The night in the black iron mine is heavier than death.
The broken part of Lin Jin's right leg had already festered, and the bone stubble pierced the flesh and dragged on the ground, leaving a dark red and sticky trail. He climbed over gravel, climbed over corpses, and climbed over the third mine slave that the overseer had just whipped to death last night - the corpse still had its eyes open and a smile on its lips, as if it was finally free.
A bowl of rotten porridge, half of the bowl is moldy rice, and half of the bowl is filled with maggots. He licked the bottom of the bowl, not even the residue was left. The overseer's whip hangs in the corner, like a living poisonous snake, ready to pounce down at any time and bite anyone's throat.
Tonight, the wind is wrong.
Deep in the mine, someone whispered: "Tonight... Do it."
