On the day Shen Du died, it rained for the first time since autumn.
I knelt in the muddy water outside the execution ground and watched his blood drip down the steps step by step, staining the blue-gray stone bricks red.
The executioner said that he did not cry out in pain until his death.
I believe it.
That man had been hiding his pain so well since he was seven years old, so well that the whole world thought he was invulnerable, so well that when I stabbed him with the most vicious words, he just smiled and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and said, "It's okay."
But the last look he gave me clearly said - it hurts.
Not a pain in the neck.
It was me who caused the pain...
