Tragedy pushes the good and evil of life to extremes, and the philosophical wisdom and historical lessons it offers are beyond comparison. Human nature is immensely complex; it possesses a vast capacity for tolerance—the frenzy that makes people lose their composure, the meanness that makes one gnash one's teeth, the cowardice that wrings the hands, the contemptible slickness and worldliness. Yet, corresponding to these, there is also the daring to brave offense and speak blunt, loyal remonstrances, maintaining one's backbone and integrity even with the entire nation as one's enemy, without ever changing one's bearing. This is the duality of human nature. All things in the world follow the same principle. Take the sun, for instance: once mankind accepts the magnificent splendor of its bursting forth and the exuberant vigor of its ascent, it must also accept the scorching arrogance of its zenith, for they are bestowed upon you at the same time.
—Duliang, *Drawing Swords*
Scenery of the northern land, a thousand miles sealed in ice, ten thousand miles of drifting snow.
The gale whipped up the accumulated snow and let it fall with a vengeance, striking all targets indiscriminately.
Snowflakes rose and fell, instantly forming a hazy, misty expanse.
Within fifty meters, man and beast were indistinguishable.
Amidst the endless white snow, a procession crawled slowly across the land like a white serpent.
People kept falling behind; if they were not noticed in time, only death awaited them.
"Hah..."
Sergei Schneitsevitch rubbed his frost-reddened hands, desperately pulling his filthy, coarse cloth clothes tighter around himself in search of a shred of warmth and comfort.
Sensation was gradually leaving his body, and his grayish-white Feline ears twitched constantly beneath his Ursus felt cap.
He increasingly felt as stiff as a wooden puppet, and could even distinctly hear the sound of his upper and lower rows of teeth chattering against each other.
With that, he chewed even harder on the bit-like thing in his mouth.
The taste of leather in his mouth grew stronger.
"...Charles!"
A female voice came from the front of the procession.
Talulah, the leader of this temporarily nameless organization.
Beside Sergei, a Liberi man quickly stepped forward and hurried to his side.
Clutched tightly to his chest was not merely a yellowed map, but the final hope for the entire group struggling to survive on the snowfield.
Sergei understood. Extending his purple-red, frostbitten hands, he quickly drew an iron box from his breast pocket.
The bitter winter made touching it feel like grasping a block of ice for both Sergei and Charles, yet the combat compass strictly selected by the Ursus military could still guarantee operation.
This was one of the key factors that enabled Ursus to become the most formidable warlike empire on this land.
Charles took it, swiftly tucked it back into his bosom, and ran toward the front of the line.
Sergei once again instinctively tightened his clothes and sniffled.
The weight on his back had decreased, and that was not a good thing.
The coarse grain in the sack was only enough for everyone to eat one more meal.
"...Sigh."
If living had not become impossible, who would rebel? Who would ever want to rebel?
The people's wishes were simple and plain:
To have enough to eat—that was enough.
A warm kang, a wife, and children—such things counted as high spiritual pursuits here.
Now, they had to live for themselves.
Wind and snow could extinguish some flames, but they could not extinguish the fires of ideals and rebellion.
"Set up the pots and start cooking!"
"Set up the pots and start cooking!"
"Set up the pots and start cooking!"...
As the order passed down the line, another Lupo figure flashed past.
On Ivan’s back was strapped a large, black pot.
Several other people wearing the worn uniforms of the old Ursus Inspectorate ran up behind him, pulling out entrenching tools to start digging smokeless stove pits in the ground.
Sergei stepped forward, drew the notched heavy machete from his waist, and hacked down into the snow layer.
*Clang—*
The compacted snow instead jammed the blade fast, the recoil sending a numbness tingling through the web of his thumb.
*Hiss—*
Instinctively loosening his grip on the hilt, he shook his hand, laboriously pulled the blade free again, and struck down once more at the snow layer just before.
*Clang—*
*Clack-clack—*
Repeating this four times over, he finally drove the blade straight into the center of this "snow brick" and gave it a fierce pull—
Done.
Sergei walked over to the makeshift stove and tossed the chunk of snow into the iron pot.
*Sizzle—*
A sound much like hot oil suddenly erupted from within the pot.
Talulah wore a Ursus noble’s military greatcoat, beneath which she still wore her neat and capable Ursus noble casual attire.
Without a thought for her clothes, she directly channeled her Originium Arts at the bottom of the pot.
Whether Sergei’s eyes were playing tricks on him or not, her cheeks seemed to grow increasingly pale.
Yet even if it were true, they could not speak of it now.
Silently dumping the last of the rye and coarse grain from his food sack into the pot, Sergei turned his head and looked over the procession—
There were old people, children, young adults, women, former Ursus Infected Inspectorate officers, former Ursus soldiers, workers, peasants...
And they had gathered here for only one reason—
As the Infected, to huddle together for warmth.
The unchanging scenery of the snowfield nearly caused Sergei to lose all sense of time, but fortunately, he still had a Ursus military combat compass.
Right, the compass...
"Hey, Sergei."
Charles hurried to Sergei’s side, gently nudged him, and returned the steel combat compass to its rightful owner.
Sergei pressed a button, and the compass instantly sprang open—
Facing his face directly was the frost-rimmed body of the compass itself.
Carefully wiping away the mist on the surface, Sergei turned his gaze to the sides—
A makeshift device for measuring direction and a pocket watch with its casing removed, placed side by side with a photograph burned by the flames until only the left half remained.
"..."
Sergei’s eyes flickered and flickered, and in the end, he solemnly folded the combat compass back up and put it back into his breast pocket.
Tufts of cotton protruded from the torn breast pocket, but this did not affect Sergei’s care and maintenance of the combat compass in the slightest.
"Porridge is ready—!"
Talulah’s piercing voice rang out, and Sergei took a wooden bowl from his pack and stepped forward.
The people had already formed a long queue, waiting for this final meal.
If they could not find a place to settle within the next twelve hours, only death awaited them.
After receiving his porridge, Sergei spat out the belt from his mouth, laid his empty food sack and bundle on the snow to sit upon, and began to drink.
Warmth slid all the way from his mouth down into his stomach, then diffused throughout his entire body.
In a freezing environment, this simple and unpretentious warmth was often brimming with hope, and it was the key upon which people relied to survive as they walked the snowfield.
Then, he stood up, reorganized his supplies, and continued onward with the gradually advancing procession.
The wind and snow only grew heavier. People continually fell behind, transforming into living ice sculptures right by the roadside before being buried by the blizzard.
Talulah’s complexion grew even more sickly pale—
But that did not matter.
Charles suddenly stepped forward, pulling at Sergei and Ivan:
"We're almost there."
Though he desperately wanted to snap back, "Save your breath and conserve your strength," Sergei braced his body instead, following the Liberi’s footsteps toward the front of the line.
The hope of survival—they had to grasp it.
Sergei drew out the combat compass once more, carefully wiped away the frost on it again, and checked the direction.
"Direction is correct... Let's move!"
"Mm."
The ancients spoke of parting the clouds to see the sun, but today, they were performing a march that trampled the ice and snow.
Through the haze made of snow, a small silhouette finally appeared.
Walking a few dozen paces further, the view suddenly opened up.
Houses made of pine wood appeared before everyone’s eyes.
At this moment, they were so sturdy, so magnificent.
Finding houses meant they had found a village.
And what surprised everyone even more was that this building bore traces of human habitation.
Lamplight spilled through the paper windows, shining as clearly as a lighthouse in the boundless snow.
wisps of cooking smoke rose, drifting in mid-air.
"We've arrived!"
A single cry made everyone instantly burst forth with a surge of strength, running forward rapidly.
Thank goodness, that half-year-old broken map, with its doodled markings and distances that defied scale, had ultimately played its due role.
Natural and man-made disasters alike would cause settlements to migrate, but the crop stubble poking slightly above the snow in the field ridges nearby proved that this was one of the few good places on the snowfield capable of producing food.
The crowd instantly piled together.
Talulah smiled and tightened her coat:
"Sergei, Charles, Ivan."
"Here."
"I'll go to the village ahead and try to negotiate with them. You guys reorganize the procession here first and wait for my news."
"Yes."
Watching Talulah walk toward the village, Sergei looked back at the procession.
The line was now visibly shorter by a large chunk.
"...Charles, go take a headcount. Ivan, get ready to cook."
"Understood."
Sergei casually grabbed a large rock and walked over to the frozen river ahead.
Though his hands were covered in chilblains, he had long since grown accustomed to surviving in such harsh environments.
This was the necessary tempering endured in order to live.
A place inhabited by people usually had a river.
Sure enough.
*Thump! Thump!*
The ice surface met the impact of the stone with its own face.
Under equal pressure, the smaller the contact area, the greater the pressure.
Sergei did not waste much effort before chiseling out an ice hole.
He put the stone aside, rubbed his hands together, and took a deep breath.
The chilling air instantly swept through his mouth, and as he rolled his tongue, it also gave his brain a unique sense of alertness.
He looked at the ice hole before him and thought of many things.
"Sigh..."
No matter how much he thought, in the end it would only transform into a sigh and dissipate with the wind.
"Ivan! Come help!"
"Hey, coming!"
Sergei called out to Ivan.
"Carry this load of water back with you too. What are you standing there dazed for? Fill the water!"
"Huh? Oh, oh, oh."
"Go chop some firewood later and you're done."
"Got it!"
"Come, one, two, heave!"
Two men, two loads of water, leaving their footprints behind in the all-encompassing ice and snow.
When Talulah returned with a smile, what she saw was Charles’s expressionless face and a silent procession.
"Leader..."
Seeing Talulah was like seeing another pillar of support for Sergei; the entire Feline perked up a bit:
"We've lost another thirty or so people..."
"..."
This certainly could not be considered good news.
Even so, Talulah tightened her face and managed a strained smile:
"At least we’ve found a new place to settle now. This is Churvik Village, and the village chief has agreed to let us use this place as a temporary base."
"Yeah, life still has to go on..."
Charles added.
"Then, for now, let's get ready to work. We should build a couple more large houses; always crowding into someone else's place isn't right."
"Understood."
Life still had to go on; only by living could one create value and talk together about ideals and the future.
Such words applied equally to anyone.
Sergei cleaved the middle of a log with a single swing of his axe, then wiped the sweat from his face and took off his cap.
Heat immediately radiated from the worn felt cap, but Sergei merely winced as he plucked out the grayish rotten cotton inside and tucked it casually into his pocket.
With a bit of mending, this could still make a set of clothes. Living supplies on the snowfield were scarce, and saving wherever possible was the ultimate truth.
On the snowfield, apart from small stoves and clothing, the means to keep warm was labor.
As the brownish spruce wood was split, some sawdust flew out, followed by the grayish-yellow core and a distinct woody scent.
Ivan walked over, roughly wiped the sweat from his face and head with the towel around his neck, and hoisted the two sections of wood to another spot.
Then came someone carrying a newly trimmed round log, placing it on the table before Sergei.
The three of them did different chores, but compared to working alone, their cooperation made this series of tasks much easier.
And there were many more three-person groups like this one.
Nearby, next to foundations driven into the ground with wooden piles, Talulah similarly wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve.
A Reunion Movement Big Bob was driving wooden piles into the earth one heavy blow at a time.
Only by laying a solid foundation would the houses not be blown away by the blizzard on this snowfield.
This was a truth everyone understood in their hearts.
A patch of ground in the center of the village had been cleared by Mary with a broom, and the other old folk, women, and children of the Reunion Movement piled firewood right there, set up pots, and boiled hot water.
The firewood crackled and popped, bringing a shred of warmth to those around.
"How is the situation in this village right now?"
Big Bob, wearing full armor, dropped a freshly cleaned Originium slug meat into the pot.
"Ah... pretty good actually. You see, our old man is also Infected. For the past forty years or so, to keep up appearances, our family has been dirt poor, but living hasn't been too much of a problem."
The old man also dropped a potato into the pot.
"..."
The old man’s face turned red, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't get it out.
A Mudrock squad Energy Pusher patted him on the back.
"It's fine, it's fine. We're still here, and we can still put in some effort for the spring plowing next year. Don't look at us as Infected; at the very least, most of us are still Ursus."
In truth, everyone had more or less guessed what the old man wanted to say—it was nothing more than some words of apology.
A grown man always possessed a stubborn streak of unwillingness to admit defeat. Sergei had been like that back when he was an official, just not quite so obsessive.
"Sigh... If you think about it this way, even if you're a normal person, you can treat us as a form of security. Next spring's plowing can make the rye cover the land.
"The tundra is so vast, you don't need to worry about our safety either. To use a saying from Sargon, tumbleweeds can travel through the desert while ensuring they come to no harm. We are the same; we have to relocate in less than two years."
"Well then, on behalf of all the villagers in this little hamlet, I'll thank you all, hahaha..."
The elderly woman picked up the conversation, and the tense atmosphere among the crowd dissolved once more.
The farmers, who had successfully integrated with the Reunion Movement, and the Infected of the Reunion Movement all broke into smiles.
"Leader! The porridge is ready—!"
A shout echoed from afar.
Talulah maintained her posture of holding the pile, turned her head to look at the Elaphia girl running toward her—
"Alina, go serve the other fighters first. I'll be done right here."
"Okay!"
After the hardships of travel or finishing a day's work, for people on the Ursus snowfield, being able to drink a bowl of hot porridge and sleep soundly was the greatest comfort.
Normal people were like this, and the Infected were no exception.
The national conditions of Ursus were somewhat different from other countries on this land—
With the promulgation and implementation of the *Ursus Empire Infected Act (Amendment)*, the human rights of the Infected in Ursus were essentially stripped away entirely, reducing them to mining slaves digging endlessly day and night amidst the white mountains and black waters of the northern land.
To those high-and-mighty nobles, the Infected were merely a trivial string of numbers symbolizing their power and wealth. People always held an insatiable attitude toward money, never feeling they had enough.
This also led to the persecution of the Infected on the territories of these grand nobles not decreasing in the slightest, but instead intensifying.
As for the minor nobles, their need for money was greater, more complicated, and more urgent—
They needed continuous tribute and bribes to maintain their status in this rotting country.
Consequently, their persecution of ordinary working people and the Infected was even more cruel and severe.
Because of this, every year across the land of Ursus, several Infected riots and armed uprisings would break out, only to be bloodily suppressed in an extremely rapid and efficient manner.
And these riots often ended up as after-dinner conversational fodder for diners and lobbyists in the taverns and teahouses of Ursus.
People in the cities often held deep prejudices against the Infected and peasants, for no other reason than various distorted and rumored accounts of Infected riots, alongside the city's unique political offensive and public opinion control.
For the Ursus government, thoroughly controlling the countryside was an unrewarding task; its economic benefits were far inferior to those of the cities, to say nothing of the fact that extending one's hand into the territories of other nobles was clearly not a wise choice.
Therefore, the Ursus government and the various nobles tacitly employed a method of "governing peasants through peasants"—
The Ursus Infected Inspectorate.
They were even more insatiable, even more cruel and tyrannical.
They took joy in slaughtering the innocent and rooted themselves in brutal persecution.
They were the running dogs of the nobility, the byproducts of the maladies plaguing this land.
If not for wanting to fill their stomachs, who would rise up in revolt against a country that lived by war and grew strong through war?
If not for pursuing a peaceful and stable life, who would want to pick up weapons and charge toward their own compatriots?
Everything, when traced to its root, was a matter of being driven to desperation.
"Thank you."
Even in a life driven to desperation, there existed moments of small, certain happiness.
Sergei took the coarse ceramic bowl and piece of leba handed to him by Alina.
Compared to the "porridge" he had drunk yesterday, which had barely a few grains floating in it, today's bowl could hardly be called anything less than luxurious.
The yellow chunks emitted a unique botanical fragrance, and a yellowish-white powder formed a thick film that carried the steam straight against Sergei’s cheeks.
Potato porridge.
Though this was indeed an extremely common food on the Ursus snowfield, for the Reunion Movement—who had been drinking rice water for so long and finally got to eat some proper grub—it truly felt like, "Such delicacies belong only in the heavens; how often does one hear of them in the mortal world?"
And though the leba felt hard the moment it was held in hand, eating it dipped in porridge offered yet another sensation.
*Crunch—*
Sergei took a bite of the leba in his hand.
His long-standing hunger made him instinctively devour it ravenously. Under his strategy of alternating between a bite of leba and a sip of porridge, the dry and hard texture of the leba quickly transformed into a sweet, soft, and glutinous enjoyment.
The potato chunks practically melted in the mouth, and the mashed potatoes, through intimate contact with tongue and teeth, gradually turned into the most fragrant part, firmly occupying the center stage and instantly making his entire Feline self feel a sense of bliss.
The beer flavor hidden within the leba was also stimulated, blending with the fragrance of the potatoes to bring the diner a different kind of experience.
At this very moment, the exhaustion in his eyes finally dissipated by more than half.
"Hey, Sergei."
Ivan arched his back straight into Sergei’s personal space.
The coarse ceramic bowl in his hands had become completely empty, the bottom reflecting a beautiful sheen under the sunlight.
Just as Sergei emerged from the deliciousness of the food in his mouth, he saw a burly Lupo man squeezing in beside him, making the entire Feline feel somewhat awkward.
He flicked his tail and folded his ears back slightly:
"What are you doing?"
"I'm not full..."
Ivan’s Lupo ears drooped down.
"Old Xie, you know how I am..."
"—There's still some left in the pot, go ladle it yourself."
"Hey, you got it!"
Watching the gray-furred Lupo bound off toward the village center like a joyful beast, Sergei supported his head, his ears returning to normal, though his tail still slapped the ground three times:
"Sigh, this kid..."
Admittedly, Ivan and Sergei were eight years apart, but in terms of seniority, Sergei could call Ivan a great-nephew.
Likewise, he could call Talulah "old sister."
Of course, he wouldn't actually do that.
Without overthinking it, Sergei stood up and followed the queue of people who had just finished a meal to get more porridge.
Man is steel, rice is iron; go a single meal without eating and you starve, feeling faint and weak.
Not being full meant failing to get enough fuel, making subsequent work half as effective with twice the effort.
Talulah watched the surrounding Reunion Movement members who were either going to get food or resting right where they were, smiled, polished off her food in a few bites, and then joined the stream of people.
"Leader."
"Leader!"
To the calls of those around her, Talulah only smiled and nodded in response to each one.
Across the boundless snowfield, a sliver of mortal warmth had been added.
The setting sun cast its light—due to the Ursus ice field being located in the extreme north, the solar elevation angle was lower than in the south, leading to an earlier nightfall, and the Reunion Movement could only manage two meals a day—gilding this harmonious scene with a golden edge.
The margins of the ice and snow gradually turned purplish-red, then slowly crept up the sky.
The setting sun burst forth with its most scorching radiance, while the twin moons also began to slowly rise on the other side.
Heaven and earth shared a single color, all things coexisting.
In the past, Sergei would never have bothered to gaze upon this scenery he had already witnessed countless times—at this hour, he probably still would be working overtime at the tax bureau.
Yet today, he genuinely felt a shock originating from nature.
Eagles soared through the clear sky, fish swam in the shallow depths, and ten thousand creatures contended for freedom under the frosty autumn sky.
How vast and boundless! To this pale, vast land, I ask: who commands its rise and fall?
"It's getting late, brothers and sisters."
Talulah placed her bowl on the table and looked at the surrounding Reunion Movement members who were standing up one after another to return their items.
Sergei also pulled back his wandering thoughts and stacked the coarse ceramic bowls together:
"Let's work efficiently and try to finish building our new house before dark, so we disturb the villagers as little as possible!"
"Yes!"