It was deep into the night. The abandoned chemical plant lay in utter silence.
I put on the clothes that Shao Song had brought — an oversized black trench coat, its sleeves almost covering my fingertips. It hid the bruises and blood on my body… and the past I no longer wished to reveal.
The folding knife he left me was tucked into the coat's inner pocket. I held it tightly, as if clinging to life itself.
The wind crept through broken windows. Outside, the guards were switching shifts. He had timed everything perfectly.
This was my only chance.
I crawled on the cold ground, inching along the wall's edge.
Old wounds and fresh pain burned like fire. Every movement tore at the gash in my chest, blood trickling down my ribs, soaking into the hem of my coat.
But I couldn't stop.
I didn't dare breathe too loudly, afraid the slightest sound would alert the guards outside.
I crept out of the storeroom and hid behind a stack of rusted barrels. The air reeked of rot and old chemicals.
My left hand had gone numb — probably fractured back in the warehouse. Swollen and useless, I relied solely on the other to crawl.
From above, the factory resembled a monstrous beast. And I? Just a worm wriggling in its belly, desperate to survive.
Just as I neared the exit, a sudden explosion erupted from within the plant.
Boom—!
The metal shutters rattled, alarms blared, lights flashed on. Amid the chaos, someone shouted, "What the hell?!"
It was Shao Song.
He really had set off the old oil drums, just to create a distraction for me.
As the others rushed toward the fire, I slipped into the ventilation shaft he had marked.
The hatch was rusted shut, but he had already loosened the screws. I pushed it open with all I had and plunged into another world.
The sewer was dark and damp, the water waist-deep, moss creeping along the walls.
The air was putrid, and every breath was filled with the stench of rusted blood.
I stumbled forward, losing track of time — ten minutes, maybe an hour?
I fell again and again, splitting my forehead open. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing.
Run, Zeyang. Only if you live do you earn the right to avenge.
Finally, I climbed a rusty ladder. Beyond the cover, I seemed to hear the faint sound of cars and early birds.
I forced the manhole open. Outside, only a field of wild grass awaited me.
I rolled out just as the sky turned a pale grey.
The morning breeze brushed my face — a long-lost warmth.
I lay among the grass, drenched, bloodied, like a wounded wild dog.
But I was alive.
I had escaped.
I looked up at the faint dawn peeking through clouds. A single tear slid from the corner of my eye.
At that moment, I knew—
Hell wasn't over yet.