The moment the well rope cut his palm, Qin Mo smelled the smell of rust.
The wooden barrel hit the bottom of the well and made a dull sound, frightening the crows perched on the ginkgo tree. He clenched his bleeding right hand and leaned down to look into the well - the water surface was a strange rouge color, reflecting a face divided by blood lines. The birthmark-like pattern on his left eye was now spreading towards the cheekbone like a living thing.
