Tang Zhangwei asked Bai Cunxiao, as well as Wei Zhuang, as well as many high-ranking military and political officials, who they should support.

The officers all said, "We should immediately help the owners of Kyushu Island to quell the rebellion." ”

However, Wei Zhuang said to Tang Zhangwei: "Which aspect we should support depends on our strength." We'd better keep both of them fighting for a long time, so we can get caught in the heat more easily. ”

Tang Zhangwei did not agree with this opinion, he said: "We must send troops, but we can wait and see who we support." In the past, our navy could have avoided the expansion of the scale of the war and spread to other parts of Fuso. ”

When Tang Zhangwei came to Fusang with a large army, the owner of Kyushu Island personally greeted the last powerful person in the Tang Dynasty.

In Chang'an City of the Tang Dynasty, Sun Duolu not only gave Tang Zhaozong a headache, but also angered a turn of people.

Sun Duolu is still full of and wants to interfere with the younger generation. However, no one sold his account, and others said, "You take care of yourself first, and if you quit smoking, then talk about it, otherwise you are not qualified to say anything." ”

Sun Duolu, this bastard, was speechless, he was like a deflated ball.

His father died, and then his mother, and his sisters and sisters in the family were all married, and he never liked these quarrelsome long-faced women, and he had almost cut off contact. Nowadays, he has little connection with Europe other than books. For he had come to realize that simply returning to England would not remove his loneliness, and he had come to understand the nature of the hell that had been prepared for the British in India.

There was only one way out, and he saw it clearly. It's about finding someone who is willing to live in Myanmar with him – it's a real sharing, someone who can share the secret life of his heart, who can get the same memories from Myanmar as he loves Myanmar, who loves Myanmar as much as he hates Myanmar, who hates Myanmar as much as he hates Myanmar, who helps him live a life that doesn't hide and talks about nothing, who understands himself: a friend, that's the ultimate answer.

A friend, or a wife? It couldn't have been. What if it was someone like Mrs. Lextyen? The damn hostess, with a yellow face and thin muscles, gossiping cocktails, and drinking at the servants, who has lived in this country for twenty years and has not learned a single Burmese word. If possible, don't be this kind of woman.

Flory leaned out. The moon was disappearing into the shadows of the jungle, but the wild dogs were still howling. A few lines of Gilbert's poems flashed through his mind, mediocre and boring, but also very apt—as if "to talk about your complicated state of mind" or something. Gilbert is such a brilliant nasty guy. So, can all your troubles boil down to this sentence? Is it just complicated, cowardly whining, something like "poor rich little girl"? Is he just an idler, using his boredom to fabricate some sorrow? As soon as they got off the boat, the two boatmen hurriedly shouted and pleaded, their bows facing the portholes.

"Don't go with him, miss! Don't follow him! He's a bad guy and not for Miss La! ”

"Don't listen to his nonsense, miss! Dirty and dirty guys! He's playing a trick! Dirty indigenous tricks! ”

"Haha! He's not an indigenous himself? Oh yes! He's European, and he's white-skinned, miss, haha! ”

"You two don't talk nonsense, or I'll kick each of you." Said the husband of Elizabeth's friend. They boarded one of the sampans and paddled to the sun-drenched pier. The boatman who had succeeded turned around and spat at his opponent, which he must have saved for a long time.

This is the East. The air was dizzyingly hot, and the water was filled with the smell of coconut oil and sandalwood, cinnamon and turmeric. Elizabeth's friends drove her to Mount Lavinia, where they swam in the warm, foamy sea, much like Coca-Cola. She returned to the ship in the evening and arrived in Yangon a week later.

North of Mandalay, timber-burning trains climb at twelve miles per hour across a vast, scorched plain whose far edge is surrounded by green hills. The egret stands calmly and motionless, much like a heron, while piles of sun-dried red peppers glow crimson in the sun. Sometimes, a white stupa stands on the plain, resembling the ** of a recumbent giantess. The first tropical night had calmed down, and the train was jolting and slow, but as soon as it stopped at the small station, savage shouts could be heard in the darkness. The men walked around with torches, their long hair braided at the back of their heads, and in Elizabeth's eyes, they were as ugly as the devil. The train drove into the woods, and the unseen branches scraped the windows. At about nine o'clock they arrived at Keokotada, where Elizabeth's uncle and aunt were waiting with Mr. MacGragor's car, and a few servants with torches. Her aunt stepped forward and put her hands around Elizabeth's shoulders with her slender lizard-like hands.

"I suppose you are our niece Elizabeth? We're so happy to see you," she said, kissing her.

Mr. Lextyne looked through his wife's shoulder, by the light of the fire. He whistled softly and shouted, "Oh, shit! Then he pulled Elizabeth and kissed her, but felt more passionate than usual. Neither of them had she seen before.

After the meal, under the ceiling fan in the living room, Elizabeth chatted with her aunt. Mr. Lextyen wandered around the garden, pretending to smell frangipani, but in fact he was secretly drinking the wine that the servant had stolen from the back of the house.

"Honey, you're so cute! Let me look at you again. She grabbed her shoulders, "I do think Eaton's short hair is a good fit for you." You cut it in Paris, right? ”

"Yes, everybody has Eaton short hair. If you cut your hair shorter, it will look good. ”

"It's so cute! And this pair of tortoiseshell glasses - how stylish! I've heard that women in South American social circles like to wear these glasses. I didn't know I had such a beautiful and charming niece. How old did you just say? ”

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two years old! Tomorrow we will take you to the club, and all the men will be happy! They're lonely, poor fellows, and they've never seen a new face. You've been in Paris for two whole years? It's hard to imagine that the men there didn't propose to you. ”

(End of chapter)