A child sat on a tricycle, seemingly around five or six years old. She was a girl, with hair matted together with dirty blood and tied into two ponytails at the back of her head. She hung her head, making a wheezing sound in her throat like someone drowning.
As the girl lifted her head, Tang Qisheng's pupils contracted violently. Th-this girl didn't have any eyes.
No, that wasn't right. She once had eyes, but someone had cruelly gouged them out. Now, all that remained were two horrifying bloody holes!
But that wasn't even the most terrifying part. The moment Tang Qisheng saw the girl's face clearly, his heart nearly shattered. She had a face exactly like his daughter's!
"Yuanyuan."
Tang Qisheng's tears flowed instantly. The girl seemed to notice him too, and her little tricycle began slowly rolling toward him.
But the next second, Tang Qisheng came to his senses. His daughter had died long ago. There was no way she would appear here.
The illusion shattered. Looking again, he saw that the girl's face had become indistinct. That wasn't his daughter at all, just a strange and horrifying face.
There wasn't a trace of childish innocence in that face; it was filled entirely with bloodlust and malice. As Tang Qisheng emerged from the illusion, the girl seemed to lose her target too. The bloodstained tricycle wandered aimlessly in place, then finally turned away reluctantly and went back into the room it had come from.
Having escaped death, Tang Qisheng panted heavily. He instinctively tightened the bandage around his chest wound, but then something astonishing happened. He slowly unwound it. The wound inside was still shocking to look at, but it had stopped bleeding.
"The wound... The wound is okay?"
Puzzled, Tang Qisheng gently prodded it with a finger.