He hadn't been dead long; blood was still flowing out.
Huai Shi crouched down, gazing at the corpse in front of him with confusion. He casually pulled a stick from the garbage pile and poked the body twice. The arm was broken, there was a knife wound on the back that had punctured a lung, and the fatal injury was to the throat. Clean and neat, nearly split in half.
Soon, Huai Shi put down the stick and the piece of door panel he was holding. He covered the body again, then looked back at the ventilation window behind him. After walking a few steps forward, he turned, estimated the distance, and then sprinted, leaping to scale the wall another thirty centimeters. He had just reached the pipe on the wall.
However, looking down, he found his footprint overlapping another faint one. As he pushed himself up, he saw fingerprints in the dust on the window's edge. Someone had been there.
