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The cry of the young man seemed like a string, invisibly tugging at the nerves of the others. Gradually, the cries grew louder.
Although these people had almost no connection with those buried in the mine and some had not even exchanged a single word with each other, they could not help but feel a sorrow akin to the grief of foxes at the death of rabbits, unaware of who among them might be buried next.
Watching these men dressed in tattered clothes, their faces so dirty that their true appearances were indistinguishable, weeping uncontrollably, Xiao Ruo felt as though something was blocking her inside, leaving her tense.
Those strict guards, usually stern, were silent at this moment, having just narrowly escaped from Lord Yama's grip, still holding residual fear in their hearts.
