The Slaughterman of Love

coldly. "Not until she h

be a steamed bun that had already been bitten, or a bowl of sour porridge. There was no water flowing out of the faucet, so it had been several days since Jiang Youyou did not take a bath. The

noon every day. Sometimes he would take a scalpel to scratch on trembling Jia

his was only an illusion. The man said to himself, "If I cut f

phantasms of women in red with dishevelled hair swaying in front of her in the whole room. S

one might hear, no one was willing to be a busy body. She had no pen to write a message on one of her banknotes to ask for help by dialing 110. And they might take away the

men and women in this city who could satisfy their own desires but were swallowed by their desires. So every corner of the city turned into a site of desire-release. The mangrove forest beautiful at day was fully packed with men and women rocking and shaking at night. The

was the last night here. If she did not run away, she had to return to that hell of Room 412. Under the circum

he scar on the back of her hand was no longer bleeding. The strength, no matter how

ou rejoiced at the fact that she was not getting fat, ot

that couldn't be distinguished as men or women with cigarette in the mouths who were stabbing a

the sewer. She thought she was like a thief, or the Spiderman. In the pocket Fang Ruxiang sewed on her briefs there we

tside world. Recalling the familiar bed in the welfare home, the little plush bear on the headboard, and

the ground. She held her breath and raised her head to see a crescent moon shining coldly in th