“Don’t scream.” The voice demanded gravely.
Mei slowly turned round, feeling a tremor in the voice and in herself. As soon as the fi gure grew clear in her vision, her eyes turned wide and her body stiff ened. Her hands covered her mouth. She was horrifi ed. At that instant, Mei was a video tape being played in freezeframe.
She hardly recognized anything on the fi gure. He appeared as an old ruin, or rather a corpse, with dirt, blood, bruises, cuts, and stains all over.
She then searched for details from the ground upwards. One of his leather shoes was missing. So was the belt from his waist. The trousers looked too loose on him. One or two of the buttons had gone. His favorite white suit was cut with long holes, which revealed the redness of blood, fresh or dry. The yellow collar of his new blue shirt was vividly stained with some bloody fat fi ngerprints. One eye was concealed behind the flesh, and the other was obscured by his tears quivering. Under his chin, above his throat, there was a cut across his neck. The cut looked shallow but was still bleeding. The wound was roughly covered by one hand, while the other was holding a bunch of tissues soaked with blood. More wounds were being dried with the half soaked tissues. His bleeding fi ngers were trembling. He was shaking. His nose inclined slightly to one side. His whole face was red, purple and swollen, as if a waxy mask had been twisted and twisted till a certain shape was satisfying.