Li An twisted the accelerator of the motorcycle, and the handlebar was almost deformed by him. The old Jialing 70 made a "chugging" sound, bumping wildly on the bumpy dirt road like an old man who was about to expire. The wound on his back was still bleeding, and the sticky blood soaked through the cheap black vest. It hurt and itched when it stuck to his body. Every bump felt like someone was poking his flesh with a red-hot wire. The pain made him grin. The cold sweat on his forehead mixed with the dust on his face and flowed all over his face, like a beggar who had just rolled out of a mud pit.
