Inside the train compartment, a blood-stained white handkerchief lay on the floor, and Jing Tashen intently gazed at the wound on his hand, which continued to bleed no matter how many times he wiped away the blood.
His wiping became more frantic, and the originally slender cut was torn open, his entire hand now bleeding profusely.
The driver sneaked a glance in the rearview mirror but didn't dare to speak. Ever since the major screening began, Jing Tashen had been fixated on the wound on the back of his hand, as if the wound augured the fates of Gao Ming and Wan Jie.
The vehicle slowly passed through the district, and the driver, highly skilled, maintained a steady speed, making the ride within almost imperceptible of bumps.
"How come the blood is flowing more and more?"
