"Wait! Qiang!"
Instinctively turning his head, Wang Qiang's body jolted suddenly, yet his right hand resting on the doorknob subconsciously pressed down.
And then...
"Click!" The barely audible sound of the lock turning echoed like a haunting funeral bell in the dim small room, raising Tang Xiaoquan's heart to his throat.
The door slowly opened, with sunlight gradually enveloping Wang Qiang's figure, ultimately swallowing him entirely.
Hoping his concerns wouldn't come true, Tang Xiaoquan silently prayed in his heart.
Because just moments ago, as Wang Qiang's right hand reached the doorknob, his eyes inadvertently caught sight of something.
That object was only an arm's length from the doorknob. Although its surface color had faded, under the contrast of the brown corrugated box, its original features inevitably emerged:
A bloodstained handprint!
