Zhao Laoda's mind was a blank.
In all these years, this was the first time he had seen such a savage expression on his peasant father's face.
Old Man Zhao's tone was so fierce that Zhao Laoda instinctively obeyed him.
Fighting back his nausea, he took the index finger Old Man Zhao handed him and crouched on the floor.
"How do I draw it?"
Old Man Zhao pinched the stump of his finger, which was still bleeding. His dark face had paled somewhat, and cold sweat covered his forehead. At the question, he fought through the pain and said shakily:
"First... draw a circle first. A big one."
Zhao Laoda picked up the finger. The eerie, sickening sensation made his scalp prickle, but the atmosphere left him no choice but to continue.
The kitchen was neither large nor small. The biggest circle he could draw would be at least three meters across.
But he had only drawn a third of the circle with the severed finger before he had to stop.
"You old bastard, it's out of blood!"
Zhao Laoda said.
Old Man Zhao's face was horribly pale. Gritting his teeth, he crouched on the floor too. This was his first time doing anything like this, and he had no confidence in it. He had thought he could have his son do it for him.
Now it seemed that would not work after all.
"Move aside. I'll do it myself..."
Old Man Zhao released his tight grip on the stump, and blood instantly spurted out again.
His face blanched. Drenched in sweat, he crouched and pressed the stump against the floor. A surge of searing pain nearly made him pass out.
But he had no other choice. This was the only way. God...
Old Man Zhao offered a silent prayer,