The last thing Yuan Daye saw was the crumbling gypsum board on the ceiling of the accounting room.
The thunderstorm in June came unexpectedly. She had just stuffed the quarterly report into the safe when she heard the crunching sound of plaster cracking above her head. The next second, his whole body was overturned by a scalding force - not the numbness of electric current, but the burning pain like being thrown into boiling water, accompanied by the roar of iron impact. She subconsciously curled up, still holding the three-year-old red pen in her hand. The plastic bear on the pen cap pierced into her palm in severe pain.
