"Hahaha!" Zhan Liujun laughed again, patting the middle-aged man's shoulder. "I'm happy, I'm happy! Don't worry, I'm fine. The old man talks about youthful madness, holding on to the yellow in the left and the azure in the right..."
As he spoke, he even began gesturing enthusiastically, those lines of poetry carrying a bit of a Qin Opera tune. The old but strong voice resonated across the dark fields, harmonizing with the whistling winter wind, causing the busy people around to involuntarily lower their voices and speed up their movements.
The middle-aged man looked at the old man standing on the machine, as if on a tattered ship braving the wind, and couldn't help but motion over the Lame Man who had been waiting. Then, he opened his mouth, finding something to say: "So, really no more clues?"
"Reporting to the chief, the same as last time." The Lame Man stood straight and saluted.
