When Song Zhuyu arrived, this was the scene that met his eyes— Rui Ye curled up on the ground while protecting his head with both arms, bruises and bleeding abrasions marring his frail body, visible trembles wrecking his thin frame. All around him, the villagers were throwing stones at him as though intending to pummel him to death, foul curses spilling out of their lips, each harsher and more vile than the last.
Though they shouted about Rui Ye being the son of a demon, right now, they looked more of a demon themselves, with their twisted expressions and pure malice swirling in their eyes.
