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Cultivation knows not the passage of years.
Two years later.
A troop clad in armor, carrying fire guns on their backs and weapons at their waists, made their way along a mountain path toward a village surrounded by vast stretches of farmland.
"Captain, once we've bought the grain, we can take a break, right?"
A youth, no older than fifteen or sixteen, said with a hint of anticipation, "I've heard that there's a Yue Lai Building in the city with excellent performances."
"Hahaha, you want to go? But you're not even of age yet," a middle-aged man laughed as he ruffled the youth's head, "My son is only two years younger than you."
The youth swatted away the middle-aged man's hand, asserting, "I am a member of the Baishou Army; my coming of age has nothing to do with it—unlike your son."
