Xiao Lao San prides himself on having seen the world.
One night, after drinking too much, he went out to relieve himself and witnessed a Jianghu person fighting in an alley, blood spilling with every blow. Although he was frightened to the point of weak legs that day, he began to call himself a Jianghu person afterward.
He thought he had seen murder, so what else was there he hadn't seen?
But he never imagined a scene like this.
That heavy bag indeed contained a head, but it wasn't the sheep's head he longed for to cook and eat—it was a blood-soaked head with disordered hair, eyes fiercely open, eyebrows wild, like weeds growing extravagantly on a prairie.
Pale skin tightly stretched over prominent and emaciated cheekbones, ghostly sharp. It stared straight ahead, chilling like a reaper.
Even as a dead man, it terrified the surrounding men, who usually were boastful and provocative, crying out and fleeing in panic.
