One hundred and sixty-eight red dust and white waves
An hour's wait, on a snowy night in Jinju Prefecture and Wonseong, is not a great torment for the frail people, and the keen five senses of the martial arts undoubtedly magnify this torment, and the cold breath touches the dry and chapped skin of the person, as if someone is holding a very fine needle and keeps pricking, and the subtle but continuous pain lingers on the bare skin.
People who grew up in Jinju often have negligence about the bitter cold of this place, and Gu Sheng, who was silent for an unknown amount of time, wanted to take two steps to move his muscles and bones, and the soreness of his unconscious legs and feet made him fall into the snow, making a muffled sound, and a cloud of snow dust rose around him.
Gu Sheng propped up the ground with his hands, patted the snow on his clothes with his hands, and the old man's gloating laughter came from behind him.
"Uncle Seven, I haven't seen my nephew suffer and still enjoy it. Dragging his legs to the root of the wall, Gu Sheng followed the posture of the old vegetable farmer and squatted under the root of the wall to complain, while groping for any holes on his body, he didn't touch it for a long time, so he breathed a sigh of relief.
The sound of the gong came from not far away, accompanied by the softer sound of the firmament, and spread far in the night sky, and the people of the whole city knew that this was the last hour that the people of Pingtou could move on the street, and since the beginning of autumn, in order to guard against the barbarians from plundering in the south, the southern camp of the Jinju state army, which was still stationed south of the city, had moved eighty miles to the north, and the eastern camp was far away.
After all, it is a state city less than 200 miles away from the northern border of Dayao, and many people have witnessed the battle between the Dayao army and the northern barbarian cavalry as a force that was conscripted to the city in the spring of this year.
Da Yao
"That Little Guy" One hundred and sixty-eight Red dust and white waves are in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,
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