The fisherman had set out again. Chen Qing and the old man who had accompanied him before arrived at the place where they made food, where the elders lined up one by one.
Facing that young man with the knife, they still cursed: "Watch it when you bleed, don't spill and waste it!"
After speaking, he sat in front of the young man with the knife, opened his own collar, and let the young man insert the knife into his chest.
The blood flowed incessantly into the basin, "My son, he won't go hungry on the battlefield anymore."
"My son..."
Before he could finish speaking, his head slumped to the side.
The elder behind him urged, "Hurry up, hurry up, the longer I live, the shorter my children live."
"They're still fighting the deities on the battlefield!"
Chen Qing had no choice but to raise his knife and stab it into an elder's chest.
Searching all the land, they couldn't find a single grain, yet this war would never cease.
Because everyone believed,
