Zhao Yuanshan struggled to get up from the ground, his mouth was covered in blood, and his old eyes were filled with despair and resentment.
He looked at the corpses scattered on the ground, at the women being dragged away by the mercenaries, at the children crying in pools of blood, and tears streamed down his cloudy eyes.
“Heavens above…”
Zhao Yuanshan looked up to the sky and roared, his voice filled with grief and indignation, “I, Zhao Yuanshan, have done good deeds all my life and have never done anything wrong. Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to my villagers?”
No one answered him.
Only the mercenaries’ savage laughter and the villagers’ cries echoed in the night sky.
Zhao Yuanshan closed his eyes.
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