Gray sky.
Zhao Wujiang took off his bamboo hat, revealing his handsome face that was full of fatigue and vicissitudes of life.
He put the bamboo hat gently on the head of the stone tablet.
The stele is a bluestone slab that is more than half a man tall. The craftsmen from Dongji Island have carved densely packed, craftsmanlike but neat handwriting on it.
Except for the three large characters "Dongji Island", the other slightly smaller characters write about the origin of Dongji Island and some important historical traces.
Dongji Island is called Dongji Island because this island is the easternmost point of the Great Xia Dynasty's territory.
Further east, there is a vast expanse of sea.
Zhao Wujiang pressed down the brim of his hat for the stone tablet on Dongji Island, covering his eyes looking at the ruined homeland.
As soon as he landed on the island, Zhao Wujiang smelled the smell of blood and fire.
The rich and slightly thick smell of blood is accompanied by an inexhaustible burnt smell.
Zhao Wujiang walked closer to the ruins step by step, and gradually he saw corpses with broken arms and limbs.
Soldiers wearing the uniforms of Dongji Island defenders fell among the rubble and blood.
Some people covered their faces with the ground, their bodies covered in blood and no one was intact.
Some people stared blankly up at the gray sky, refusing to close their eyes.
Someone was half-kneeling on the ground, with his head hanging slightly, and half a Japanese sword tightly clutched in his hand.
As we walked further, more and more corpses of the island guards appeared, without their heads, and the blood stains had not solidified in this late winter, but were still flowing.
Zhao Wujiang heard the voices of Japanese people shouting, their voices were arrogant, some were eager to try, while others were cursing and unwilling.
A hill appeared in front of him, a hill made of broken beams, rubble, sand and gravel, as well as corpses.
The voice came from behind the hill.
Zhao Wujiang's ever-warm smile had long gone away, and his face was as frosty and as cold as a knife.
He tapped his toes, flew quickly, and stepped onto the top of the hill.
He saw the scene behind the mountain.
Countless corpses of the people of Daxia were scattered all over the place in front of us.
Everywhere you can see, there are corpses. This place is like a mass grave, but the corpses have not yet rotted, and their bodies are covered with dark red blood and charred black.
There are white-haired old men with blood holes all over their bodies, naked and scarred girls, children with mutilated bodies or covered in poisonous spots...
"Hey, Da Lei Daika (who are you?)"
An angry shout sounded.
Zhao Wujiang quietly glanced at the corpses piled on the ground and glanced at the speaker.
It was seven Japanese people who were cleaning up the corpses and cutting off their heads with knives.
The sound he heard behind the hill just now was the sound they made.
The reason why there was cursing and shouting was because these people were competing in killing and beheading to see who could kill more, and enjoyed it.
Zhao Wujiang's eyes trembled slightly and he said nothing. There was no trace of anger or murderous intent, but he was full of murderous intent.
He jumped down, without using his powerful cultivation at all, but the stars were flowing in his eyes, and the indestructible power of the Vajra had already been blessed in him.
"boom!"
One punch.
He smashed the head of a Japanese man, and his fists were dripping with sticky blood.
The remaining six Japanese people rushed towards them with shouts and brandished swords. He raised his foot and stepped on the ground, and grasped the five fingers of his bloody right hand forward. The six Japanese people were suspended in the air for an instant, as if their throats were strangled, and they were filled with excitement. The face is congested and red.
His five fingers clenched tighter and tighter, and there was a "crack" sound of flesh and bone breaking from the bodies of the six hanging Japanese people. Their faces were full of pain, and they wanted to scream out the pain, but they couldn't scream at all, and blood kept oozing from their mouths.
Zhao Wujiang's fingers were clenched into fists. His face was cold and he didn't say a word. The more angry he became, the more silent he seemed to be.
The hanging Japanese people were so twisted that they no longer looked human, like a ball of weird-shaped flesh and blood dripping with blood.
His right arm hung down, and most of his face was covered with blood spatters. The entire sleeve of his right arm was stained with blood, and there was a touch of blood red in the dark black, and blood was constantly flowing.
He still didn't say anything, and just walked towards the depths of the mountain of corpses.
