The sedative calmed Chiang Qing down, rendering her powerless to resist, yet her mind remained unusually clear. It was because of this clarity that she profoundly understood the meaning of a life worse than death.
She opened her eyes wide, staring at the small window above with a fan blade exhaust hanging there, rumbling noisily.
The fan blades spun and spun, and in her ears, there was the clinking of metal against porcelain, while inside her, something cold turned and churned, tearing her apart bit by bit.
Pain?
The excruciating pain had long since made her lose consciousness; she felt nothing, lying there like a broken doll at the mercy of others.
She stared at the endlessly spinning fan blades, her mind devoid of any thoughts, holding onto just one sentence.
How could this happen, how did it come to this?
Chiang Qing couldn't understand.
No matter whom she depended on, she ended up with a tragic outcome. Why was that?
With a clang.
