My name is Li Tugou, and I know I'm dying. In fact, I should have died a long time ago, and being able to live until now is not a blessing, but a torture.

I must be in my 90s, the people in the village say I'm an old monster, and the young people say I'm an unearthed artifact.

For many years, I lived alone in a small mud hut at the west end of the town. I'm used to being lonely, but I always think of the past, of the war-torn years.

The past years warmed me, but also made me ache and grieve, including the long-lasting smoke of gunpowder, those wounds, the sticky blood and the smell of burnt......

"Bloody" prologue is in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

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