The summer heat in Chang'an carries a sweet, moist heat that sticks to the back of the sweaty goose's neck, like the hand of his former office director who always loved to rest on the shoulders of his subordinates.
He opened his eyes suddenly, and the first thing he saw was not the yellowing water stains on the ceiling of the rental house, but a piece of swaying burlap embroidered with dark red stains. The sour smell of sweat, feces and some kind of grass lingered on the tip of my nose, and in my ears I could hear the sound of iron chains mopping the floor, as well as coughs and moans one after another.
"Are you awake?" A hoarse voice sounded next to him, "You are very strong. You can still open your eyes after being kicked."
Khan turned his head and saw a man with high cheekbones, half of his face was swollen and purple, looking at him with cloudy eyes. Their wrists were locked by the same rusty iron chain, and the other end of the chain was connected to a creaking wooden cart. There were some old luggage piled on the cart, and more people were squeezed into the cart, stacked like animals.
