The thick smell of gasoline seeped into the room through every possible gap, mixing with the deadly smoke. The darkness inside the room made the flames outside on the ground floor beneath the window even more glaring, reflected in Shi Su's eyes filled with disbelief.
At nineteen, in Jiang City, in that small inn, the terrified cries of other guests staying in the inn, the hysterical screams of the inn's female owner, at that moment, it was as if countless burnt hands were grasping her, holding her limbs and bones, dragging her back into the abyss of that year.
Shi Su held her mouth shut, desperately breathing through the damp scarf, struggling to stay conscious. But because of the gasoline, the fire was too vast, the smoke too thick; even with her mouth covered, it was unbearable. How could Jing Jihan possibly be faring!
