Chapter 770
This was Yang Fan’s first time seeing a building on this road.
The previous roads he had walked, though flanked by all kinds of different structures, were devoid of any on the yellow dirt path itself—apart from the sporadic patches of weeds on either side, there was nothing else present.
The sudden appearance of this earthen house was the first exception.
As Yang Fan held up his lantern to examine the house, a group of people suddenly shoved their way into his view.
There were a lot of people—the rough count was three or four dozen.
Seven or eight men holding rusty broadswords were forcefully herding a group of bound men and women, whose hands were tied with coarse grass ropes, toward the earthen house.
One of the men jumped onto a smooth dirt platform in front of the house and barked an order for the bound men and women to kneel.
The sword-wielding men surged forward, beating and kicking the bound captives until they forcibly knelt down.
At that moment, the door to the earthen house swung open, and an old man in a green robe stepped out, carrying a bunch of wooden placards. He had speckled gray hair, upwards-curved eye corners, and eyebrows so sparse they were nearly nonexistent.
The placards resembled the ones historically pinned to the backs of condemned prisoners before execution, except the inscriptions on these were different.
The characters matched those on the flagpole in front of the earthen house—characters Yang Fan did not recognize.