Hua Tianyou was telling jokes to amuse Zhao Ling'er, and when he turned his head, he was stunned by the scene in the distance.
In the distance, on the concrete road, a mighty procession was winding past.
The ragged refugees were supporting the elderly and holding the young, pushing creaky wheelbarrows, struggling forward in the sunlight.
Sunlight pierced through the flying dust, casting mottled shadows on their weary faces.
"This is..." Hua Tianyou squinted his eyes, guessing the identity of those people in his heart, when Zhao Ling'er beside him suddenly let out a soft cry.
He turned to look and saw the young girl's bright smile was particularly captivating in the sunlight, her almond eyes curved into crescent moons.
"Tianyou, look!" Zhao Ling'er excitedly tugged at his sleeve, her fair fingers pointing to the refugees, "Those people are all poor folks, they must be coming to seek refuge in Canzhou!"
