When Shen Qingyi opened her eyes, there was still the taste of mud in her mouth.
No—it's the smell of mud in memory. The loess in the mass grave was mixed with rot and rainwater. She spent three days digging in the pile of dead people before crawling out. Her fingernails were all turned over and her kneecaps were worn white.
But now she was lying on the bed.
The embroidered curtain, the bedding scented with albizia incense, and an unlit lamp rested on the bedside.
She recognized this room.
This is the east courtyard of the Hou Mansion, the boudoir where she has lived for sixteen years. At this moment, the sky outside the window was dark and insects were chirping—it was the night of July 19th.
The night before she was designed to lose her virginity and be disfigured.
Shen Qingyi sat up suddenly, and the corner of the quilt slipped from her body. She looked down at her hands - they were clean, her nails were intact, there were no sores or bloody scabs. The right cheek is also smooth, and the scar from the brow bone to the chin is no longer there.
Her heartbeat was beating too fast, so she put her hand on her chest and pressed it twice, forcing herself to cool down.
Anyway, she's back.
