A man should always have a knife.
A Qin knife.
So that when someone wants to destroy your entire life, you don't have to grovel for mercy with gold and silver, or watch helplessly as your children and wife are humiliated by them. You can grasp this knife, as if holding onto dignity, and fiercely curse as you slash towards their throat.
The man walked out the door.
He saw more men walking out of their doors, flooding onto the streets. Their strength was not enough to fight against those enemies descending from the heavens, but that didn't mean they had to tremble and hide like frightened dogs. There were other things they could do.
The veins on their necks bulged; they had knives in their hands.
Old Qin people have never been weak when bullied right under their noses. From the start, they fought against a harsh environment, cultivated crops in the wild lands, and never showed weakness or surrender.
They held knives in their hands, and in their hearts.
Fufeng County City.
