Like Henry Carter, the clothes on these people were also tattered and patched all over. Aside from the waist tags and mandarin duck battle jackets that marked their identities, it was hard to believe they were soldiers. Except for the brothers Charles Grant and John Grant, Brian Reed, Frank Howard, and several women looked even more sallow and malnourished. Compared to them, Henry Carter was a bit better off—at least he didn’t look as gaunt and sickly, with a dirty face and unclean clothes.

When Henry Carter entered, everyone looked at him with a smile, as if they had found some amusement in their otherwise dull days. The one who had just shouted at Henry Carter was John Grant, who was twenty-one this year, the youngest in the fort. He was usually rough and boisterous, with a bit of a combative streak. Coupled with his brother Charles Grant’s impressive skills, the two of them held a high status in the fort. Even Captain Thomas Bell treated them with courtesy.

At this moment, John Grant was half-leaning against the rammed earth of the fort platform, one foot propped on the stone stele, idly shaking it. His brother Charles Grant stood with arms folded, lazily leaning against the platform with his eyes closed, half-asleep. When he saw Henry Carter come in, he glanced at him indifferently before closing his eyes again.

As Henry Carter carried water, huffing and puffing past him without so much as a glance, John Grant widened his bull-like eyes and called out in surprise, “Hey, Big Fool Carter, I was talking to you just now—why didn’t you answer?”

Everyone burst out laughing. Nearby, Frank Howard’s wife, The Stone Family, a kind-hearted woman, was hanging clothes on a line and said with a smile, “Little John, don’t make fun of Buddy Carter. He works hard carrying water all day—it’s not easy for him.”

After a few more laughs, Brian Reed said, “Ignore that fool, let’s get back to our topic… Where was I just now?”

……

Henry Carter walked to the row of soldiers’ quarters and poured the water into the vat in front of Captain Thomas Bell’s house.

This row of houses was divided into small rooms, each with a heated brick bed inside and a stove, water vat, bowls, and dishes outside, for the use of the garrison and their families. Due to years of neglect, most of these houses were dilapidated and leaky, with broken doors and windows—typical dangerous dwellings.

Of all the houses in this row, the one with the best location and the most sunlight was the one before him, occupied by Captain Thomas Bell and his wife The Carter Family. But even so, it only guaranteed that the doors, windows, and roof didn’t leak or let in drafts; the place was still old and worn.

Every time he saw these houses, Henry Carter was reminded of the makeshift shacks used by migrant workers on modern construction sites—crude, low, with ragged clothes of the soldiers and their wives hanging crookedly in front, along with all sorts of odd things.

Henry Carter finished pouring the water, set down the buckets, and let out a sigh of relief, just wanting to rest for a moment. At that moment, a commotion came from the direction of the stone stele, and he heard people chattering, “Has Bell Jr. come down? Any news?”

Then came the fawning voice of the garrison soldier David Miller: “Bell Jr., you’ve worked hard. Come, sit down and have a good rest.”

At some point, David Miller had already come down from the watchtower. This sycophant never missed a chance to curry favor with Captain Thomas Bell.

Henry Carter turned his head coldly to look. Next to the stone stele was a rope ladder leading straight up to the fort platform, more than ten meters high. In the watch room atop the platform were signal cannons, wolf dung, firewood, and other items, used to sound the alarm in case of enemy attack.

Compared to the others in the fort, Thomas Bell was very fond of the platform, saying it gave him the feeling of standing high and looking far, drinking wine in the wind. He often stayed up there for half a day. When Henry Carter went to fetch water, Thomas Bell was still in the watch room, but now he had already come down the rope ladder.

Like stars surrounding the moon, Thomas Bell now stood proudly among the crowd, his wife The Carter Family beaming at his side. Thomas Bell was about forty years old, serving as the fort’s Captain with the rank of company commander. It was said he was on good terms with Zhang Gui, the officer in charge at Dongjiazhuang, and as the head of the garrison, he held absolute power in this fort.

Unlike the others, who were sallow and thin, he had a shiny, plump face, and his small eyes often flashed with greed and malice. He was the only one in the fort with armor, and his mandarin duck battle jacket was free of patches. The waist tag at his side was made of the finest hardwood.

After enjoying a round of flattery, Thomas Bell’s sharp voice rang out: “There’s been no news for more than ten days. Looks like the Tartars really have gone elsewhere. But since we haven’t seen the smoke signals at the border, who knows where they’re still looting.”

There was a hint of schadenfreude in his tone.

But hearing his words, everyone present fell silent for a moment. The devastation caused by the Later Jin army was something they all felt deeply. Recently, the whole region of Bao’an had suffered terribly. Even if the Later Jin army had moved elsewhere to burn, kill, and loot, it was impossible to feel any joy about it.

Sensing he had misspoken, Thomas Bell’s expression turned a bit sour, but David Miller continued to ingratiate himself: “It’s good that the Tartars are gone—thank heavens! I’ll go to the City God Temple at Dongjiabao another day to offer incense and give thanks.”

David Miller was about thirty, and by all accounts, he was a handsome man, but his fawning manner ruined his image.

Hearing David Miller say this, Thomas Bell’s expression improved a little.