50 Charging Through It All Alone

The brightness of Meng Fuyao's eyes amid the darkness, was comparable to that of the stars above as they sparkled tirelessly and boldly, and even somewhat excitedly.

From under the roof floated indistinct sounds, low but penetrating, especially in that cold, still night. It was the melancholic weeping of a girl, blended with a man's aroused panting. Through the faint-red, muslin window screen the intertwined silhouette of two human bodies could be seen, blurry and ambiguous. Nevertheless, one could easily imagine the scene unfolding within the room.

The meticulously-embroidered canopy was swaying along with the wave-like motions of the bodies. The burning stove, warm as spring, was contributing to the beads of sweat that dripped down their skins and mixed in together. And the gushing odor of rouge and bodily fluids added the final touches to their restless yet catchy rhythm, successfully disrupting the gentle pulse of the night.