Chapter Three: Please Kill Me

Chenxing opened his umbrella over them. Though there was no sunlight indoors, its edges caught fire. Jiming called doctor after doctor, but each answered with the same sentence: Merchandise cannot be returned. The white bag swelled by itself. Cinnamon sweetness filled the room until it became nauseating. Zhiwei picked up the gun. Zhou Lin closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the barrel. His hand shook on her wrist. “Fire.” The clock changed to 12:13. Zhiwei swung the gun toward the white bag and pulled the trigger. The silver round tore through paper. Thick red liquid struck the wall as a scream erupted from every direction. The wound in Zhou Lin's chest stopped widening—but his breath stopped too.