A few hundred meters southeast of the regiment headquarters, Tang Zhongcheng pointed to a dilapidated stone house, which was here. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 The info scrivener looks very familiar, and this house seems to have been seen. I remembered that I and Gong Daniu used to live, and it was the Ramgar training camp that I went from here. It's only been a long time, and it's back.

"Alright, you're locked up here. I'll go back to my life. Go to the canteen of the regiment headquarters for three meals a day, and pay attention not to be too eye-catching. "Tang Zhong made a deal.

The scrivener box was stunned, and it was confined here, I read it right. For such a big house, don't say it's closed for two months, even if it's closed for two years, I don't care. The gratitude to Liu Fangwu in my heart is getting stronger and stronger, with such a group leader, what regrets are there to die!

Tang Zhongcheng went back to his life. The scrivener cleaned up the house again, and it took two months to live, so it had to be cleaned up properly. There was a loud roar in the sky, and planes flew overhead. The scrivener looked up, and said that another wave of recruits was coming. Recently, large planes have landed in Lamgarh almost every week, and a steady stream of recruits from the country is being brought in. The smell of war is getting stronger and stronger, and the day of a counteroffensive against Burma is not far off. The scrivener thought secretly.

It was useless for him to think about anything else, the most important thing at the moment was to get through the two months of confinement. Commander Liu's subordinates are merciful, and this kind of confinement is more like living at home. The scrivener began a very special day, and I couldn't think of anything else in the day except eating. He set a schedule for himself, got up early in the morning, practiced scimitar and marksmanship, which was a life-saving skill that could not be lost. Then breakfast is eaten, then scimitar and marksmanship are practiced, then eaten, then practiced, and finally went to bed. The days are boring and fulfilling.

Ten days have passed in the blink of an eye, and the level of the scimitar has risen to a big step, the iron chain is put on the wrist, the arm is forced, and the scimitar flies up and down, dazzling the people. The confidence of the scrivener box has increased greatly, and if it continues to play like this, it is estimated that it will be able to catch up with the level of the butchers of the indigenous tribes in two months. This set of knife techniques seems flashy, except that it looks good, it seems to have no practical value, but the scrivener does not think so, this set of knife techniques can not only slaughter sheep and cut meat, if used properly, close melee combat is very lethal. With an idea in his heart, he began to think about improvement, removing the flashy parts, taking the parts with actual combat value and enlarging them, and then enlarging them.

This is a boring and difficult process, and there is no harvest after several days of continuous experimentation, after all, the original routine has been formed, and it is time-consuming to improve. For this purpose, the scrivener also cut his fingers. He bandaged his fingers, put away his chaotic thoughts, looked up at the hill behind the house, and suddenly a thought occurred in his mind: it is better to climb the hill and relax.

The stone house where the scrivener lived was at the foot of the hill, and the sun was just blocked by the hill for a while at noon, and the room was overcast and cold. The rainy season here is long gone, and it is the end of autumn in terms of the season in northern China. Although Ramgar is subtropical, it is still a little cold at night.

The scrivener circled the hill for half a circle, looking for a sparsely wooded place to climb up, and walked around to find a path that zigzagged to the top of the mountain. Since there is a road, it proves that there are people walking around a lot, what is on it? Driven by curiosity, he climbed to the top of the mountain in one go. In the midst of the trees was a building, a stone building in disrepair and dilapidated, most of which was covered by weeds, and only a few ruins stood on the grass. Intuitively, the scrivener thought that it was originally a temple, not necessarily Buddhism, but a place of worship for the local religion. Because there are many statues and stone carvings in the ruins, the patterns have long been blurred due to the sun and rain for many years, giving people the feeling of having a strong religious atmosphere.

The arrival of the scrivener broke the peace, and some small animals were frightened and quickly burrowed into the grass, leaving behind a rustling sound. If it is in China, it is easy for people to associate with the fox fairy in Liaozhai. The scrivener smiled self-deprecatingly, this is India, and there will be no fox fairies. He had the heart to go back, and then he thought about it, since he had come up, it was better to find a place to rest, and it was indeed tiring to climb to the top of the mountain in one breath. He found a sparsely weed spot to sit down and rest, but he noticed a humanoid creature curled up in the corner.

The incident happened too suddenly, and the scrivener broke out in a cold sweat, seeing a humanoid creature in this kind of place, Rao was even unbearable after a hundred battles. The humanoid creature was so strange that it resembled a ghost in a chatting room: its skin was dark and shriveled, the blood vessels in its arms and legs were clearly visible, and the gray hair on its head hung down to the back of its chest, and its face was not visible. The clothes on his body were in tatters, and they were wrapped around his body one by one. And that's not the most frightening thing, to the scrivener's surprise, the humanoid creature curled up in a very strange position, the ankles of its feet hooked around its neck, its arms twisted very exaggeratedly, stretched out from its back to its chest, and its hands could touch its navel. The whole heat looks like a ball of meat curled up.

This thing is either fine or strange, the scrivener turns his head and leaves, he is not a human being, not a god, or less troublesome. Just took a few steps and changed his mind, in broad daylight, he had a knife and a gun in his hand, what were you afraid of! He turned his head and moved closer to make sense of the humanoid creature, his gun in his right hand, guarded. The strange thing on the other side is motionless, will it die?

The scrivener took a few steps closer, squinting and observing, the other party's chest fell together, breathing, not dead. If you are not dead, why is it like you are dead? He took a few steps forward again, "Hey." He called out to the other party. No response.

The breeze blew, and the hair on the humanoid's head fluttered, revealing a furrowed face and cloudy but bright eyes.

The scrivener was so shocked that he almost sat on the ground. The humanoid's eyes were open, and it seemed to be looking at him all the time. The gun in his hand was almost about to shoot, but fortunately, he was experienced in a hundred battles and finally controlled his emotions.

"Are you a human or a ghost?" The scrivener couldn't help but ask.

The other party still didn't react.

The scrivener's mind gradually calmed down, this is indeed a person, but a very special person. It's not much older from his face, because the wrinkles hide everything, you can say he's in his seventies, or you can say he's in his hundreds. In short, he is very old. In that era of "seventy years of life", it was very unexpected for this old man to appear here.

The scrivener tried to communicate with the other party, but it was useless. The other party is like a wood carving, and he doesn't even blink his eyes. The scrivener felt very bored, and walked back stupidly.