The new wind is like a knife, rolling up yellow sand all over the sky, muddying people's mouths and faces.
Mi Youqian was woken up by a sound in the air.
"Crack!"
The long whip was wrapped in strong wind and fell hard on the ground in front of her, stirring up a cloud of dust.
The voice was sharp and harsh, like a poisonous snake, instantly worming its way into her chaotic mind, dispelling all hangover-like drowsiness.
She opened her eyes suddenly, and what she saw was an endless patch of khaki.
The khaki tents, the khaki land, and countless heads in khaki uniforms with hunched backs and shivering.
A rough voice boomed from the front: "Stand upright! Being selected into the death camp is a blessing you have spent eight lifetimes cultivating! The first one to rush to the wall of the Canglang tribe will be rewarded with a hundred taels of silver and promoted to the third level!"
