In the winter of the first year of Zhengde, on the outskirts of Yingtianfu City, lingering snow pressed against the broken beams of the ruined temple. The wind poured in through the holes in the walls, rolled up pieces of dead grass, and hit Wu Aixi's face. She suddenly opened her eyes from the severe pain.
Her headache felt like being hit by a heavy hammer, and there was a burning sensation in her left wrist. When she looked down, she saw blood oozing from the gauze wrapped around her wrist. Wrapped in the gauze was a palm-sized black box, which was a mini forensic toolbox in her laboratory. When the explosion occurred, she subconsciously protected it in her arms, and actually followed it through.
"Cough... Cough..." His throat was so dry that he tried to sit up, but he found that there was a muddy floor covered with hay under him. He was not wearing a lab coat, but a short brown cloth that had been washed white and patched several times. The collar was frayed, and there were holes in the cuffs, revealing his wrists that were purple from the cold.
"Where is this?" She looked around. There was a half-collapsed shrine in the center of the ruined temple. Only the head of the statue was left, and half of its face was buried in the snow. There were three beggars huddled in the corner. The oldest was about sixty years old, with a wrinkled face and a chipped pottery bowl in his hand. The other two were half-grown children, shivering from the cold, staring at the tool box in her hand, with fear and greed in their eyes.
Wu Aixi woke up instantly - the scene of the fume hood exploding still flashed in her mind: she was filming "Like
