Holding Gu Ningyue in his arms, he soothed her anxieties, and before long, the two of them drifted off to sleep.
The night stretched on, with some finding peace in their lover's embrace, while others awoke in a rundown rental room.
The white T-shirt was stained, and the man with a missing arm injected a dose of medication, his face pallid like that of a corpse.
Since Jin Dongsheng severed one of his arms, his life had turned into hell.
Each day, Jin Dongsheng only had someone perfunctorily tend to his wounds, providing only anti-inflammatory drugs.
In such circumstances, enduring that heart-piercing pain depended entirely on what was in those syringes.
Jin Dongsheng knew but did nothing to stop it.
He understood that in Jin Dongsheng's eyes, he was nothing more than a tool.
Even if he died, it wouldn't make any difference to him.
But he couldn't die, not after his mother had gone through so much to raise him. He hadn't yet given her a single day of happiness.
