In the mourning hall, the smell of sandalwood was overwhelming, mixed with the burnt smell of inferior cigarettes, and the faint smell of blood.
White wreaths were piled from the door to the hall. In the black and white photo in the center, the old leader of "Hexing Society" looked solemn.
Chen Ye knelt on the cold floor tiles.
The ashes of three sticks of incense fell on his shoulders.
A washed-white shirt has been soaked with cold sweat and clings tightly to his back, outlining the muscle lines that have remained dormant for ten years.
A sharpened short knife, the tip of which was pressed against his heart.
The cold touch penetrated the thin fabric, causing the skin to shiver.
The person holding the sword is Brother Pao, the master of the "Tiger Hall".
He was just over forty, dressed meticulously in a black suit, and had a string of oily beads on his wrist, but there was no compassion in his eyes.
"Boy, let me ask you one last time, who sent you here?"
