The storm arrived not with thunder, but with more overseers.
By the time the sun rose, four new guards had joined the camp, each armed with bronze daggers and wearing fresh hemp vests. Their presence alone brought an unease that rippled across the ranks of laborers. They moved with sharper steps, their eyes scanning the lines with cold calculation.
"Something's wrong," Hu muttered as they lined up for morning assignment. "We've never had this many guards."
Something was indeed wrong. He sensed it instantly—the subtle shift in posture, the silence between the overseers, the way they positioned themselves near the supply shed and the granary.
This wasn't routine.
This was preparation.
The system chimed faintly in his head:
[Threat Assessment: Internal Inspection Likely]
[Probability of Cache Discovery: 63%]
His heartbeat tightened.
He had acted quickly to dismantle the caches, but even small mistakes could mean disaster. And if any hint of organization among the laborers was noticed—if anyone saw the faint traces of their training, their coordination—then the entire cell would be exposed.
He kept his expression blank, his head down, but every sense sharpened.
By midday, the guards had begun questioning random workers.
"Where are you from?"
"What tools have gone missing?"
"Who ate more than their rations?"
"Have you seen anyone hiding food?"
One man stammered too slowly; he was beaten until he fell unconscious. The point was made: fear was their instrument.
The guards moved like wolves. One began following Zhang.
He watched silently from his position, loading stones. Zhang performed perfectly—slow, tired, exactly like a weary slave. But the guard's attention remained fixed, studying the way Zhang balanced a stone, the sharpness in his gaze.
"Too sharp," he murmured. "Zhang's too aware."
A shadow crossed his thoughts—his cell's cohesion had grown too quickly, too efficiently. Signs of coordination had become visible to trained eyes.
That night, the guard returned.
This time, he followed Hu.
The system flashed again:
[Immediate Risk Detected]
[Suggested Action: Distraction]
He looked across the sleeping camp. Men curled on the earth like discarded tools. Guards patrolled with flickering torches. One misstep would end them.
But no action was worse.
He signaled Zhang with the faintest tilt of his chin.
Zhang nodded.
The plan was simple, dangerous, and desperate: create a disturbance far enough away that the guard would abandon his pursuit. Zhang moved first, slipping behind a tent where loose timber was stored.
A moment later:
CRASH!
The sound echoed across the night as wood spilled and collapsed noisily.
Guards cursed. Torches swung.
The suspicious guard sprinted toward the noise—
Just as planned.
Hu slipped away from view, reunited with the others beneath the outcrop.
"What now?" Hu whispered urgently.
He exhaled slowly, steadying his voice.
"We survive. We make ourselves small. And we wait."
The outcrop was cramped with four bodies, the child included, but it felt almost safe—dark and hidden from prying eyes. They pressed their backs to the earth as guards examined the fallen timber.
Zhang returned minutes later, sweat-soaked but unharmed.
Hu swore under his breath. "You almost got caught."
Zhang rolled his shoulders. "If I did, it would have been for the right cause."
He looked between them, feeling something heavy settle in his chest. Their loyalty wasn't the hollow loyalty of the system's numbers—this was real, earned through shared risk and shared suffering.
And now it needed to be protected.
"We can't survive like this," he whispered. "Constantly chased, constantly hiding. If we stay slaves forever… we die slaves."
Zhang's jaw tightened.
Hu looked up.
The child stared with round, frightened eyes.
He clenched his fists.
"It's time to change strategy."
Zhang leaned forward. "What plan?"
He looked out at the Great Wall, silhouetted against the moon.
"If we cannot rely on hiding…"
He took a breath.
"…then we must become too valuable to kill."
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