On the desolate island.
"Young Master, all the fruit has been picked, will this do?" The middle-aged man with disheveled hair and a grimy face held a piece of pitch-black tree bark in his hands, his tone full of trepidation.
In front of him, a young man was sitting on a rocky outcrop, his complexion pale and haggard, his lips cracked and dry, and he spat out two words, "Get lost!"
"Young Master, your body can't take this, just eat a bit."
Bo Kecheng lowered his gaze, glanced at the dark piece of tree bark, and the oily green caterpillar slowly crawling over it, and felt his stomach churn.
"Ugh, take it away!"
It took the young man a while to regain his composure, looking utterly disheveled.
"Young Master, are you alright?"
Bo Kecheng glared fiercely at the man in front of him, weakly leaning against the stone, "What month is it now?"
The man immediately started to flip through a notebook, "Young Master, it's March now."
