Third World
About This Novel
Outside, snowflakes came and went. The sky in Dichamo became brighter and darker as the snowflakes came and went. There is more snow waiting behind. Tuwang Lu raised his eyes and looked at the door of the living room. The frozen past flashed back and forth as he looked around. In such a cold Dizamo, all the memories and expectations have been carefully crafted to last long. The great leader of Wei Zha in Dichamo passed away. It was the late autumn of 1098 AD. Tartary buckwheat and oats were waiting for the shining sickle with their golden faces on the spiritual hillside. The rugged wilderness was playing the magic of color in its own season. White mist dreamed of harvest and wandering among the thorn bushes and rocks.
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