“If I can’t have it!” Zhang Xianzhong suddenly stepped forward and pointed at the murky heart of the river. His voice roared like a wounded beast, filled with the vicious thrill of destroying everything and a bone-deep spite. “Then no damn person gets to have it! Sink it! Sink every last bit of it! Let it rot on the riverbed! Turn to mud! Turn to ghosts! Keep me company!”
“Bury them.” Zhang Xianzhong’s voice was hoarse. Only one icy word remained, a sentence of judgment from the deepest hell. “Every laborer who knows where the silver is hidden... leave none alive.”
