From the corner of the pavilion, a side door creaked open.
A small group of slaves entered the hall. Han Yu's eyes went to them immediately. There were about ten of them: six men and four women. All of them wore coarse gray robes with black sigils branded near their necks, faintly glowing with crimson light.
The first thing Han Yu noticed was their eyes.
They were empty.
Not entirely lifeless, but dulled... as if hope had been drained from them long ago. Their shoulders were slumped, their movements mechanical. Still, they obeyed every order without hesitation.
A few of them were mortals, thin and pale but not starving. Others had weak Qi fluctuations; Qi Refining Realm cultivators, perhaps captured disciples or lesser criminals. Han Yu could see faint red marks on their arms where bindings had chafed against skin.
As they lined up before the clerk, none dared look at Han Yu directly. They stood perfectly still, heads bowed, waiting for orders.
