Although small-scale jungle battles meant little.
Yet, each defeat was so dire.
It started to be troubling, and gradually, a faint sense of fear not only formed in their minds but lingered in the minds of the soldiers at the border for a long time, almost forming a psychological shadow.
"If we really had to fight, our chances of winning were indeed slim, but our goal was not war—it was to resolve the current plight, and now we could only see who was less patient," he said.
Mu Zhiwen stroked his beard, speaking in the manner of a sage.
He felt fairly good about himself.
But the other people had already started to complain crazily in their minds. Another elderly person poisoned by martial arts movies, with a full white beard. Keep stroking, aren't you afraid of stroking it off?
"Since they want to deter us, we can't just act timidly," Pan Cong slammed the table.
He said loudly.
