It has long been agreed with the noble families of the eight prefectures and twenty counties, that as long as the bandit problem is resolved, they can immediately gather provisions and fodder.
But the weapon in one's hand, upon seeing those bandits, suddenly couldn't be swung down.
"You tell me, these are bandits?"
Yang Gong slowly lowered the knife in his hand, incredulous, looking at those around him.
He indeed did not see bandits; he only saw in the mountains, leaning or depending on, the ragged people covered in dried grass.
He saw their timid eyes, saw the sallow-faced women and the straw-like little girls, clearly full of fear, yet still moving their feet to block the pot of thin porridge behind them that could reflect a person's shadow.
These are not bandits, just people without food.
Yang Gong understood, he once was too.
