Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 432 Change
The warmth of last night's food distribution hadn't completely dissipated; those eyes lurking in the shadows remained wary, but the instinct to flee at the sight of people had diminished somewhat.

The little mud huddled in the deepest shadow, its back pressed against the cold stone, not daring to move.

She was eleven, or twelve, or thirteen... I can't remember.

Age is a meaningless number in Black Swamp Town.

There are only two kinds of people: those who can move and those who are waiting to die.

Little Muddy doesn't remember his parents' faces, only the salty taste of dust filling his throat on the day the mine collapsed.

Later, someone told her that her mother was buried underneath, and her father held on for half a year before dying at home.

The body was dragged away the next day and used to fill the pit.

Children like her are not uncommon in Black Swamp.

When they were really hungry, they would lie on the edge of the swamp and pick out insects, their fingernails were always black.

Little Mud's hair was tangled into a single mass, as if someone had poured tar on it and stuck it to his scalp.

The abscesses crawled from his neck all the way up to his shoulders and back, and the broken parts oozed yellow fluid, soaking the tattered burlap sack that barely covered his body until it turned black.

When the wind blows, the stench spreads, and even rats will avoid it.

She stared at the alley entrance, where footsteps and unfamiliar voices could be heard.

"These people are from the north." This statement has been circulating in the town since last night.

She knew these barbarians from the North.

When the adults chatted in the mine, they talked about how the barbarians in the North ate people.

But because he remembered the taste of that pot of hot porridge, Little Mud didn't run away immediately when the footsteps approached again.

The footsteps stopped at the alley entrance, and several young people in matching protective suits peeked in, their eyes lingering on her for a moment.

She let out a short scream, turned to run, but a hand grabbed her wrist.

These men were very strong. She struggled desperately, her voice hoarse, as if she were howling, "Let me go! Don't eat me!"

Little Muddy was dragged out of the alley, and the sunlight suddenly shone on her face, causing her to instinctively squint.

Steam rose from the square, and wooden barrels were lined up one after another, as if they had been prepared in advance.

She was lifted up and thrown into the bucket...

"So they really are going to cook me and eat me," Little Mud thought in despair.

The expected burning sensation did not occur; the water was lukewarm.

Little Muddy was stunned.

The next second, a bar of soap, smelling of grease and wood ash, was pressed against her shoulder.

Rough, but not painful.

Someone was vigorously scrubbing her back.

Black mud sloughed off her body and spread across the water's surface.

The dirt around the pustules was washed away little by little, revealing the pale, almost transparent skin underneath.

…………

Thorne stood on the high steps, his hand resting on the railing, where he could see the entire square.

Wooden barrels, steam, razors, piles of cut hair.

People were forced to sit down and had their heads shaved. Some cried, some cursed, but they didn't stop.

He had initially thought that the place was inhabited by a group of monsters twisted by mud and disease.

But as each face was washed clean, and as the hair fell down, revealing their full features, he suddenly realized the unsettling truth: these people were no different from him.

The same eyes, the same nose, and the same instinctive urge to close their eyes when water is splashed on their face.

It's just that time and despair have shaped it into what it is now.

This discovery made Thorne's throat tighten.

Pete, who was standing next to him, said, "They only feel like human beings when they're clean."

He paused for a moment: "No one is willing to die in a mud pit like a pig."

After washing, someone led the little muddy girl aside.

An old cotton coat, altered to be smaller, was stuffed into her arms.

The fabric was rough, but thick and clean, with a hint of sunshine.

Those were Chi Chao's work clothes; they didn't fit, but there were no fleas.

This was the best dress she had ever seen in her life.

The woman from the medical team helped her sit down and unscrewed a small bottle. Purple liquid was poured onto a cloth and pressed onto her festering skin.

The pain exploded suddenly, and Little Muddy gasped. He instinctively tried to shrink back, but was firmly held down.

"Just bear with it." The voice was very calm.

The coolness quickly overcame the stinging pain, like the wind blowing over a burning wound, and her shoulders and back stopped itching.

At the entrance of the village, there was something she had never seen before: a large bronze mirror standing upright.

Little Mudball was pushed in front of the mirror, and instinctively lowered his head, only to have his chin lifted up again.

The person in the mirror stunned her.

She raised her hand to touch her face, then touched the new cotton coat, and suddenly felt a tightness in her chest.

She didn't want to die; she wanted to live.

I want to live like this forever, clean and pure.

…………

After washing the body, shaving the head, and applying medicine, the next step is to clean the environment.

Dirt should not remain on people's bodies, nor should it continue to accumulate where they are to live.

The fire was lit by the swamp, not for warmth, but for the crooked, muddy black poplar trees.

The tree trunk was still dripping water when it was dragged out, and it was riddled with wormholes, a sight that would make anyone frown.

Thorne stood to the side, his brow furrowed. "Lord Pete, this wood is all wet and full of insect eggs. If we use it to build a house, it will collapse in three months, and the house will smell worse inside than outside."

In his experience, such things only deserve to be burned or left to rot in the mud.

Pete did not object, but had the bark peeled off and the wood placed on the fire.

The flames licked at the surface of the wood, and the moisture first evaporated wildly, then the color gradually darkened.

The outer layer was charred black, cracks appeared, but it quickly stabilized, as if it had been sealed with a shell.

“Fire kills insects,” Pete said as he adjusted the position of the wood. “The carbonized layer prevents corrosion and moisture.”

He kicked the blackened wooden stake with the tip of his boot: "This kind of wood, even if you throw it back into the swamp and let it soak for a hundred years, it won't rot."

Thorne watched as the burned wooden stakes were carried away and then driven deep into the mud with heavy hammers.

The exposed portions of the wooden stakes were connected by beams, and the floor was raised half a meter off the ground.

The walls were made of carbonized wood panels, and the gaps were filled with clay mixed with dry grass. After being compacted, the wind could no longer get in.

Thorne stood there, watching rows of black roofs rise up on the swamp, and his throat moved.

Just as I was about to look away, I noticed that Pete's shoulder was chafed raw by the logs.

Blood mixed with sweat seeped out, but the other party seemed oblivious, still directing people to adjust the position of the wooden stakes.

Thorne frowned, took off his robe and tossed it aside, revealing the shirt underneath. He then walked over and snatched the piece of wood from Pete's shoulder.

"Get out of the way." His tone was rude. "You don't have the strength. This kind of work is for knights."

Pete paused for a moment, then smiled, released the wooden block, and handed over a pot of water.

The two exchanged a glance and said nothing more; at that moment, their sense of class was overwhelmed by sweat.

…………

As darkness fell, Little Mud was led into the new house.

This is one of the first houses built in Kuronuma Town. According to the regulations of the Red Tide, priority is given to the elderly, the sick, and children who have no one to take care of them, while young adults are given priority.

She stood at the doorway, hesitated for a moment, and then carefully climbed inside.

The floor is made of dry wooden planks; you won't sink in when you step on it, and it won't leak water.

The house was perched on the mud, a short distance off the ground.

The walls were black, rough to the touch, yet warm to the touch.

The smell of burnt wood reminded her of the distant firelight from the previous night, and a sense of peace settled over her.

The wind blew through the swamp.

In the past, night winds like this would feel like knives piercing through burlap sacks, scraping so hard they hurt your bones.

But tonight, the clay mixed with hay has sealed up all the gaps.

In the corner of the room sat a small, roughly made tin stove, its edges showing signs of hammering. The coal was lit, and the heat slowly spread out.

Little Muddy huddled inside, hugging his knees, and for the first time in the night, he didn't shiver from the damp cold.

The house hangs above the swamp, like a clumsy yet sturdy ark.

When she lay down, her eyes were open and remained open for a long time, as if afraid that it was all just a long dream.

At that moment, the door was gently pushed open.

Little Muddy instinctively shrank its body, but it didn't smell the familiar stench of decay and alcohol.

Pete walked in, hunched over, still wearing his uniform jacket, the cuffs of which were covered in mud.

He was holding several hot, cracked potatoes in his hand, steaming.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" Pete took a few steps closer, handed over a potato, then paused, "Are you still hungry?"

Little Muddy paused for a moment, instinctively reached out his hand, then abruptly pulled it back.

Pete didn't pull his hand back. Instead, he grabbed her wrist, turned her hand over, and examined it carefully by the light of the fire. Her fingernails were clean.

"Well washed, acceptable." Only then did Pete put the potato into her hand.

The warmth traveled through his palms, and Little Mudball's throat bobbed. He lowered his head and asked softly, "Why... are you so nice to me?"

Pete thought for a moment and said, "Because in the red tide, children are the seeds of the future. If the seeds don't sprout, it's not their fault, it's the farmers' dereliction of duty."

He stood up and dusted off his hands: "I have class tomorrow night. One for literacy, one for math, and one about how to exchange work points for things. Make sure you come and take a look."

The door closed again, and Little Muddy hugged the hot potato, lowered his head, and took a bite.

It was very hot, but she didn't let go.

…………

The next evening, candles were lit in the center of the square.

The wind was a little calmer than during the day, but the flame was still unsteady, swaying gently inside the lampshade.

Pete stood in front of the wooden platform, hung up a rough wooden board, and then rubbed it with a charcoal pencil, leaving marks of varying depths.

People slowly gathered around, including children and adults.

Thorne also stood on the perimeter. He had worked all day and his shoulders were still sore, but he still didn't leave.

Pete picked up the charcoal pencil and looked at the orphan he had met the night before: "What's your name?"

Little Muddy paused for a moment, then subconsciously lowered its head.

"I don't have a name," she whispered. "Everyone calls me Little Mud."

Pete shook his head. "Mud is on the ground," he said. "You're a person standing up."

The charcoal pencil made a sound as it scratched the wooden board.

“This is Nian Lili,” Pete said, pointing to the two symbols. “In the North, it’s a flower. It can even bloom in the frozen ground.”

He turned around and looked at her.

"From today onwards, this will be your name."

Lily, she stared at the wooden board, at her name.

Pete didn't stay long.

He drew a few simple lines under the wooden board and wrote down a few numbers.

"Learning to read and do arithmetic isn't for now," he said. "It's for later."

"From now on, when you stand in the workshop, in front of the accounting table, on the bridge and the dam, you will no longer need to bow your head and ask others, 'Is this mine? Should I take it?'"

He drew a square on the wooden board with charcoal.

"Those who can do math, keep accounts, manage people, read, read blueprints, be foremen, and wear uniforms don't have to do manual labor their whole lives."

Pete looked up at the faces that were gradually focusing their attention.

“You are illiterate now, but in the future, the roads to be built, the cities to be established, and the factories to be managed in this area will all need literate people.”

Words and numbers are the threshold. If you cross it, you're inside; if you don't, you can only watch from the outside.

The crowd fell silent.

“Lord Louis said,” Pete continued, “that whoever can learn a hundred words in a week can become a recorder. The kind in uniform.”

When get out of class ended, the crowd slowly dispersed.

Lily didn't leave. She picked up a twig and started drawing on the newly laid cement floor.

A circle with a short line around it.

Pete crouched down and glanced at it: "Gold coins?"

She shook her head: "No."

She raised her face and spoke softly but earnestly: "This is Lord Louis. I have never met him, but you said he is warm and gentle, like the sun."

The people who hadn't yet dispersed stopped in their tracks.

An old blind man groped his way to the painting and slowly knelt down.

There was only one patch of ground that wasn't completely dry.

But in their hearts, the person who gave them food, clothes, and a name was more real than the Dragon Ancestor in the church who only collected taxes.

…………

One month later, a thick fog enveloped the valley one morning.

The town of Kuronuma no longer exists.

The mud that once swallowed people whole was leveled and compacted, and two rows of straight stilt houses lined the riverbank.

Carbonized wooden pillars were driven deep into the ground, the house suspended in mid-air, and the shadows fell on the road surface paved with gravel and quick-drying cement, gleaming with a cold, bluish-gray light.

The stench of decay was gone, replaced by a faint scent of burnt wood and the cool, refreshing aroma of lime disinfection.

The bronze bell rang in the square.

That was a bell that the Craftsmen's Office had just cast; its sound wasn't particularly melodious, but it was clear enough.

As the call spread, more than a thousand laborers quickly emerged from their houses and lined up in the square.

Lily stood in the front row.

She was wearing faded gray overalls with the cuffs shortened, and her hair was cut into a neat short style.

That face, once covered in pustules, was clean and thin, but its eyes were unusually clear.

She wore a polished wooden plaque around her neck, with the simple words "Outstanding Student of Literacy Class" engraved on it.

She stood ramrod straight, raised her hand to straighten the collar of an orphan who had lost his balance, and lowered her voice: "Chest out. Teacher Pete said we are the Red Tide's reserve force, not beggars."

The child paused for a moment, then immediately straightened up like a knight.

Thorne stood on the lookout tower on the high slope, overlooking the entire square.

Not just in Kuronuma Town, but over the past month, changes have spread outwards like ripples.

On three dirt roads in the distance, teams dressed in gray overalls are converging on the riverbank.

They carried shovels and pickaxes, their steps not exactly synchronized, but they all walked steadily.

Those were Tiezha Village, Kumu Village, and several other small, almost forgotten settlements further away.

In the past, even tax collectors were too lazy to go to these places.

Now, however, some people are venturing out on their own, following the river and the road signs, heading in the same direction.

They didn't know anything about water conservancy planning, nor could they explain the regulations and provisions of the red tide; they had only heard that there was work to do, food to eat, and nights when they wouldn't be dragged away at will.

The flow of people, like guided water, converged from all directions, gradually pouring into the construction site that was taking shape.

This is not the revival of a town.

This is the first time in the entire Limestone Province that everyone has started breathing in the same direction.

On the riverbank, the steam pile driver is already in place.

The black iron pipe spewed out white mist, and the piston rose and fell slowly, like a giant beast that had just awakened, with a long whistle.

The sound tore through the thick fog, startling the water birds into flight.

Pete walked up to the platform, raised the red flag, and without further ado, declared: "Let's get to work, for the Red Tide!"

"For the Red Tide!"

The roar of the responding river drowned out the glacier's howl.

Lily hoisted the measuring tape, which was almost as tall as her, and followed the group toward the riverbank.

The first stake was driven heavily into the riverbank amidst the fog.

The fate of the Limestone Province was nailed to its foundation at this moment.

(End of this chapter)