Qin An was only sixteen years old this year. As Qin Hu’s personal page, he was frail and thin, already worn down by the torment to the point where he looked as though he had only one breath left.
In truth, Qin Hu was in no better shape. For the past few days, the Vanguard Camp had been marching thirty miles daily, tasked with clearing paths through mountains, building bridges over water, chopping firewood, digging trenches, hauling water, and constructing camps.
What would happen to two such soft, pampered fellows living among hundreds of rough, burly soldiers?
Chapter 559