The March breeze should have carried the fragrance of damp earth, but it was instead heavy with the stench of char and blood.
Heavenly Valley Master Shuang stood upon the high slope that had once been Daoxiang Village. Dressed in a black robe embroidered with peonies, she appeared more curvaceous and feminine than ever, yet her fingers were dug deep into her palms. Her exquisite face was frozen in a mask of frost, and a flash of hatred flickered in her alluring eyes.
Looking out, the rice paddies—which should have been vibrant with new green shoots—held only charred stalks, standing crookedly in the cracked earth like a field of tombstones. Not far away, the ruins of a dozen thatched cottages still smoldered, gray ash drifting on the wind, while the ground was littered with the scorched, twisted corpses of the villagers.
Chapter 438