The hold was filled with the stench of tung oil and salted fish.
As the oilcloth was lifted, a little girl was curled up in the corner.
Wrapped in tattered clothes, her small body, hair matted and face smudged with coal dust.
She was about seven or eight years old, with arms as thin as reeds and lips cracked and bleeding.
The boat owner, Ping Zhu, was a smuggler, without a shred of kindness. He immediately became furious, "Another stowaway scum!"
As he spoke, he picked up the oar, ready to drive her into the sea, "Get out! I don't carry freeloaders on this boat—"
"Get out!" Li Yan said gravely, pushing him away.
The Hook Paper in his arms was burning hot, and even through the fabric, he could feel the heat directing him towards the little girl.
Yet strangely, he felt no malevolent intent or hostility.
Sha Lifei crouched down, pulling out half a rice cake from his bosom.
