It's dawn, and the warm sun rising from the east shines on the earth. Along with the smell of gunpowder smoke gradually dissipating from the morning fog, the sound of gunfire that has been ringing all night gradually becomes sparse.
Most areas in the city have been pacified, but the "martial arts" immigrants in individual residences are still resisting. The comrades who are trying to control the situation occupy favorable terrain to exchange fire with them. Perhaps they are tired of such endless security battles, and a few risked their lives.
The smoky grenade was thrown into the suspended smoke, a series of "bang" sounds exploded, and no more gunfire lit up the pile of rubble.
On the streets of the county town, from time to time, men wearing blue-gray military uniforms or gray-black, blue-brown casual clothes and carrying guns walked past in formation.
Residents who were stranded in the county town looking for a living quietly observed the situation through the cracks in their courtyard doors. A few brave people opened the door hinges and walked to the back streets and alleys with buckets. They probably did not see the large truck collecting excrement water.
, preparing to dump the grain samsara that had been stored overnight in a place where no one would pass by.