The woman who had come over was Old Liu's new lover here. Her name was A Fang.
He didn't know her real name.
After all, Old Liu's own name was fake too.
The wasteland was chaotic.
Who the hell cared what your name was? As long as you had a code name so people didn't have to keep calling, "Hey, hey, hey," that was enough. You couldn't ask for too much.
Seeing a living person.
Old Liu's tense mood from encountering the strange incident eased somewhat.
But he still didn't dare stay any longer.
He pulled A Fang outside. Soon, they were far from the little river. Only after he saw the dozen or so households across from them, along with A Fang's dilapidated shack, did he truly relax.
"Old Master Yang."
"You're weaving bamboo baskets here again, huh?"
As soon as they arrived.
Old Liu saw a man in his seventies sitting on a stool, weaving bamboo baskets and crates from strips of bamboo. The things sold fairly well in the inner city and counted as one of the old man's few sources of income.
Old Master Yang looked up at Old Liu.
He didn't say anything.
He simply continued with his work, showing no intention of paying him any attention.
"Heh."
Old Liu was met with indifference.
He didn't mind.
He had heard that Old Master Yang's entire family was gone, leaving him as a lonely old man. His luck had been unbelievably good. Like Old Liu, he had fled all the way to Xinzhou City and somehow miraculously survived.
Unfortunately.
At his age, he could neither do manual labor nor claim any proper skills.
He had simply arrived early enough.
He had taught the young people of Xinzhou City some farming techniques, so the city authorities had