"Here, monk, I'm having late meals..."

Amid the sporadic greetings, Zhou Huaian looked at the soup and cakes placed in front of him. Although they were not good things, they were just rice soaked in mixed vegetables and cakes with a lot of bran. There were still stove ash that had not been cleaned, but at least they looked much more decent than the leftovers I had eaten before. At least they were hot foods that were prepared in the broken basket shortly after.

Is this easy to pass the test and change my position and temporarily join the system? Although I was just a bandit peasant uprising army, Zhou Huaian looked at everything in front of me as if he was a dream. He actually had a day when he needed to rely on fake monks to pretend to be a ghost to cheat food and drink. He only felt the absurdity and gap that surged again, filled his heart with heavy weight.

He was just an African tribe shaman that scholars had seen. He pretended to recite a few words of ups and downs, which he could not even understand. Then he hummed for a few times according to the rhythm of Buddhist music like "The Great Compassion Mantra" that was so rude in the streets of later generations, and just got away easily.

They even didn't need to check the things on Zhou Huaian, but were directly regarded as magical instruments and other Buddhist instruments that had nothing to do with ordinary people. They were so unsurprising that they turned a blind eye to them.

He even got a blue robe (monk's robe) that he had peeled off from whom. Although he saved it, it was basically clean and there was no residue of lice and fleas, so he could replace the rag that was tangled with;

Next he got the treatment of having dinner with those little leaders. He just needed to stand in front of the strange-shaped corpses that needed to be buried and were not changed, and read a self-written and self-created scripture to Hee.

However, after he finished the seventh grey bran cake, he scattered a large spoonful of vegetable soup rice from the clay pot, and drank it all, a noisy buzzing sounded again around him, but he had already surrounded a small circle of people at some point; they were all the small leaders of the rebel army who were eating at the same time, just as they were talking.

"Okay, you can eat monk..."

"It's seventh...most of the jar of soup is here..."

"Can you really eat all this?"

"Take money quickly, everyone loses to my three eldest sons..."

"If you can't take it out, just use the small objects on your body to put it on..."

There was another particularly proud voice, shouting and shouting.

"I'm willing to bet, so I'll admit defeat..."

Then the other party carried a basket and quickly piled up some copper coins and small objects.

Well, it seems that the daily life of these rebel soldiers is really monotonous and lacking. Such things can be fun as bets. Zhou Huaian muttered indifferently in his heart, and then reached his hand to the last piece of bran cake in the straw basket. After scraping off the last bit of soup, he still couldn't turn his stomach slightly into a real burp.

He couldn't help but sigh again and said that according to later research, when people lack oil and salt, they will become particularly able to eat and digest it very quickly when they rely on carbohydrates alone. Obviously, this is his current situation.

Then he suddenly felt his fixed field of vision, as if he had some looseness and could suddenly be pulled up from afar, and then it became a moving frame that synchronizes multiple points of focus, presenting various details in his senses, and then quickly disappeared in a sense of emptiness.

Although it was just a fleeting change, Zhou Huaian, who was lost, felt moved. Does this have anything to do with his eating after maintaining hunger? Does this inexplicable ability and feeling require enough food to ensure?

In this way, his expectations and plans will change.

"By the way, you don't have to bury it."

During this period, Zhou Huaian finally found an opportunity to interrupt and test

"Aren't you afraid of falling out of thin air in the wild and becoming the source of the epidemic?"

"It's just a wild monk with a little adopted son, so he's so terrible..."

"Why do you need to talk too much about my rebel army?"

Unfortunately, except for the team official who was deeply bitter and revengeful, he scolded him in a meaningful way. No one paid attention to him or cared about his words.

"The monk is so brave,"

Before dark, the gray-haired Captain transferred back.

"It's really a pity to stay in the empty gate."

"It's better to follow the great cause of King Huang and do something for the restless people in the world..."

Of course, this Captain Chai’s actual thoughts were far more than that, because he was somewhat surprised and sighed after judging his words and deeds.

Is this guy really a disciple of some famous mountains and temples? Without any magical instruments and rituals (disgusted with faces?), just by singing the sang in Sanskrit, people can hear the compassion and care of respect?

But how could such a person be trapped among the people and mixed with these hungry people? Is it a method of worldly practice? The more he thinks, the more he becomes more confused and suspicious. However, at least the suspicion of being a spy in the official army has been greatly reduced, which has made him have another idea.

“Now, do I have any other choices?”

Of course, Zhou Huaian didn't know these right and wrong, so he could only show his weakness in a low-key manner.

"Also, I'm not..."

"Okay, come with me..."

Unfortunately, the other party had no intention of listening and pushed him straight in the other direction.

"First find you a place to stay overnight...Okay."

When Zhou Huaian was clamored by the noise and bites of mosquitoes that were unpreventable all night, he woke up from a door panel and a straw mat. He saw a strange and busy camp, and the supplies that were obviously transported back after plundering and looting were piled up in the open air.

"From today on, you are my sons in the rage camp."

The leader was the former team official Cheng Dajie, who was suffering and revenge, and was whispering to the gurgling head.

"Fine brothers who share good fortune and good fortune from then on, and live and die together"

"Although my Noble Wind Camp is not as good as those old camp children in Henan and Huaihe."

"But it is also the old foundation that has been following Huang Wang all the way from Jinghu,"

"If I hadn't fought too badly in Dayu Ridge, I would never have been cheaper for you guys."

After a slanderous complaint, Cheng Dajie waved his hand behind him, and the rebels who had been prepared rushed forward, and at the newly recruited rebel soldiers, he was stunned and scolded and scolded, and then drove them into a bunch like ducks;

"Here I'm here to get the guy..."

With Cheng Daji's scream, bundles of new weapons were piled up in front of them by Taylor.

The only weapon that everyone gave was the so-called "Bamboo Nail Team" that had just been cut off and the thickness was sharpened. The tail was also covered with fresh bamboo that had obviously not been cleaned. It was named the so-called "Bamboo Nail Team". Their only common point and feature was that they were all standing barefoot in the mud.

With the scolding of the big and small leaders, they stood in a mess, and the bamboo poles that were whispering randomly in the air hit and tangled together, just like the bushes blowing by the strong wind, making people feel upset and irritable.

The so-called rebel soldiers who were responsible for suppressing and restraining these new soldiers seemed to be slightly better equipped than them, but were those who came from the local accents with Liangzhe and Fujian.

Although they are also ragged in cloth, at least the bamboo and wood poles I have been tied with bamboo strips and ropes or fixed with different shapes of polished iron tips and blades. They are called "Pole Team". They wear straw sandals or wrap cloths on their feet, which only accounts for more than 30% of the rebels.

Those who are smaller than them and whose equipment looks more refined are the so-called veterans of the rebel army, who are also the backbone and backbone members of this rebel army, and are called "whistle team" in daily life; it seems that there are about 200 people, and they spontaneously stand in a dozen relatively average communities on the periphery, which seems to be a key position for vigilance and mutual support;

They were watching the jokes of these "pole teams" who were busy with suppression and restraint, or the "bamboo nail teams" who were helpless like messy flocks or ducks, and from time to time they made bursts of laughter and ridicule;

Most of them are young and strong men from the north, and their size and spirit are generally slightly taller. They also carry some new and old scars; whether it is swords, guns, swords, axes, hammers, sticks, etc., everyone has the same iron long and short weapons, at least they are half-new and not old leather hoods, half-tied stud vests, or several layers of linen, and everyone has shoes and boots that vary from old to new, and they basically play the role of small leaders in the rebel army.

It can be said that except for a small number of people with dirty and worn hats and paint-off helmets, the others are covered with a piece of plain cloth, which is considered a unified means of identification.
Chapter completed!