Qin An was only sixteen years old this year and served as Qin Hu's personal page. He was very frail, could no longer endure the torment, and looked as though he had only a breath left in him.
In truth, Qin Hu was in little better shape. Over the past few days, the vanguard camp had been marching thirty miles daily, tasked with clearing roads through mountains, building bridges over rivers, gathering firewood, tending fires, digging trenches, hauling water, and setting up camp.
What kind of situation would it be for these two tender, pampered youths to spend every day among hundreds of rough, burly soldiers?
Chapter 950