Under the setting sun, Pullman stood quietly on the hill, with dried blood still visible on his armor. A big sword was inserted beside him, with many parts of the sword having been chipped and notched. The cloth strips wrapped around the hilt were badly worn, and a lot of them had been dyed dark red.

In the wilderness near sunset, scattered weapons, broken gun barrels, burning flags, and twisted corpses formed a desolate picture.

The rebels wearing white turbans searched the battlefield one by one. If they found anyone alive, they would quickly lift the person on a stretcher and send him to the medical point in the rear. No matter whether he was their comrade or a former enemy, every life was precious.

"Brother Pullman, did we win?" A young man lying on a stretcher asked weakly, his upper body covered with bandages and one arm drooping.

"Yes, we won." Pullman held his other intact hand, his words full of emotion.

"Good...really good." The young man looked at the blue-purple sky and muttered to himself.

"We are one step closer to our dream."

--------------------

In the south of the continent, the Virga Business Alliance, Hopeland.

After dealing with the affairs of the Chamber of Commerce, Loran Hill recently had a rare moment of rest.

At this time, she was sitting alone in a small courtyard behind the mansion. The courtyard was not big, with a short pear tree in the middle.

The small courtyard was very quiet; you could hear the clear chirping of birds. Occasionally, a few would fly down from the eaves, land on the grass, pace back and forth, peck at the grass, and then fly away.

The girl was wearing a white dress and sitting on a wooden chair with a backrest under the eaves of the courtyard. There were several standing stone pillars beside her, and some green moss spread from the grass in the courtyard to the gaps between the steps.

In her arms, she held a small bamboo basket, half filled with verdant pea pods. Pressing her fingernails against the edges of the pods, she pinched and pulled apart a strand of green fiber, revealing a few glistening, moist beans, accompanied by the faint fragrance of the plant.

With a gentle stir of the fingers, a few emerald green peas rolled into the white palm of the hand. The peas were placed in the porcelain bowl on the right, and the torn pods were placed in another bamboo basket on the ground on the left.

Loran Hill was quietly peeling bean pods, with a few strands of golden hair scattered on her chest. Occasionally, the wind blew over, and birds flew away singing in the wind. The shadows of the pear tree branches and leaves swayed gently in the courtyard.

These days, she has been served by maids. It was a novelty at first, but after a long time, she wanted to do some things on her own.

While sitting on a wooden chair and peeling bean pods, Loran Hill slowly recalled some things from the past. When she was a child, she would go to her grandmother's house to play during the winter and summer vacations. Unlike her own depressing home in the city, her grandparents lived in the mountains.

Whenever it rained, she could clearly hear the sound of raindrops hitting the green tiles. She loved living at her grandma's house because no one would urge her to study, nor would anyone stare at her fiercely. Her grandparents loved her very much and didn't put any restrictions on her, so she could do whatever she wanted.

Whether she was reading a novel under a tree on the hillside, fishing by the river, roasting corn on the drying yard, digging peanuts in the fields, or hiding in the house playing games all day, her grandparents would never say anything to her, as long as she ate on time.

Every summer night, she would lie on a bamboo lounge chair, looking at the Milky Way stars and the moon in the sky. Her grandma would also tell her some magical stories, such as the wild men in the mountains who ate children.

By the way, she had also seen fireflies when she was six years old. Fireflies were flying all over the mountains, twinkling. She once wanted to follow the ancients and catch a few fireflies and put them in a transparent plastic bag, so that she could use it to read at night.

Unfortunately, all the stories are lies. The light of fireflies is too weak to be seen clearly, unless hundreds of them gather together.

As I grew older, I had no idea why, but there were fewer and fewer fireflies in the mountains, and I never saw any after I was 10 years old.

As time went by, she began to like cooking for herself again.

At first, it was just roasted sweet potatoes, roasted peanuts, roasted corn, roasted potatoes and so on.

Later, she learned to make soup with the crucian carp caught in the pond. At that time, she was not very good at cutting vegetables, and her grandmother was afraid that she would cut her hand, so she didn't let her touch the knife. So her grandfather would prepare the fish first, and she would watch by the side. There was also a calico cat from her hometown squatting with her.

If you are not allowed to cut or fry, then just cook something. Boiled corn is really delicious, and potatoes are also good. Occasionally cook beans and let her feel that this is also good.

As I slowly peeled the peas, my thoughts slowly withdrew.

The originally empty porcelain bowl slowly accumulated from the first few peas, little by little, and finally filled up the white porcelain bowl. As the girl looked at it, a faint sense of satisfaction rose in her heart.

She picked up the white porcelain bowl filled with peas with both hands and went to the small kitchen next door. This was a small room she had asked Chelsea to clean up, and she was the only one who would cook here.

The emerald green beans were poured into a ceramic basin, and then a ladle of clear water was scooped from the water tank and poured into the water. The beans were gently rubbed, and then the fingers were swirled in the basin, creating a small vortex. The fingers stopped, and then playfully swirled in the opposite direction, stirring the water again, creating waves of clear water.

After doing this back and forth a few times, tilt the ceramic basin, use one hand to hold the round beans inside like a small dam, and slowly let the water drain out.

With the friction of the flint, some dry grass was ignited, a deep clay pot was placed on it, clear water was poured in, then the peeled beans, the pot was covered, and a few more firewood was added. The flames slowly rose from the dry branches, licking the bottom of the pot.

Loran Hill brought a chair and sat quietly by the stove. The crackling sound of burning wood was heard, and the orange flames were reflected in her pupils. She was a little dazed.

When people are alone, they will think about many things, present, past and future.

It has been quite a while since she came into this world. She no longer has her relatives, friends or familiar faces. Now she is no longer bound by anything, but what kind of path will she take in the future?

Contrary to the historical records of later generations and the inferences of experts, the great sage Loran Hill, who sent down starlight ten times and saved the world from the brink of destruction ten times, did not have any ambitions in 1684, the year of the Iron Spear in the Third Era. At this time, she just wanted to live a quiet and simple life, an ordinary life.