Evening had fallen.
Mu Liang and Mino returned to the wooden shed in the camp.
"Today's harvest is huge!" Mino squatted by the fire, happily playing with the little lizards she had caught.
Forty-five little lizards in total. Twenty-three were caught by the tricolor lizard, and the rest by the duo. On top of that, they had also trapped three slap-sized mice.
Mu Liang was sharpening his saber, the rhythmic sound of stone against steel echoing softly. He glanced at Mino. "Have you always eaten little lizards?"
"Yes," she replied without looking up, "and occasionally, if you're lucky, you can get a bit of hare meat."
Today had been a bounty compared to the usual two or three lizards she would catch.
"Are you… full?" Mu Liang asked, pausing mid-stroke.
"Full?" Mino tilted her head, confusion clouding her bright blue eyes. "I… don't know what 'full' feels like."
She had never eaten enough to understand it.
Mu Liang froze. Her words, simple yet so sad, pierced him. For a long moment, he stared at her dazed, probing gaze and felt an uncharacteristic irritation welling up.
With a small grunt, he tossed the sharpening stone aside.
"What's wrong?" Mino blinked, confused.
"Nothing. I'm going to take a walk in the camp," Mu Liang muttered, sheathing his saber.
He needed to check on the camp's situation—and subtly warn them about the rogue attack. A little reconnaissance never hurt.
"Be careful," Mino called after him. She had to stay behind to process the lizards into dried meat for storage.
"Okay." Mu Liang slung his backpack over his shoulder and slipped into the shadows between the wooden sheds.
The night was dark, without moonlight—perfect for moving unnoticed. The faint scent of barbecue floated through the air, and dim light seeped from cracks in the wooden houses. Most residents slept; their breathing soft in the still night.
Mu Liang knew from Mino that the camp had a hunting team responsible for catching wild animals like hares, tortoises, and wild dogs. The hunt's yield went primarily to those working for the camp leader; the rest of the residents received little. Living in the wild alone was dangerous—wolves, beasts, starvation.
A major reason people paid taxes to the leader? Water. Access to the camp's water source guaranteed survival. Mu Liang wanted to secure extra water for their journey with Houtian.
The camp was modest in size but divided into inner and outer layers. The inner layer, fortified with wood and stone fences, housed the leader and hunting team. The outer layer sheltered taxpaying residents like Mino.
A two-meter-high fence posed no obstacle to Mu Liang. He vaulted over it easily, avoiding patrollers. The aroma of roasting meat grew stronger as he neared the inner layer. Occasionally, he passed wooden houses where soft murmurs of reverie floated from inside.
"In this environment… they're lucky not to fall ill," he murmured, restoring the stone to his belt.
The leader's house was enormous—over 400 square meters, roughly the size of a basketball court.
"Really… luxurious," Mu Liang murmured. He understood why the leader's workers had it comparatively easier.
Finding a remote corner, he climbed into the building silently. Inside, a fire burned steadily, casting warm light. He assumed he had entered a side room.
From his shadowed position, he listened. Seven or eight maids were moving about. One carried a clay pot toward a guarded room near the entrance. Mu Liang melted into the darkness, aided by Mimic Discoloration, remaining unseen even from a few meters away.
The room had no windows; the only entrance was the door. Soon, the maid returned with the water-filled clay pot, slipping past the guard in frustration. Mu Liang noted the water's location and followed her into a brighter hall.
Four people were dining. The maid set down the clay pot but didn't serve it immediately. Instead, she slit a hare's throat and let its blood drip into the pot.
Mu Liang lost interest in the water jar, ready to explore elsewhere—until the conversation of the four drew him back.
"Go down," the middle-aged man at the head waved. He filled a bowl with blood from the earthenware pot and drank.
The maid left silently. The others muttered amongst themselves:
"Boss, do we really want to leave here?"
"As long as we water the vegetables less, we can last a few months."
"Watering those vegetables is a waste."
The leader slammed the table with a heavy boom. "Don't leave! Stay here and wait for death?"
He drank again from the pot and said quietly, "The water in the underground well will last ten more days at most. When it's gone, everyone dies of thirst."
"It's hard to find a new water source," one whispered.
"We could move to the Yuetan Tribe—they might accept us," another suggested.
"I agree. Or join the Moon Lake Tribe's hunting team," the third added.
The leader's expression remained icy. "Impossible. I won't let anyone go to the Moon Lake Tribe."
Leaders feared losing power. To abandon their post meant becoming a mere follower elsewhere.
"So… where do we go?" someone asked.
"I don't want to die of thirst," another replied.
"If no water is found, I'll take my family to the Yuetan Tribe."
The leader's gaze flashed with cold intent. "I've sent scouts. If no water is found in five days, we move to the Moon Lake Tribe."
"Fine… we'll wait five days," the others muttered. They ate the barbecue, poured a few bowls of blood, and left.
Mu Liang remained silent, watching the scene unfold. He now knew the camp was running critically low on water—and that even something as simple as vegetables could become a point of tension.