On a coastal plain.
A group of people was digging ditches with great enthusiasm.
They intended to turn a stretch of dry land into irrigated farmland.
The former was worth only three to five taels of silver, while the latter could be worth over thirty taels. The difference in output was obvious.
"Come on, everyone, keep working! Once we're done, we can take turns watering the fields." An old man smoking a dry tobacco pipe stood to one side, urging everyone on.
"Uncle Old Dong, why don't you come down and lend a hand?" a young man teased.
"My old arms and legs can't move anymore. I should've just been waiting to die, but fortunately, the Farmers' Aid Association gave me food to eat. My eyes still work fine, so I'm keeping watch for you," the old man snapped.
Before anyone could laugh, he suddenly looked into the distance and said nervously, "This is bad! Western devils are coming!"
The people digging immediately gathered their tools and hurried away.
Half an hour later, a squad of Western soldiers arrived.
"There are signs that people were working here," a corporal said.
Before he could finish speaking, a gunshot rang out.
His head burst open.
It was that simple.
"Get down! Search! Stay alert!" the Western Captain immediately shouted.
Bang. The Captain had barely finished shouting before he died as well.
The others lay prone on the ground in terror.
They were modern soldiers trained with whips and military batons. Their strength was absolute obedience to orders; their weakness was that once their officer was gone, none of them knew what to do.
They looked at one another.
"Should we run?"
Someone spoke softly.
"The Captain's orders were to destroy their ditches and reservoirs."
"But the Captain is dead. How are we