At first, the local governments refused to open warehouses to send out rations. Chang Geng personally took the position of an inspector the year before. On one hand, he ran back and forth between all the major trading groups for the Feng Huo tickets; on the other, he borrowed troops from General Zhong. Along the way, he dealt with a group of vile merchants and rotten officials who had hidden the rations without distributing them, using flashy means to frighten them, finally giving the incredibly crowded group of refugees a place to receive some watery porridge.

Whether it be a well-off family or a poor peasant, hundreds of years and generations of people had been reluctant to eat and shop to save up some fortune. But after only half a year, all had been destroyed.

This mortal life where the vast sea turned to mulberry fields was much like the storms and torrential winds — materialistic goods could not come with birth and could not be brought along in death. Even after exhausting one's efforts, in the end, one could only do their best, then listen to fate's disposal.

The Black Iron Camp at Jiayu Gate, as usual, had prepared three carts of fireworks for the upcoming eighth year of Long An. On New Year's Eve, lanterns were hung on the city buildings, and the guards seemed particularly careless.

A scout of the Western Regions wearing dry grass sneaked to the outside of Jiayu Gate, using the Qian Li Yan to keep an eye on it all day. The guards of Black Iron Camp seemed very loose; the soldiers of the post who stood as straight as javelins on weekdays were now half missing. Some kept scratching their heads, looking left and right, some even continuously looked back as if they were expecting something... this absence of mind was explained after a while. It turned out that a batch of letters from home came from the nearest post station. Through the Qian Li Yan, the Western Regions scout could see the messengers go directly to the city gate on that day. Many of the people who received the letters tore them open on the spot.

Every day there was only one Light Cavalry on the patrol, making rounds not near or far only for the sake of it, then would turn back.

The Black Iron Camp's soldiers were still human beings. At the end of the year, there were always some special days that would affect their hearts and minds.