Chapter 125: Number System
"Form up!" a harsh voice barked from ahead.
Ling Yu’s group was immediately herded toward a sectioned-off area near the gate where other groups of refugees clustered together.
A hastily constructed barricade of wooden posts and barbed wire created a holding pen of sorts. Beyond it, a large desk had been set up beneath a canvas canopy, lit by oil lamps. Several uniformed men and women sat behind it, their expressions tight with authority as they scribbled into thick ledgers.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar down his cheek, slammed a palm on the desk. "Next group!"
The group ahead of Ling Yu shuffled forward. A family of five, thin parents, two terrified children, and an elderly grandmother leaning on a stick. Their eyes darted nervously as the officials began to question them.
"Number of survivors?" "Five." "Any awakened among you?"
"N-no...""Occupation before the Fall?" "I was a... a mechanic. My wife was a teacher..."
The officer barely listened, jotting something down. Then another guard stepped forward with a brush and ink, dipping it and scrawling a bold number directly on the father’s arm: 4173. The mother, 4174, and so on down the line. The children whimpered as the black ink pressed into their skin, but no one comforted them.
"Next group!" the scarred officer barked again.
Ling Yu’s lips curled slightly.
A numbering system.
It might seem to be efficient at first, but the cold treatment was obvious. It reminded her of livestock being counted, or prisoners. She folded her hands loosely behind her back, watching the process with half-lidded eyes that gave away none of her thoughts.
Her people shifted nervously beside her. Some stiffened when the guards’ disdainful stares swept over them, eyes lingering on calloused hands or scars. More than once, Ling Yu caught the flash of suspicion in a guard’s gaze that was searching for weapons, for hidden strength. She was glad she had sealed away everything into her spatial storage before entering. Had even a dagger been found, there would have been questions she didn’t need right now.
When their turn came, Ling Yu stepped forward first. The scarred officer gave her a cursory look, his eyes narrowing slightly at her upright bearing. Something about her made him pause, a faint sharpness in her eyes, the way she carried herself like someone used to command. But the moment stretched only a second before he waved his hand.
"Number of survivors?"
"Thirteen," Ling Yu answered smoothly.
"Awakened?" His tone sharpened, testing.
"No." Her answer came without hesitation, her gaze calm, unblinking.
The officer held her stare for a heartbeat longer, then grunted and bent his head back to the ledger.
"Occupation before the Fall?"
Ling Yu tilted her head slightly. A faint smile touched her lips, mocking herself more than anything. "Merchant."
The man made a sound of disinterest and scribbled. Another guard stepped forward, brandishing the brush and ink. "Arms," he ordered flatly.
Ling Yu extended her forearm without protest. The brush was cold and wet as the number seared itself into her skin: 4186. The rest of her team was processed in turn, each one branded with their own number in black strokes. The soldiers barely looked at their faces, only at the numbers.
’Efficient indeed,’ Ling Yu thought again, though her expression betrayed nothing.
’With this, they can track how many mouths they’re feeding, how many bodies are working. A fortress like this must live and die by its records.’
When the last of her group had been marked, the scarred officer waved them away. "Stay in line. Don’t cause trouble. Rations are distributed in the morning and evening at the central square. Work orders will be assigned after inspection. If you break the rules, you’ll regret it."
His eyes lingered on Ling Yu again for the briefest moment, then flicked away.
They were herded deeper into the fortress. As they walked, Ling Yu allowed herself to study everything with quiet intensity.
The streets were crowded with refugees, each with a black number scrawled on their arms or necks. Some sat slumped against walls, eyes hollow. Others bartered pitiful scraps of food or cloth. The smell of smoke wafted from cooking pits where gruel bubbled in large pots, guarded by soldiers who measured portions strictly.
Children darted between legs, thin and quick, their laughter strangely eerie in the gloom. A group of armed men leaned against a wall nearby, their uniforms cleaner, their boots polished. Soldiers. Their eyes followed Ling Yu’s group as they passed, sharp and disdainful. One even snorted quietly, muttering under his breath:
"Another batch of leeches."
Her ears caught it, though she didn’t react. Instead, she kept her gaze straight ahead, her posture loose, almost submissive, just another refugee blending into the tide.
Inside, however, her mind was racing.
’This fortress city is more organized than most I remember from my last life. Numbering. Registration. Strict ration control. And yet...’ Her eyes flicked toward the sneering soldiers.
’...the cracks are present, too. Favoritism. Exploitation. Refugees are treated as livestock while the armed forces fatten themselves. It won’t take much for this place to rot from the inside out.’
Her hand brushed the fresh ink on her arm.
4186.
A meaningless number. And yet it would be the perfect mask for her here.
Her people whispered softly behind her as they walked. Some looked fearful, others quietly angry. Ling Yu let them speak, but her silence was deliberate. She would give them direction later, when ears weren’t listening. But Song and the others also didn’t speak as they followed her without any sound.
For now, she scanned everything around them in silence. The placement of watchtowers, the number of armed patrols, and the distribution of supplies. The way civilians shrank from soldiers’ gazes. Every detail would matter later, when she takes any action.
As they were finally shown to a wide courtyard where newcomers were expected to rest, Ling Yu let out a quiet exhale. She lowered herself onto a worn bench, her team clustering around her.