The cold wind was like a knife, blowing through every inch of frozen soil in the mass graves.
The snow had long been soaked with blood, and had condensed into a dark red ice shell in the extreme cold. Layers upon layers of snow pressed against the corpses - men, women, and children, with their eyes open and their mouths open, as if they were still shouting at the last moment before death.
Their faces were buried in the snow, and their limbs were twisted and overlapping, like a putrid and silent mountain.
Deep in this mountain of corpses, a finger moved.
The fingertips dug into the frozen soil, and the nails cracked, blood dripped out, and black and red ice formed in an instant.
Immediately afterwards, a "corpse" slowly lifted off the covering layer of snow.
Ling Shuang opened her eyes.
The pupils were as dark as night, with no light and no pain, only the most primitive alertness after escaping death.
There was a fishy sweet taste in her throat, but she swallowed it forcefully.
