The earthy smell of the cellar mixed with the smell of blood penetrated the throat.
The tip of Jiang Wan's hairpin was pressed against her carotid artery, and in the darkness she could hear the crisp sound of military boots crushing cinders - it was Zhang Jianjun who had led people to "deal with counterrevolutionaries."
Three days ago, when her silver needle was poured into the steel-making furnace and the flames engulfed the ancestral medical soul, a man held a gun to her temple.
"Do you regret it now?" Suddenly there was the sound of digging dirt from the top of the ground, and sand and stones fell on her blood-stained military coat.
She sneered and held the badge made of molten needle tightly, the cold edges sinking into her palm.
Let's see if their shovel is faster or her hairpin is faster.
