Lan Xingling and Zhao Xiaohua arrived at a square.
Countless statues of copper soldiers stood solemnly here, each holding primitive weapons, exuding an imposing atmosphere.
"These are soldiers of the Nine Li Tribe!" Lan Xingling's heart jolted.
Though lifeless, the soldiers appeared lifelike, as though they might spring back to life at any moment.
"So Chiyou still hasn't given up. He summoned all these troops here, preparing to strike back against China. But why did all these soldiers die here?"
Lan Xingling's attention was drawn to three elderly figures seated on stone chairs.
The three sat upright, their faces expressionless.
"What's going on?" Lan Xingling scrutinized the statues with some bewilderment.
"What's wrong?" Zhao Xiaohua asked.
