The cold wind cuts like a knife on the exposed skin, bringing with it the smell of river water and the coldness of death.
Lin Zhiyi opened his eyes suddenly, and the dazzling firelight shrank his pupils.
She knelt on the cold and rough stone platform, her hands tied behind her back with thick hemp ropes. The knots cut deeply into her wrist bones and oozed blood.
There was a musty smell of rag stuffed in her mouth. The salty and fishy smell almost made her retching.
His vision blurred for a moment, and then he focused again - in front of him was a swarm of burning torches, reflecting faces that were indifferent, numb, and even excited.
