The setting sun is like blood, dyeing the withered yellow land a layer of desperate red.
The atmosphere in the meeting hall of the Yellow Turban stronghold was solidified.
"Qu Shuai, it's not that we don't believe you."
A veteran with a weathered face and a hoarse voice pointed at the haggard refugees outside the door.
"They can't even stand, so you ask them to dig ditches? Isn't this going to cost them their lives?"
"General Wang, let me say it again."
Zhang Lie stood in the hall, his figure upright, looking around at the former Yellow Turban troops who looked suspicious.
"Without water, the land is dead. The land is dead, and all of us are dead."
"Dig the ditch, and there is still a chance of survival. If you don't dig, you will just sit and wait to die!"
Wang Fang punched the desk, causing sawdust to fly.
"Vitality? Vitality on paper! What we are short of now is food, something to fill our stomachs!"
