The rain was pouring down, and the night was as dark as ink.
The roof of the ruined temple leaked like a sieve, and rainwater trickled down the rotten beams and formed a muddy stream on the ground.
Shen Jingque huddled in the corner, leaning against the cold and slippery wall, with half a piece of moldy cake wrapped tightly in his arms.
She took a bite, and the mildew mixed with ash melted on the tip of her tongue. It was so bitter that she almost vomited, but she swallowed it and refused to waste an inch.
Three days ago, she barely had enough to eat - she washed clothes and cloths in the washing shop, her fingers were soaked until they turned white and ulcerated, and she had to eat brown rice porridge instead.
But when the foreman's greasy hand touched her waist, she raised her foot and kicked it away.
