Lin An took out a black plastic bag from his windbreaker pocket and threw it into the brazier with a muffled sound. The paper dust was lifted up by the air current, swirled in the air, and slowly sank again. The plastic bag curled up and blackened in the flames, and finally cracked a crack. The moment Ade looked closer, a severed hand emerged from the flames - the wedding ring on his ring finger flashed in the firelight, and Ade knelt down in the snow and retched.
"What are you afraid of?" Lin An poked the fire with a poker, and sparks exploded, "It's not your hands."
When he returned to the hall, Ade's hands were still shaking. I was so nervous that my tie was tied around my neck like an unbreakable noose. Lin An leaned against the door, watching him clumsily tearing the fabric, and suddenly remembered that many years ago, Lao Yuan stood like this under the lamp, watching him silently.
The faces of young people are always similar - they think that there is a road when they step in, but they don't know that there is no road here at all, there is only a well, and if you jump down, you won't even hear the echo.
When close relatives became bargaining chips, Lin An finally understood: there is no turning back in this business.
□□｜Aesthetics of Violence｜Redemption and Destruction｜Brotherly Bond｜□□Article｜Heart-crushing
Intention: Tanmei