The sound kept echoing in this mountain crevice, and when Wang Jianjun turned his head to look back, he saw the local guide holding a shotgun with a shortened barrel, and with one foot, kicking his wife to the ground, aiming the shotgun at her.
"Don't stop, keep digging, faster, if you dare to stop, the next shot will hit her."
The villager with a long scar on his forehead had completely lost his previous kindness, leaving only a ferocious face.
This image and expression instantly made Wang Jianjun recall.
That year, a few young men broke into his home, one of whom slipped at the door, and the skin on his forehead seemed peeled away, combined with that ferocious expression, it was particularly frightening.
He started to remember; it wasn't his own mischief leaving home to find his grandfather.
Someone had taken him away.
"So it was you!"
