In the mines, Pan Yisheng sweated profusely.
Exhausted and plagued by bottomless Hunger, he had long forgotten everything else. Each day, the only things he could think about were filling his stomach and resting a little longer.
After work, he crawled out of the mine with a group of ragged, foul-smelling prisoners and received two coarse, hard corn buns, along with a bowl of watery vegetable gruel so thin it reflected their faces.
With food like this, grueling labor, and the overseers' whips, there was only one way to survive here: curry favor with the officials.
After he finished eating, an overseer suddenly called him out and gave him two more steamed buns.
They were white-flour buns, without any wood chips or bran! Pan Yisheng wolfed them down.
He would never keep them on his person.
Food absolutely would not stay with you for even one night.
"You're lucky. Someone sent money on your behalf and asked us to take care of you. In three months, the Emperor will hold his Grand Wedding and grant a general amnesty. Hang in there," the overseer said with a half-smile.
Pan Yisheng clutched the buns, suddenly shuddering as light appeared in his eyes.
That was right. He could get out.
When he had first come to this other world, he had dreamed of sweeping away the heavens. Now, he could not even conquer his own stomach.
How tragic.
Unfortunately, the script would not let him leave early.
Otherwise, he would have left no matter what.
Whoever wanted to play this kind of tormenting script could play it themselves.
The days dragged on.
At last, three months passed.
Some miners collapsed and died in the darkest hour before dawn.
Pan Yisheng did not share the good news with anyone else.
Because he hated them.