Yang Jingshen lay on the bed silently and felt the body of the man lying on top of him grow stiffer and heavier with each passing second. The fishy smell of blood seemed to have even penetrated his brain.
After spending a few more minutes staring at the roof overhead him in a trance, he slowly pushed the heavy body aside and listened to the dull thud it made as it fell on the floor. Then, ignoring the pain shooting through his body, Yang Jingshen quickly sat up and once again picked up the knife that had fallen on the bed at some point unbeknown to him.
His fingers were already numb from having exerted that much strength earlier, but he silently held it in his hand and expressionlessly wiped off the blood on the already filthy sheets. But in his heart, he felt like something was slowly falling apart.
