Scrape... Scrape...
The rusted iron hoe dragged through the dirt, leaving a ragged groove behind as Old Jiang kicked open the thin wooden back door.
The cool night air rushed past his face.
Old Jiang didn't care about the fresh air.
His blood was boiling, thick with a poisonous mix of desperate greed and rotted lust.
"Running away won't help you, pretty little bitch," Old Jiang muttered under his breath, his yellowed teeth bared in a repulsive grin. "In a dump like this, nobody comes to save anyone. You're mine tonight..."
A few paces ahead, standing in the middle of her tiny garden plot, Mu Qing stood with her back turned to him.
The silver moonlight bathed her figure in a divine glow.
Her pristine white-and-gold robes fluttered gently in the night breeze, untouched by the dirt of the earth. She looked down at the dark dirt she had plowed earlier, her posture as still and serene as an ancient painting.
