Wang Zijia looked at An Xingsheng's cautious manner, shaking his head with a smile, and said, "There's no need. If Senior Brother Nong or Senior Brother Lei ask again, just tell them to file an accurate report."
Upon hearing this, An Xingsheng breathed a deep sigh of relief; his sentence earlier could have implications for many things.
"How many people are alive?" Wang Zijia opened the conversation.
"In total, there are 3123 of them. Among them, as many as 2671 people have medium-grade spiritual roots, and eighty-three have top-grade ones, a phenomenal quality." As An Xingsheng spoke, with a mix of joy and sorrow on his face, he went on:
"Their wounds are severe, physical injuries are trivial compared to the psychological trauma that might be difficult to recover from. Especially for some who are in their twenties, but have been living in that gloomy, strange place for over ten years."
