Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

She screamed as she crawled forward, leaving two long trails of blood behind her.

The child in the middle-aged woman's arms was frightened and cried.

The baby's shrill cries echoed throughout the alley.

The woman's face turned pale, so pale it was devoid of any color.

She looked down at her body in horror.

Fortunately.

The blood flow was not out of control.

The heart did not stop beating.

Nothing happened.

The Song Dynasty did not kill her.

They didn't kill the child in her arms.

Her legs gave way and she collapsed to the ground, clutching her child tightly, her whole body trembling like withered leaves in the autumn wind.

It took less than five seconds in total.

There were seventeen more corpses on the ground.

Everyone died in the exact same way.

Blood was flowing from all seven orifices, his whole body was swollen, his skin was shiny from being stretched by blood, and his eyes bulged out as if they were about to fall out of their sockets.

Seventeen corpses lay scattered haphazardly in the alley, completely blocking the narrow gravel road.

The air was filled with a nauseating smell of blood.

There are still a few living people at the end of the alley.

They did not participate in the interception; they stood at a distance and watched the spectacle, never taking a single step forward from beginning to end.

An old man sitting on the doorstep smoking a pipe fell from his hand, crashed to the ground, and broke in two.

He stared with his toothless mouth open, his eyes bulging as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.

A middle-aged woman carrying a laundry basin slipped from her hands, scattering clothes all over the floor. The clothes were soaked in blood and instantly stained dark red.

She was trembling like a leaf, her lips moved for a long time, but she couldn't utter a single word.

There was also a boy, about ten years old, standing barefoot at the gate of his own yard. His face was completely drained of color, and he looked like a stone statue, as if he had forgotten to breathe.

A long time passed.

Finally, someone at the end of the alley realized what was happening.

"Run! Run!"

It was that old man who smoked a pipe.

He tumbled and scrambled off the threshold, crawling on his hands and feet into the depths of the alley.

His knee scraped against the gravel road, and blood trickled down his calf, but he felt no pain.

Only one word remained in my mind.

run.

The middle-aged woman in the laundry tub screamed and turned to run away.

She slipped on her own clothes that had fallen to the ground and fell, hitting the back of her head on the threshold. Ignoring the pain, she got up and kept running.

Barefoot children ran alongside adults, crying as they ran, their piercing cries echoing through the narrow alley.

Everyone rushed into their own houses.

He squeezed through the door, slammed it shut, bolted it, and used a table and chairs to brace the door.

The person who squeezed through the window didn't even bother to take off their shoes, rushed into the room, huddled in a corner, hugged their knees, and trembled.

They finally understand.

What they say on TV isn't just empty talk.

The "Extremely dangerous, do not approach" notice issued by the Public Security Bureau is not meant to scare people.

This person is not a lamb to be slaughtered.

He is a vengeful ghost who has come to claim lives.

The entire alley was empty.

All that remained were corpses and pools of blood.

There was also Miao Xiu kneeling amidst a pile of corpses, trembling as she held her child.

She raised her head and looked at Song Chao.

The blood-covered man didn't look at her.

He continued walking forward.

The sound of footsteps landing was very light, like stepping on cotton.

Where he walked, the blood on the ground automatically parted, making way for him to walk a clean path.

The blood mist in the air grew thicker and thicker.

The thick fog made it almost impossible to see the stone walls on both sides of the alley.

All that could be seen was a blurry figure, trailing a cloud of blood mist, walking step by step into the depths of the alley.

That was the home of Chen Hu, Zhao Gang, and Wang Qiang.

Miao Xiu knelt on the ground, watching that figure disappear into the blood mist.

Tears streamed down her blood-stained face.

She held the child tightly in her arms, her lips moving as she uttered two words in a voice only she could hear.

Thank you.

At the other end of the village, in the courtyard of Chen Laoshuan's house.

The phone had been ringing for a full three minutes.

Old Chen sat on the threshold of the main room, his withered fingers gripping his old-fashioned mobile phone, dialing his son Chen Hu's number over and over again.

Every time, it says "The user you dialed is currently unavailable".

His hands were shaking.

The courtyard was packed with people.

Chen Hu's wife huddled in a corner, holding her three-year-old son, her face as white as if she had just been pulled out of a noodle vat.

Zhao Gang's mother sat on a small stool, repeatedly muttering "It's okay, it's okay," countless times, her voice trembling so much she couldn't form coherent sentences.

Wang Qiang's younger brother, Wang Meng, squatted at the gate of the courtyard, glancing at the other end of the alley every few seconds.

Every time I finish watching it, my face gets a shade whiter.

"Still can't get through!"

Old Chen threw his phone to the ground. The old-fashioned phone bounced twice on the cement floor, and the screen cracked into a spider web pattern.

"Where did those three bastards go?!"

"They don't answer the phone, they don't reply to messages, such a big thing happened in the village, and they didn't even utter a peep!"

Zhao Gang's mother suddenly raised her head, her eyes wide open.

"Something happened? What happened? Who's in trouble? Was someone shouting for help over there by Liu Cuihua's side just now? Is that murderer here?"

Her voice was high-pitched and thin, like a chicken being strangled.

Don't scare yourself!

Old Chen roared, his face trembling with pain.

"That old hag Liu Cuihua has been making a big fuss for ages. Last time a scrap collector came to the village, she said he was a human trafficker too. You believe her?"

"But didn't Gou Sheng's wife just scream for help in the alley?"

Wang Meng turned his head, his lips trembling.

"I heard it, I heard it clearly, she even shouted 'Murder!'"

"She was shouting that Liu Cuihua was dead!"

Chen Laoshuan's voice grew louder, as if he was using the volume to embolden himself.

"That old hag Liu Cuihua deserved to die! We had no grudge against that murderer, why was he looking for us? He was looking for Tang Ming, Zhang Jinshan, and that bitch surnamed Yuan, what does it have to do with us!"

After he finished speaking, the courtyard was quiet for a moment.

Everyone lowered their heads.

No one responded.

What does this have to do with us?

They themselves don't believe that statement.

Three years ago, Chen Hu, Zhao Gang, and Wang Qiang returned to the village and, after drinking, boasted under the big locust tree at the village entrance.

He said he helped Ming Shao deal with a clueless migrant worker in the city.

He said he specifically kicked the crotch, and after kicking, he stomped on it twice.

They said the man was writhing on the ground in pain, screaming like a pig being slaughtered.

She later went to the hospital for a checkup, and the doctor said she would never be able to have children in her life.

The people at the table laughed so hard they were doubled over.

Old Chen slammed his hand on the table and said his son was promising.

Zhao Gang's mother said, "Good kick! People who don't know their place should be beaten to death."

Wang Meng was only fifteen years old at the time. He also drank half a bowl of wine and said that when he grew up, he would also go to the city to make a lot of money like his brother.

The money for the assault was divided among each family, with each family receiving 50,000 yuan.

Chen Laoshuan used the 50,000 yuan to renovate the pigsty, Zhao Gang's mother used the 50,000 yuan to prepare a dowry for her daughter, and Wang Meng used the 50,000 yuan to buy a motorcycle.

The flowers are clean and tidy.

I feel at ease spending the money.

Now the migrant worker whose back they broke has returned.

They killed Tang Ming.

Zhang Jinshan was killed.

Zhao Dehai was killed.

Forty-six people were killed.

They're saying it has nothing to do with them now.

Who would believe that?