The Magic Train carried the worried exiles all the way north, eventually stopping at a platform known as the "Valley Village Commune". At this time, the passengers had already heard from the flight attendants that the valley village commune was one of the first pilot projects to implement agricultural reform in the Far East, and it was also the most successful collective farm in the Far East so far, with the yield of grain per mu ranking among the top ten in the country for two consecutive seasons, and the local farmers were enviously called "village aristocrats" by outsiders, and the infrastructure and welfare benefits were the first in the country, and the refugees were about to join this big family with a glorious history, and as long as they worked hard, they could enjoy the same treatment as the locals.

The flight attendants spoke beautifully, but the passengers did not dare to believe it all. In fact, most of these exiles were serfs who had escaped from the state-owned farm founded by Frank, and in their minds they had equated "farm" with "prison". They also heard that Frank's policy of agrarian reform copied almost entirely from the experience of the Far East, and since Frank's reforms had uprooted them, the state-owned farms of the Far East were ...... I'm afraid it's not much better!

Such pessimism spread in the train, and a gloomy atmosphere enveloped every carriage.

After getting out of the car, the bitter cold wind immediately gave the exiles a "dismount", as if a fierce slap was constantly being slapped in the face. The crowd lined up on the platform, following the guidance of the flight attendants, bowing their heads and shivering, braving the cold wind and blizzard towards the waiting hall.

By this time, most of the refugees were convinced that they had been deceived, that there were no good days in the Far East that they had hoped for, and that the harsh conditions further limited their freedom, and that they could not continue to flee even if they did not want to settle here - the long winter was like a cold killer, and they could not escape far without winter clothes to be frozen to death.

Some of the more open-minded fugitives are still in a bitter mood: "I heard that the village of the valley is close to the Balle volcano...... Giggle...... There are hot springs...... Giggle...... Before I die, I want to soak in the hot springs......" I couldn't help but shudder my teeth and make a "gurgling" sound when I spoke.

The fireplace in the waiting room calmed the chill of the exiles, but they soon faced a new problem. The civil servant in charge of registering immigrants was a one-armed young man with a military temperament, and he asked them to declare their beliefs with a serious face. There was also a young priest who looked too young, smiling and scurrying through the crowd, talking to anyone, whether he knew him or not, trying to persuade everyone to convert to Sindra, the goddess of fate, and suggesting that the converts could be better accommodated.

The fugitives were almost all followers of Perot, and their devotion varied from person to person. Most of them, persuaded by Pastor Peter to convert to the church of Sindra, were taken by the priest to the church next door to pay homage to the statue of the goddess of fate, and swore to convert to her church and receive her charism.

The divine grace of the lady of fate is really not false. Immediately after the brief conversion ceremony, Pastor Peter instructed the deacons to fetch cotton clothes and trousers, and with the assistance of a little cat woman named Bafla, to distribute a new set of winter clothes and a settling-in fee—20 thaler silver bills in an envelope—to the new converts.

Seeing this situation, the refugees who were still hesitating for their faith quickly tilted the scales in their hearts to Syndra's side, and they joined the ranks of converts, and in the end, only a very small number of refugees were still holding on to their original beliefs.

Peter and Bafra did not embarrass the diehards, and gave them winter clothes as usual, but they did not share the settling-in expenses. In the future, when the commune reclaims the wasteland, the new arable land will be converted into shares, and the refugees who have converted to the goddess of fate will be treated the same as the aborigines, and can buy new shares of the farm at a very favorable price (option), while the infidels will not have the right to hold shares in the farm and will always be a part-time worker.

……

The commune of Valley Village took in about 500 refugees, a drop in the bucket compared to the fugitive armies that originated in the Empire. During the same period, more than 600 rural farms in the Far East also opened their doors to refugees. The same principle was adhered to in the resettlement process - those who take refuge in the goddess of fate are given priority. The process of resettlement of refugees was actually a missionary process, and more than ninety percent of the exiles chose to convert, which led to the explosive expansion of the Far Eastern Sindra Church twenty years after its founding!

Cold winds are raging in the Far East, while the climate on the Parnia Peninsula in the south is as warm as ever. On stormy seas, ships carrying refugees sail against the wind. The exiles followed in the footsteps of the forerunners to the Golden Horn, inherited the tents left by their predecessors, and took refuge in this refugee camp while waiting for a train from the Kingdom of Kolas to pick them up.

By this time, news of the harsh winters in the Far East and the farms of the North had reached the ears of the new refugees through newspapers and radio, who knew that the government of Kolas would distribute winter clothes to them, and that their forerunners were now living well and without food and clothing. As a result, the new refugees put aside their worries and did not have to worry about the cold winter in the north, but looked forward to the journey to the north to see the magnificent scenery of thousands of miles of ice and snow drifting for thousands of miles.

The day after the exiles arrived at the Golden Horn, the Magic Train arrived as scheduled, carrying the ragged refugees with their families on their journey. No sobs or lamentations for the future can be heard on today's trains, and refugees are grateful to receive food from the crews. The coarse black bread and the vegetable soup with no meat in sight are disdainful of the locals in the Far East, who now have a high standard of living, but this group of refugees does not dislike it, and they eat so fragrantly that they want to lick the soup plate up!

After eating and drinking, the exiles naturally chatted. There are people who ask each other about their origins, and there are people who surround the flight attendants to inquire about the placement treatment, and every carriage is filled with excitement. During the journey, the train radio always played a section of the Far Eastern national anthem before the platform, and at the end of the journey, the exiles also learned to sing the national anthem, as if they were one step closer to the real Far Easterners.

The only minor disappointment for the exiles was that the train's destination was not the northern countryside they had hoped for, but a cotton plantation on the Gobi Desert in the south. Along the way, the yellow sand was everywhere outside the window, and I didn't even see a single snowflake.

Most of the exiles had worked on plantations, and they had no problem with the Far Eastern government placing them in cotton plantations. As the train penetrated deep into southern Xinjiang and crossed the magnificent Xinyue River railway bridge, 800,000 acres of cotton fields were displayed outside the train window, and these exiles from the interior of the empire were stunned and speechless for a long time.