Su Rou hung pinned against the four foot thick timber retaining wall, her left shoulder nailed to the ironwood by the serrated star iron blade. The hot, sticky crimson fluid continued to run down the front of her torn lavender gown, staining the white sand around her boots.
Her head lolled forward against the dark timber, her breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps that whistled through her cracked teeth.
Ye Chen maintained his crushing grip upon her jaw, forcing her chin upward so her dark almond eyes were locked into his own.
"Speak the words, Su Rou," Ye Chen said, his voice flat, low, and carrying the unrelenting weight of an executioner's axe. "Tell the ten thousand disciples sitting in those tiers who paid for the blade. Tell them who commanded the harvest on Miller Creek Road,
