Ye Wudao snorted coldly, pulled a shovel from the pile of dirt, scooped a spade's worth of earth, and threw it directly on top of his head. Then, like an industrious little honey bee, he continued to bury Chen Xiuping's son shovelful by shovelful, stopping only when the dirt reached the boy's nostrils. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he feigned exhaustion and took a rest.
Chen Xiuping's son was already scared out of his wits by Wudao. Buried in a pit one meter and seventy centimeters deep, his body was crushed by the surrounding soil, making even breathing difficult. Wudao's ruthless heart had scared him half to death, but even if he wanted to beg for mercy or scream for help, he couldn't make a sound.
