"What the hell? A hand grenade?"
About four kilometers northwest of Celestial Horse Island, there's a village called Beita Camp. In one courtyard, over ten people gathered, their faces full of shock as two young men with heavy expressions recounted their experiences from today.
"Ga Wa, did you see it wrong? Was it really a hand grenade? Not a homemade bomb, not a detonator, but a hand grenade?"
A stout man in his forties asked seriously. He had a shotgun slung over his back, the same model that wounded Zhao Dezhu, likely crafted by the same person.
Like other survivor villages, the courtyard's dozen men weren't all from Beita Camp; survivors from two other villages were present too, while women, the elderly, and children lived in separate courtyards.
"I didn't see it wrong, I heard the sound of the pin being pulled, just like on TV. Uncle Jianye, you have to avenge my uncle!"
The young man suddenly knelt down, his head bowed to the people around.
"Ga Wa, get up first..."
