The snow fell silently, but the candlelight in the torture chamber of Dali Temple flickered fiercely.
Shen Zhaohua squatted in front of the dusty desk, twisting a yellowed page between his fingertips. The ink is not yet dry, as if it had just been written. But this file is the original document that Gu Huaijin was accused of collaborating with the enemy three years ago. It should have been sealed and stored in the warehouse long ago. Even the scribes have been changed three times. She didn't look up, just turned the paper over. There was a half-nail scratch on the back, diagonally, as if someone was in a hurry to erase something.
She didn't call anyone. There was only her and an oil lamp in the torture chamber. The wick was covered with black flowers and the oil was almost running out.
She took out the rubbing paper from her sleeve, pressed it on the file, and traced it lightly with a charcoal strip. The tip of the pen rubbed against the paper, making a rustling sound. What she described was the four characters "Northern Grain Road". The ink was of different shades and the strokes were sluggish. It didn't look like the pavilion style used by scribes, but rather... Someone deliberately imitated it, but lost the strength.
