Something sailed past them through the doorway, shattering on the dirt road outside the cottage with an ear splitting sound. It was a bronze mirror, now smashed into hundreds of shining, precious shards.
Behind them, the woman had risen stumblingly to her feet and flung the mirror with all her strength. When the young men turned around, one with dark eyes flaming, the other with wide eyes of shock, they saw the old woman standing, chest heaving hysterically.
She glared at Shao Cheng with a look that could be said to be even more hateful and ferocious than a raging fire—even more hateful than the disgusted glare he'd cast at her. With her gray, wrinkled skin and the scarlet crescent-shaped rashes crawling up her collarbone, she looked ghastly, like a vengeful ghost.
"You," she breathed, her voice trembling with rage. She shakily stabbed a wrinkled finger at Shao Cheng, gripping her skirt until her gray knuckles turned white.
