This place was even more shabby than that chaotic machetemen village; there were houses of mud and straw that followed one after another with their interconnecting doors. Strangers entered and left, but nobody seemed to care.
There was nothing of value worth to be stolen or robbed in those houses.
Gu Shenwei passed through one mud hut after another, also passing by a thin and weak boy; an old shivering woman; two men in a deep sleep; a flock of chickens; some cows and sheep leisurely chewing lay. Finally he found his target.
A skinny man was laying on his heated brick bed, and his skin was sallow and flabby as if he had not eaten for a long time. Only his eyes, still bright and shiny, gave him the expression of a sick lion ready to jump off to hunt at any moment.
In his hand, there was a saber with the scabbard, which was as battered as this room, and could barely cover the knife.
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