Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

Chen Xing's voice echoed across the desolate riverbank, carrying a calmness incongruous with the surrounding horrific scene. However, this calmness failed to immediately dispel the deep-seated fear in the eyes of the refugees. They remained huddled behind the dilapidated wagon formation, like frightened quails, their eyes darting fearfully between Chen Xing, the silent, iron-willed army behind him, and the corpses of bandits strewn across the ground.

These Xuanjia soldiers are terrifying! They kill bandits more swiftly and decisively than the bandits themselves; their cold, efficient killing style sends chills down your spine. Now that the bandits are dead, how will these ruthless warriors treat these penniless refugees? Is it like escaping one wolf's den only to fall into another?

The burly man wielding the wooden stick was the only one in the group who could still maintain a semblance of composure. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, his grip on the blood- and brain-stained stick tightening, veins bulging on his arm. He stepped forward, shielding the elderly and weak behind him even more, his gaze fixed on Chen Xing with scrutiny and undisguised wariness. His Mandarin was thick with a northern accent, his voice hoarse from the earlier struggle.

"Thank you... thank you so much for saving my life, sir!" He clasped his hands in a fist salute, his movements somewhat stiff, clearly unaccustomed to such etiquette, and even more unaccustomed to bowing to an unidentified and powerful "sir." "May I ask... which unit are you from, sir? What do you want us to do?"

His question was direct and realistic, and it voiced the fear in the hearts of all the refugees. In this chaotic world, there is no such thing as a helping hand without a reason; behind every act of "kindness" may lie a price that they cannot afford to pay.

Chen Xing could clearly sense the other party's heightened vigilance, like a taut bowstring. He understood this emotion; in an era where human life was cheap, remaining alert to any sudden and powerful force was a survival instinct.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead slowly scanned the refugees behind the line of carts. Most of them were emaciated, their lips cracked, their clothes tattered and barely covering their bodies, shivering in the chilly wind. Several children huddled behind their mothers, their wide eyes filled with bewildered fear. Two young refugees lay on the ground, one groaning as he clutched his bleeding, slashed arm, the other with a pierced thigh, pale and barely breathing. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and despair.

This is a group of people who have been tormented to the brink of death by the chaos of war.

Chen Xing sighed softly to himself. He knew that at this moment, any empty promises or tough stances would be useless; only practical actions could slightly break through this thick layer of ice.

He turned his head and whispered a few instructions to Chen Wei, who stood beside him like an iron tower. A hint of surprise flashed in Chen Wei's eyes, but he did not question him. He immediately turned around and made a few hand gestures to the Wei soldiers behind him.

Soon, several Wei soldiers took out several dark brown millet cakes wrapped in oiled paper and two leather water bags from their marching bags. They silently stepped forward and placed them on the open ground in front of the chariot formation, then quickly retreated back to their ranks. The whole process was silent and swift, without the slightest hesitation.

The corn cakes looked rough and hard, and the water bags were unremarkable, but to these refugees who hadn't eaten for who knows how long, they were undoubtedly the most tempting things in the world. A series of suppressed swallowing sounds rose from the crowd, and several children's eyes were fixed on the food, almost glowing with greed. But none of them dared to move; all eyes were on the burly man, awaiting his decision.

The burly man stared at the food and water on the ground, his Adam's apple bobbing, his eyes growing more wary. He looked at Chen Xing, his voice low, "Sir, what is the meaning of this?"

"Although the bandits have been eliminated, this is not a place to stay for long. The smell of blood will soon attract wild animals or other uninvited guests." Chen Xing's voice remained calm. He pointed to the wounded on the ground, "Some of you are injured and need treatment. Give these dry rations and water to the women, children, and infants first, so they can have something to eat. As for the wounded..."

He paused, his gaze falling on the vagrant whose thigh had been pierced and who was barely breathing. "If you trust me, I can try to stop the bleeding."

These words stunned not only the refugees but also Chen Wei, who glanced at them sideways. "My lord...knows medicine?"

The burly man's face was filled with disbelief. In this chaotic world, food was more precious than gold; who would readily share it with complete strangers and refugees? Especially not with someone who appeared to be of high status, commanding such a powerful army, and who was far too young. Did he have ulterior motives? Was he after their destitution? Or...?

His gaze unconsciously swept over several young women in the crowd who, although haggard, still had faintly discernible pretty faces, and his heart tightened suddenly.

Chen Xing seemed to see through his thoughts and said calmly, "If I had ulterior motives, I wouldn't need to go to such lengths."

In short, it was unremarkable, yet it carried a confidence based on absolute strength. Indeed, given the strength of the enemy's army, if they were to forcibly seize it, these remnants of the army would have absolutely no chance of resistance.

The burly man's expression of struggle deepened. He looked at his companion's painful groans on the ground, at the longing for food and water in the eyes of his tribesmen behind him, and then at Chen Xing's calm and seemingly harmless gaze. Finally, he gritted his teeth.

"Tiedan, Gousheng, dilute the bread and water, prioritize the children and the elderly!" He instructed the two slightly calmer youths behind him, then looked at Chen Xing again, clasped his hands and bowed deeply. This time, his posture was much lower. "On behalf of the entire clan, Zhao Tiezhu thanks you again, General, for saving my life! If you can save my brother, my life... my life belongs to you!"

His words were spoken with unwavering conviction, carrying a simple and profound sense of gratitude characteristic of ordinary people.

Chen Xing remained noncommittal, simply walking towards the line of vehicles. Zhao Tiezhu hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside, but still gripped the wooden stick tightly, following closely beside Chen Xing, clearly not completely letting his guard down.

Chen Xing paid no attention and went straight to the refugee whose thigh had been pierced, squatting down beside him. The injured man was a young man in his early twenties, who was now delirious from blood loss and pain. His tattered trousers were soaked in blood and were still oozing out.

"Chen Wei, our medicine." Chen Xing stretched out his hand without turning his head.

Chen Wei immediately took out a small ceramic jar from the leather pouch at his waist. Inside was a hemostatic powder made from a mixture of several herbs, which was standard issue for Wei Wu soldiers. Although it was crude, it was considered a good item for the army in this era.

Chen Xing took the medicine pot and then said to a relatively clean-looking homeless woman next to him, "Could you please find some clean water and some clean strips of cloth, the cleaner the better?"

The woman paused for a moment, looked at Zhao Tiezhu, and when Zhao Tiezhu nodded, she hurriedly took a broken earthenware pot from a dilapidated cart. There was still a little less than half a pot of clear drinking water inside. She then rummaged through a bundle and found a few pieces of old cloth that were patched and faded from washing. She handed them to Chen Xing with trembling hands.

Chen Xing carefully rinsed the blood and grime around the wound with clean water, revealing the gruesome bloody hole. His movements weren't particularly skillful, but thanks to the enhanced body control brought about by his "ancient martial arts body," and the rigorous attitude of a researcher, each step was performed methodically, steadily, and precisely. He rinsed the wound, observed its depth, and checked for any ruptured major blood vessels. Fortunately, there seemed to be none. Then, he evenly sprinkled styptic powder and applied pressure with a clean strip of cloth.

Throughout the entire process, the surrounding refugees watched with bated breath, Zhao Tiezhu's eyes fixed intently. They saw this young "military officer" show no disgust, personally tending to the lowly wounded man's filthy wounds. Though his movements were unfamiliar, they carried a reassuring calmness. Especially after the hemostatic powder was applied, the bleeding visibly slowed, and finally stopped! Although the wounded man remained unconscious, his breathing seemed to have stabilized somewhat.

This scene had a greater impact than the previous food distribution!

In this era of scarce medical resources, injury, especially war wounds, was almost a death sentence. Yet this young man before them actually possessed medical knowledge and was willing to use it on these lowly refugees!

Zhao Tiezhu's grip on the wooden stick loosened slightly without him realizing it. He watched as Chen Xing finished bandaging the wound, calmly stood up, and rinsed his blood-stained hands with water. In the dim light of the day, his profile seemed to carry an indescribable halo.

A complex mix of gratitude, awe, and a glimmer of hope in despair quietly took root in the hearts of these refugees.

Food, medical care, and powerful military protection... Aren't these exactly what they struggled for and longed for in this chaotic world?

Chen Xing dried his hands and looked at Zhao Tiezhu again. This time, he took the initiative to ask, "Where are you from? What are your plans for the future?"

Upon hearing this, Zhao Tiezhu's face instantly became covered with an overwhelming layer of grief and anger. He glanced around at his clansmen behind him, his voice filled with suppressed pain and hatred:

"Sir...we...we were originally villagers from Zhao Family Village, seventy miles to the north..."