The room was filled with thick moisture, and everywhere lingered the smell of damp earth and oil.
Outside the main hall, citizens not afraid of death whispered to each other as they watched the excitement.
Du Wenchang gripped Liang Qu's hand tightly, his cries of sorrow drowning out the sound of the rain outside, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
It truly was a sight so sad that it made the hearer weep, and the onlooker shed tears.
Liang Qu felt uncomfortable all over, only feeling that the air was too damp; his clothes clung to his skin. He grasped Du Wenchang's wrist in return and squeezed hard, causing pain that forced Du Wenchang to let go.
Du Wenchang had some cultivation, but sadly it wasn't of a high order; his fleshy hands were nearly crushed, swollen and turning purple.
As the pain went straight to the heart, he endured without crying out, his jaw muscles bulging.
Liang Qu had no expression on his face.
