"When Zhao Gui of Qianhu kicked him onto the road to the 'Dead Man's Village', Lin Zhao counted the tattered copper armor at his feet - of the five brothers who followed him, three had broken legs, one was coughing up blood, and a little boy was shaking with half a piece of moldy cooking cake. In this place, three groups of defenders died in half a year. The land was so hard that it could break plowshares. Tatar cavalry came three times a month, and even the wild dogs refused to stay for a moment longer.
He squatted in front of the broken monument of the ruined temple and took the last bite of cold cake. His fingertips suddenly dug into the indentation in the cracks of the bricks - an old book wrapped in oilcloth fell out with a bang. The word "Di Qing" on the cover was still dark green ink.
Three days later, when the Tatars, whose eyes were green from hunger, rushed over again, they did not hear the cries of the defenders. They only heard Lin Zhao shouting at the top of his lungs: 'Open the ditch!
Plant beans!
This broken ground can produce ten stones of food!
'
And Zhao Gui was still banging the table in the restaurant: 'That kid can't last more than half a month! '
He didn't know that when the inspection censor's official sedan entered Jizhen through the snow, the waves of wheat in Dead Man's Village were plowing higher than the city wall. "
