'The man's already dead. What's the point of such a lavish, expensive coffin?'
Jin Xueli had no qualms about speaking ill of the dead; she had already cursed Westley a dozen times over.
'This guy. Even in death, he couldn't let go of his rich-man airs. Look at how much trouble he's causing the people digging up his grave.'
The coffin was heavy and wide. Even propped upright in the backhoe's bucket, a large section of it still jutted out, wobbling precariously as if it might topple over at any moment.
"I've secured it all around with rope,"
Jin Xueli shouted to Han Liuyue in the cab, one hand shielding her face from the rain. "Try moving again. It shouldn't fall this time, but don't go too fast."
As if the heavens refused to let them transport the coffin easily, it had started to rain again not long after they left the tomb. Huge raindrops, with an infuriatingly cheerful vigor, once again beat down generously upon the earth.
