Everyone wore a smile, even the wounded soldiers, who were constantly laughing and jesting about something.
The desert wind was harsh, strong enough to scour away most superfluous things, including emotions like grief over parting and death. A fallen fellow soldier was merely someone who had taken a step ahead of them. There wasn't anything to be sad about.
The longer one was in contact with them, the more one could sense the atmosphere within this army.
They were pure, so pure it was terrifying.
But the Blind One had once joked, wondering if they would become corrupted after conquering the splendid Jiangshan of Qian State.
Only after they became corrupt would Zheng Fan have his own path.
It didn't have to mean rebellion, but at least he should strive for his own independence. As a transmigrator, striving not to kowtow to anyone wasn't too much to ask, was it?
Yet, looking at this North Border Army now, Zheng Fan suddenly felt a wish that they could remain this pure forever.
