The cold iron chains made his wrists hurt, and the smell of rust mixed with the smell of blood and sweat entered his nose. Lin Chen opened his eyes suddenly, and he couldn't help but groan due to the severe headache. What you see in front of you is not the familiar rental house in Beipiao, nor the tragic scene of a drunken car crash after a failed business start-up. Instead, what you see is a mass of black heads, and a big flag with the word "cut" hanging on the high platform in front of you, making a loud noise.
"It's three quarters past noon, kill!"
The sharp sound pierced his eardrums, and Lin Chen froze. Only then did he realize that he was wearing a tattered prison uniform, being supported by two government officials and kneeling on the guillotine. Behind him was a polished ghost-headed sword, and the light of the sword made his pupils shrink suddenly.
