One morning, the family was unusually gathered around the dining table for breakfast.
"Eat more. You've lost weight after spending two months in Yanzhou." Mother Chen looked at him with concern. "What do you want for lunch?"
Chen Shouyi ate his porridge and mumbled, "I might not be back for lunch."
"Brother, you just got back, and you already have another mission?" Chen Xingyue asked curiously.
"No, I'm just going for a walk. I'll be back before dinner," Chen Shouyi said. He planned to spend a few days at home once this mission was over.
After breakfast, he returned to his room, settled the two Little Dots in, and gave them a pile of math books to play with.
Then he walked out the door.
Strait of Malacca.
Countless ships crowded the sea like ants, landing along the shore.
Along the long coastline, believers on both sides fought fiercely. Bullets fell like rain, cannons boomed, and smoke shrouded the entire battlefield. Blood and corpses covered the shore, and even the nearby seawater had turned red.
There were no prisoners of war and no surrenders.
Everyone fought bravely, their faces feverish, unafraid of death, until they finally fell.
The brutality and cruelty of religious wars were difficult for outsiders to imagine. Religious fervor and intolerance could easily unleash the violence and evil lurking deep in the human heart. Heretics had always been killed at the first opportunity.
This was true not only in lands ruled by gods today. Even in the Middle Ages on Earth, similar religious wars had long been recorded, and they were all too common.
Men and women taller than a wheel were all put to death. The ways they died were as numerous as the stars in the sky: skinning, stoning, burning at the stake, beheading, and