"I don't trust you." Song Heping's reply was as sharp as a blade: "In Illiguo, I can't tell who's human and who's a ghost. Sorry, I can only guard against you."
Very candid.
A super candid answer.
Safar was left speechless.
Song Heping took a sip of tea and continued:
"After this battle, for at least half a year, no tribe would dare to reach a hand towards my convoy. Eight hundred lives exchanged for the survival of my people for the next eight hundred days. This account, very worthwhile."
Safar opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but couldn't find the right words.
Outside the porthole, the lights of Mosul faintly appeared on the horizon.
When Abdul was carried into the tent, the accompanying Bedouin doctor thought he wouldn't make it through the night.
The old chieftain's white robe was completely soaked in blood, the left side of his chest caved in.
