The Buddha Bone Temple was filled with wails and lamentations; monks and pilgrims alike were tending to the wounded affected by the collapse of the temple.
More people spontaneously joined in to clear the rubble of the fallen Buddhist temple, frantically dragging out the Flesh Bodhisattvas who'd been trapped underneath.
In the anxious, panicked crowd, no one paid any attention to the black spindle that had rolled into the corner by the wall.
Two blood-stained sharp awls stretched down, like chopsticks, and picked up the neglected spindle.
Li Huowang frowned slightly as he closely examined the item Zhuge Yuan had given him before.
This spindle was made from an old, wax-yellow bone—thick at both ends and narrow in the middle. By the marks scored into its surface, it had clearly seen years of use.
Pitch-black thread was wound tightly around it, forming a ball and making the spindle worthy of its name—like a hammerhead without a handle.
