Ji Jue waved the Bone Knife, puncturing above the face, and adjusted the shape of the cheekbones and chin. Regardless of pain or anything else, his hands remained incredibly steady from start to finish: "As for the resemblance of the face... it's been burned once, just burn it again."
So, Tong Shan spoke no more.
A silent sigh.
He swallowed the feelings of loss, regret, anger, and even unwillingness.
As Ji Jue had said, perhaps this was the best way. Moreover, he had no more time to waste.
"...Bear with it."
After putting away the flagpole, Tong Shan took out a box. His stiff fingers twisted open the lock and extracted a pen that looked ordinary.
It might seem light and insignificant, but when it reached Tong Shan's hands, his palms trembled, struggling to hold it.
