He Mountain.
As if it were some kind of taboo, it lay just in Konse Suburb, yet no one was willing to utter a single piece of information about it.
Except the dead.
Wei Tianyang had driven the stolen jeep all the way to the suburbs, then abandoned the vehicle beside a patch of weeds, punching it into oblivion.
The killing on the streets had ended just half an hour ago, and the peacekeeping forces were likely to deal with the aftermath.
Along the way, he had encountered two groups of radical soldiers standing next to a long wooden pole by the roadside, mourning the dead impaled upon it, where blood and feces had coagulated into dark, small lumps.
They were mourning themselves.
The afternoon sun was fiercely hot; in this era, spring and autumn no longer existed, leaving only winter and summer. Before the December cold wave, the temperature remained perpetually above 25 degrees Celsius.
