Zhao Ming sat ihe carriage he coach, listening to the rhythmic creak of wooden wheels against the dirt road. The caravan was well-guarded—hired meraries rode alongside them, their hands never far from their ons. Among them was a group of martial artists, easily identified by their matg purple robes and swords strapped to their waists.
The coach, a middle-aged man with sunburned skin and sharp eyes, struck up a versation.
"Haven't seen you around before, schor. Heading to Zhou ty for the exams?"
Zhao Ming gave a vague nod. "Something like that. What about you? How’s trade these days?"
The ma out a sigh. "Not great. Grain prices keep rising. The Yellow Turbans are stirring trouble, and the local warlords are h supplies. War is ing, no doubt about it. Ordinary folks are suffering the most—food is getting scarce."
Zhao Ming absorbed the information. He had heard of the Yellow Turban Rebellion, but hearing about it firsthand made it feel much more real.
The coach lowered his void oward the leading carriages. "See those young ones in purple? They’re from the Azure Cloud Sword Sect. The sect is near Zhou ty, and their disciples take on tasks like guarding caravans."
Zhao Ming narrowed his eyes. The world was not just about officials and warlords—sects, martial arts, and the jianghu also pyed a role in shaping history. If he wao survive, he o uand it all.
After nearly four hours of travel, Murong De called for a stop. The caravan pulled off the road, setting up camp in a small clearing. Some men busied themselves gathering firewood, while others teo the horses or prepared dihe aroma of cooked rid roasted meat soon filled the air.
Zhao Ming was io dih Murong De, Murong Xue, and the sect disciples.
There were four disciples in total—Murong Xue, a posed senior sister, a broad-shouldered senior brother, and a hot-blooded junior brother named .
As they ate, turo Zhao Ming with a smirk. "So, schor, what are you doing traveling to Zhou ty?"
Zhao Ming took a sip of his tea before answering. "I am to meet my teacher there. He has reended me for an official position."
snorted. "Another sch to squeeze into the imperial courts."
Before Zhao Ming could reply, Senior Sister Liu added thoughtfully, "Politid governance are important, but you must uand that martial arts hold great influence over ower struggles as well."
Zhao Ming nodded. "I agree. Martial arts shape the battlefield, but war is not fought by generals and soldiers alohe on people determihe rise and fall of empires. The Yellow Turban Rebellion did not start because of a great warrior, but because oners were starving, oppressed, and had no hope."
Murong Xue, who had been quietly listening, lowered her chopsticks, deep in thought.
scoffed. "And what does a schor like you know about war? Even if you bee an official, you really solve these problems?"
Zhao Ming chuckled lightly. "Who knows? Perhaps I will bee a wise minister… or maybe a corrupt one."
’s expression darkened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Senior Brother Fang cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Enough, . Every man walks his own path. It is not for us to judge."
clicked his to said nothing more.
Dinner tinued iive peace, with Zhao Ming occasionally gng at Murong Xue, who seemed unusually pensive.
Later that night, as Zhao Ming took a walk around the camp, he noticed Murong Xue standihe main campfire, gazing into the flickering fmes.
He approached with a polite nod. "Miss Murong, is something troubling you?"
Murong Xue turo him, her eyes sharp. “What do you think of the Yellow Turbans and the state of the on people?”
Zhao Ming took a moment before replying. “The problem is simple, yet plicated. It all stems from the low status of oners. Most people only he basics to live happily—food, clothing, shelter. But when the gover is corrupt, taxes are high, and officials abuse their power, those basieeds bee luxuries.”
Murong Xue frowned. “But oners report corrupt officials to a magistrate. A good official would protect them.”
Zhao Ming chuckled, though there was no humor in his voice. “Trust in the gover is already broken. When the system fails, people turn to whatever hope they find—even if it is false. The Yellow Turbans are not just rebels; they are desperate people grasping at a promise, even if it's a lie. To them, false hope is better than dying in despair.”
Murong Xue remained silent, lost in thought. The firelight flickered in her eyes, casting long shadows across her face.
For the first time, Zhao Mihat she was truly sidering his words.
Sensing that she ime to reflect, Zhao Ming took a step bad offered a slight bow. "It’s been a long day. I shall take my leave a for the night. Good evening, Miss Murong."
Murong Xue gave a small nod but said nothing as Zhao Ming turned away. After a brief pause, she let out a quiet sigh and made her way bauroent to rest.
End of Chapter 3
