Su Huan was slightly surprised. Although Xiaozhao was relatively young among the chief stewards, being Professor Ma's prized disciple, she was always steady and meticulous, never losing her composure.
This was the first time.
With curiosity, Su Huan walked over. On a pile of half-meter-high boxes, there was a corner of paper, as if torn from some document.
Four lines of words were written on it, perfectly filling the entire triangle.
The handwriting was bold and decisive, with no cursive, and three times the salutation at the beginning was crossed off.
"Comrade"
"Brother"
"Future generations"
All three salutations were crossed out, but for some reason, the writer insisted on the first salutation.
"Comrade—"
"If these supplies are intact, then use them."
"Survive, strive with all your might to evolve."
"We have no way out."
There were only these three lines, and no other hints, not even a clue as to who the writer was.
