In a village not far from the Fire Phoenix Safety Base.
The entire village was silent, with black blood still congealed on the road, permeating the air with a decaying atmosphere.
If you listened closely, you'd realize the thick, rotten stench didn't come from the solidified black blood on the ground.
Rather, it came from the houses that seemed to be covered in dust.
In the middle of the village, there was a relatively clean and tidy two-story building.
In that courtyard, a boy of seven or eight sat on a small stool, holding a pen, scratching his head as he stared blankly at the snow-white exam paper before him.
On the snow-white exam paper, some crooked numbers were written, and upon closer inspection, it was filled with symbols; the questions on it had reached Olympic competition difficulty.
Zhang Yiming lounged lazily on a recliner, squinting at the sun in the sky, seemingly indifferent to everything.
