The fire starts from the foot of the stove first. In the third year of Yuanfu, in autumn, Pingjiang Mansion. Shen Lingjiang was squatting in front of the stove, putting freshly pickled pickled vegetables on the altar. The firewood was completely dry, and as soon as the sparks touched the corners of the skirt, they licked up along the grain of the cloth. Her first reaction was not to run, but to reach for the half piece of green tile on the edge of the stove. It was given to her by her mother-in-law before she died. There is a faint word "ginger" engraved on the tile surface. "Keep it, avoid water and fire, and rest your soul." The smoke choked into the throat, and the lungs seemed to be clenched by an invisible hand. She hugged Wadang, her feet slipped, and she fell backwards. Behind him is not a muddy ground, but an old well filled with rainwater. Cold water poured into his mouth and nose. The second before her consciousness sank, she only remembered the half piece of tile in her palm, which was as hot as fire. When I opened my eyes again, there was no evil, no Naihe Bridge, and no familiar green tiles and white walls. There was only a pale light, hanging above the head, which made people's eyes hurt. There is a sharp, cold, and smooth electronic sound in my ears. "Punch-in failed. Please re-swipe your work badge." "Punch-in failed. Please re-swipe your work badge."
Yes, a thousand years of redemption