Chapter 287 — An Uneasy Winter

Camille departed. Gao Yang rose from behind his desk, walked to the windowsill, and gazed quietly toward the north bank.

There were not yet many buildings in the territory; his line of sight could pass directly over the administrative district, the residential district, and the dock district at the city's northern edge. With the powerful vision of a legendary knight, he could see very far.

It was a clear day after the snow had stopped; the scenery on the north bank of the Whitewater River was even faintly visible.

The newly formed Twenty-Fifth Production and Construction Brigade, along with the "prisoner labor team" made up of sixteen Typhon captives, had already been dispatched to the north bank to begin construction of a new residential area. Scaffolding of varying heights, like bare branches against the backdrop of winter snow, was gradually rising from that land. The Mist Moon was nearing its end; after this "month" lasting more than sixty days came the colder and harsher "Chill Moon." On the lands of the various noble lords, vast numbers of destitute people would face the greatest trial of life and death that they endured every year, while the Cecil territory would complete the year's final batch of engineering projects and prepare for the next year's population growth and spring plowing.

After the Chill Moon came the Revival Moon. Once spring plowing began, farming would grow busy everywhere, and it would no longer be so easy to buy cheap serfs—but there was never any shortage of refugees. There were always commoners who, for one reason or another, lost their land, lost their homes, were driven from their native soil or fled from it. Like migrating ants, they traveled from one territory to another; some died on the road, some died in foreign lands. Even in years of favorable weather, there were always those who left their homes.

After all, this was the desolate Southern Frontier. A hundred years had passed since the decline of the Cecil family, and the countless pioneering outposts and grain-storage settlements of the past had all been reduced to nothing in the process of the nobles' redivision of spheres of influence. Land was easy to lay waste and hard to rebuild, and with the Southern Frontier nobles in constant friction, people simply could not settle down to reclaim new land and build homes. Thus refugees had become virtually a "normal phenomenon" of the Southern Frontier, and nobles great and small had long since grown accustomed to it.

Under such circumstances, as long as there was a piece of land that was stable and could fill one's belly, it would naturally attract large numbers of migrants. All Gao Yang needed to consider were two questions: first, whether he could "swallow" so many people; and second...

...whether those "good neighbors" would simply stand by and watch the Cecil territory grow larger and larger.

A heavy snow had also fallen on the royal capital—the heaviest since the start of winter.

Virode stood atop the highest tower of the Yaoxiao Cathedral, letting the cold wind, whipping up snow dust blown down from the roof, lash against her face—yet she seemed utterly unaware of it.

This was the highest point in the cathedral. At the very top of the tall spire, a special prayer chamber had been built, and in the center of its roof was set a single priceless holy light crystal. The crystal penetrated the roof and thrust directly outside, pointing at the sky. To place an energy crystal at the highest possible point—the faithful believed this was the way to be closest to God.

Thus this prayer chamber at the spire's summit was also the most special place in the entire cathedral. Ordinary believers had absolutely no qualification to enter; even Virode had been permitted to set foot here only after passing the "test of God."

Yet she did not pray, nor did she raise her head to gaze at the holy light crystal that could drive any follower of the holy light into raptures. She merely opened the window and looked down at the streams of people walking on the ground below.

The accumulated snow had not yet been cleared; the entire city was shrouded in silver and white. The square before the cathedral and several roads were also covered in a layer of pure white. That pristine color concealed all the filth, squalor, and decay—sewage and excrement alike, even the corpses of those frozen to death, were all temporarily hidden by the white, as though they had never existed.

The crowds coming to worship walked through that expanse of white: citizens in brightly colored winter clothes, wealthy merchants, knights, nobles. They formed several clearly distinct streams of people, entering the cathedral grounds through different gates, seeking divine guidance in this building blessed by the holy light—and some psychological comfort to let them continue their current lives with a clear conscience.

The snow was trampled by the crowds in the process, melted by the sunlight. Behind the worshippers, the black streets emerged once more, mixed with the mud of melting snow, as filthy as the worshippers themselves.

Virode suddenly closed her eyes. She drew a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her expression had calmed once more, and there was no longer any ripple of joy or anger in her gaze.

"Humans are born full of flaws, yet they yearn for the light," Virode murmured as if in self-hypnosis. The holy light energy surging around her gradually subsided with these words. At last she raised her head, gazed at the street below, and prayed softly: "May you guide the holy light..."