slab.

Ian took off his last coat and wrapped her in burlap, then sat in the snow as if waiting for the gods to give her the last straw.

They didn't see the gods, but a group of patrol knights from the Crimson Tide Territory found them.

The other person glanced down at Mia in his arms and decisively whispered, "It's not too late."

And so, he followed the firelight into the temporary camp.

A miniature city that seems to have risen from the wasteland.

There was order, hot porridge, warm tents, and doctors who didn't ask about people's backgrounds.

He remembered the exhausted doctor who worked through the night to bring down Mia's fever, while he sat outside the door like a cracked log all night until someone handed him a pair of old boots.

He then whispered for the first time, "Thank you."

Later, he was assigned to the artisan team.

At first, he was skilled at tasks such as nailing fences, sawing logs, and laying flooring.

His tools were destroyed in the fire, but his craftsmanship remains.

Later, he had a fixed tent, a change of clothes, and nights when he didn't have to worry about Mia going hungry.

During the early winter nights, he would wake up three times a day to make sure she was by his side and that she no longer had a fever.

And then... she was chosen.

The bloodstone revealed her knightly bloodline. It was a future none of them had foreseen.

She entered the training camp, put on training armor, and learned riding skills and how to use battle aura.

Looking into her determined eyes, he suddenly realized that this child was no longer the thin little girl who had emerged from the woodpile; she would become a guardian.

Now they have been assigned to live in the second residential area of ​​the main city, in a "red tide-style domed house" that truly belongs to them.

“In the past, we could only spend the winter wrapped in burlap sacks under wooden sheds. Now we sleep in this big house. Who would have thought?”

Ian muttered to himself as he leaned against the fireplace and put on a thick cotton undershirt and a coarse cloth coat with a tight collar.

Then he took the small half-bowl of porridge left over from last night from the table, gulped it down, exhaled, fastened his scarf, pushed open the door, and stepped into the morning of Chichao Territory.

He's gotten used to this road.

Starting from the residential area, pass through bustling shops, walk across the square, and then turn into Gongfang Lane, which is located on the west side of the city.

The ground was covered with smooth stone bricks, and drainage ditches were embedded in the corners of the walls on both sides. Most of the thin snow that had fallen overnight had been swept away.

The distant lampposts were still lit, their warm yellow light swaying on the bluestone slabs.

A man wearing a thick coat walked past the street corner, carrying a freshly replaced hot water bucket.

He nodded and greeted Ian, who returned a smile.

More and more pedestrians appeared, mostly craftsmen, logistics personnel, and market managers, moving through the streets in an orderly manner.

Occasionally, a few children would run out of the alley, wearing the same red scarves that were distributed to them, and skip and jump into the corner, while their mothers called their names from a distance.

As Ian passed by a wall, he stopped in his tracks.

The notice posted on the bulletin board read "Ninth Batch of Winter Supplies Distributed" in bold letters, accompanied by pictures of small bread rolls, bacon, soap, and a smiling child holding a firework.

As he approached the exchange square, he saw a four-wheeled transport vehicle parked at the bottom of the ramp. Several porters were loading sacks of burlap onto the vehicle; these were rations, and those bound with red ropes were the Northern Army's quota.

Ian squinted to make out the words: “Snowfield Winter Camp - Sixth Batch of Food Storage”, stamped with a familiar seal.

He knew these things would be transported along the main road to the front-line outposts of the Red Tide in the north, where Mia would eventually go.

He continued walking forward, his pace neither hurried nor slow, and the voices of people in the wind and snow gradually became more frequent.

Upon arriving at the craftsmen's workshop, the entire carpentry camp was already bustling with activity, the air thick with the smell of sawdust and steam mixed with the aroma of furnace fires.

In the distance, the wooden beams were covered with dried fir planks. Some people carried tools and moved about, while others lifted a section of axle and shouted about dimensional errors.

As Ian stepped into the familiar warm air, a young carpenter greeted him: "The boss's here!"

"It's the last day of work, or there won't be any copper lamps left," he replied with a smile, taking off his cloak and putting on a leather apron.

The camp was gradually warming up, and the fire in the stove against the west wall was burning brightly.

Today is the last working day before the winter lockdown, so there's no need for any major construction. Everyone is just responsible for finishing touches and repairs.

Ian's carpentry apprentices were busy working around two unfinished large wooden crates.

He walked over, said nothing, took the plane, and began to trim the grooves on the edges.

Amidst the flying sawdust, his hands were bony and calloused, his fingers bearing the marks of years of hard work.

The plane moved very steadily, and the surface of the wood was polished until it was as smooth as a pebble.

A young carpenter couldn't help but exclaim, "Master, even my dad couldn't plane the edges like this!"

Ian chuckled softly but didn't respond. He buried himself in his work, meticulously working on every tenon joint.

This year he was promoted to foreman of the carpentry team. In one year, he led more than 30 people with the Urban Construction Department to build 24 new houses and three wooden bridges.

People began to call him "Master Ian," which was a great honor for a refugee who had crawled out of the snowy night.

Before noon, today's quota was fully completed.

The box was sealed, the axle was polished, the record sheet was submitted, and Tuba came to verify it personally.

The short carpentry workshop foreman stroked his beard, grinned, and said, "Everyone, you've done an excellent year. As per tradition, those who have worked diligently for a full year will each receive a lamp."

An assistant brought out a small cloth bag, and small copper lamps wrapped in oil paper were distributed.

Ian stood in the queue, and his hands trembled slightly as he received his lamp.

It was a small but sturdy lamp with a rounded flame. The lamp body was engraved with the words "Seventh Workshop, Red Tide, Third Winter" and a finely carved Red Tide sun emblem, which was said to have been designed by the lord himself. He looked at the small lamp and seemed to see himself on that snowy night.

Amidst swirling snowflakes, he carried the feverish Mia in his arms, traversing the frozen wilderness step by step.

“If it weren’t for Lord Louis…” he whispered, “I would be a pile of bones under the snow by now.”

His colleagues, who were listening nearby, all turned to look at him.

One of them spoke up: "It's our skill to work for a lord like this."

Another person smiled and held up the bronze lantern in their hand: "This year's winter lanterns are so beautiful! I want to make another one next year!"

Everyone laughed.

A section of the workshop's open space was cleared out, and dry grass and planks were laid on the ground. A makeshift wooden table was set with dried fruit, smoked meat, strong ale, and steaming carrot stew with beef.

Apprentices were already whistling, while several old craftsmen sat around recounting their glorious past.

As Ian sat down, someone handed him a glass of wine.

He did not refuse, but slowly stood up, raised his glass and looked around at everyone.

His throat tightened slightly, but he still spoke calmly: "For us, and for Lord Louis."

"For Lord Louis!" the crowd responded.

The wine glasses clinked together, producing a crisp sound.

They sat in the back of the workshop for more than an hour, chatting, laughing, eating meat, and drinking.

The copper lamps were arranged in a circle, and the firelight cast blurry spots of light on the copper wall, like stars fallen to earth.

It wasn't until the afternoon that Tuba patted his knees and stood up: "Alright, that's enough for now. We still need to collect supplies later."

So everyone got up one after another. Some people tidied up the table while hiccuping from drinking, while others carried their tools and headed back to their lodgings.

Ian, carrying his tools, headed towards the housing allocation office.

That's the Red Tide Territory's supply distribution point. Today, supplies are being distributed in sequence according to the neighborhood and workshop number.

The long queue snaked across the small stone square, orderly and patient. People, wearing fur coats or cloth cloaks, stood in the snow without a trace of anxiety.

He stood in a familiar line, next to his neighbor Hank and the weaver Gia.

“Ian, you’ve come back at just the right time.” Jia nodded with a smile. “This year has been a really good year. Tell me, how many times have you sent things now?”

“The ninth time,” Hank interjected, his voice low, but his eyes filled with emotion. “If only it could be like this every year.”

Jia couldn't help but laugh: "Yes, as long as Lord Louis is here."

As he said this, some of the people in line around him nodded silently.

When it was Ian's turn, he received the supplies for the day with both hands:

One bag of coarse wheat flour, 25 jin (12.5 kg).

Three large pieces of salted meat, with the Red Tide Territory brand on the seal.

A clean and soft cotton quilt.

Two bars of mutton fat soap, the scent of which was his daughter Mia's favorite.

There was also a small bag of fireworks, which was for setting off on the night of the Winter Solstice.

He looked at the soap in his hand with great joy; his daughter would be delighted to see it.

Suddenly, silence fell ahead, followed by a soft murmur: "It's Lord Louis."

Ian looked in the direction of the sound and saw the person walking slowly from the end of the crowd, wearing a dark red cloak, with a tall and straight figure and a calm expression.

Several attendants were talking in hushed tones, seemingly reporting something, but the lord merely nodded and then turned to personally hand a package of salted meat and bedding to a one-armed veteran at the head of the group.

The old soldier's eyes were red, and he bowed tremblingly.

Louis patted him on the shoulder.

The scene was as quiet as a lamp lit in the snow.

As Louis walked past Ian, Ian instinctively stood up straight, his eyes shining.

He bowed his head deeply, his voice soft but exceptionally sincere: "Thank you, my lord."

The man paused slightly, nodded gently, and then continued walking, like a gust of wind sweeping through a winter night, yet carrying a weight.

Ian stood there, his fingers unconsciously tightening as he gripped the piece of bacon and the soap, his palms slightly warm.

He didn't speak, but silently vowed in his heart: "I must continue to work hard... to be worthy of such a great lord."

Dusk came slowly and deeply, the sky tinged with crimson, like clouds dyed by flames.

When Ian returned home carrying his things, the first thing he saw when he pushed open the door to the domed house was a red silk tassel hanging on the door frame.

It was simply tied into a knot, yet its color was so bright it almost jumped out of the snowy background.

He smiled; that was a signal that Mia was coming home for vacation.

The stove inside was already lit, and warmth filled the air.

The soft clatter of a ladle and pan came from the other end of the kitchen.

Mia was taking off her Red Tide-style knight training uniform and putting on a new sweater that had just been issued to her, with the cuffs still rolled up.

Her back was straight and broad, her shoulders stretching the sweater into a curved shape.

Ian stood by the door, stunned for a moment, then felt a sudden warmth in his heart: "Back then she was as thin as a stick, but now she can split a shield in two."

Tonight is a pre-holiday family reunion dinner, so it's quite a feast.

There is roasted meat, lamb stew with radish, rye wine, and beetroot soup.

This is something I wouldn't have dared to dream of in previous years, but now I can enjoy it once in a while.

The father and daughter sat down, put their hands together, and whispered in unison, "Thank you, Lord Louis, for everything you have given us."

They were already familiar with this phrase, but every time they said it, a sense of solemn respect always arose in their hearts.

During the meal, Mia excitedly recounted her experiences at the training camp: "Today we practiced offense and defense, and I pinned my classmate down in the snow for the first time!"

She raised her eyebrows, her face full of pride: "Luckily it was just a rehearsal, otherwise he would have really lost his teeth."

Ian laughed as he cautioned her, "Don't get too cocky. He might let you off the hook."

Then Ian talked about the workshop distributing copper lamps and the lively scene of everyone drinking and celebrating.

They talked like that, one after another, until late at night.

Outside the window, the roof tiles were covered in silver snow, and the domed house was illuminated by the moonlight, like a silent hill.

The entire Red Tide City was immersed in gentleness and peace at this moment, with firelight shining through the window sills, and every household was peacefully asleep.

Mia went to sleep early, with only a faint breath visible under the covers.

Ian sat on the old wooden chair by the fireplace, took out the award lamp, and used a cloth to gently wipe away the snow marks on the bronze body.

He stared for a long time, his gaze calm, the smile on his lips slowly fading.

The lamp reflected the fire in the stove, and the light and shadow seemed to sway the image of his wife.

He whispered, "If only you were still here..."

(End of this chapter)