Qiu Zhe felt that his life was not an ordinary fuck. He had just returned home from the army. Within two days of becoming a farmer, he was hit by a flood that had never happened in a century. When he regained consciousness, he found himself lying by the river. Just when he was thankful that he was not dead, he was surrounded by people. When he saw the scimitars and bows and arrows in front of him, he felt bad. Where were theirs?
This article was originally published in Jinjiang, please do not reprint it!
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Thanks to Mao Sha Tu Tu for helping me create the cover, it's great!
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