The Bad Girl's Quick Transmigration System: Traveling Back and Forth

Chapter 331: The four naked corpses of the Great Zhou women were paraded through the streets: Sharla's head and miserable end

On the city walls, permeated with an eerie atmosphere and the pungent smell of blood, dark red stains etched like the marks of a demon's claws, emitting a chilling aura. In the cracks between the stone slabs on the ground, traces of undried blood still clung to them, like twisted earthworms.

Yu Lingna's head was nailed to a wooden stake on the city wall. Her eyes were wide open, filled with fear and unwillingness. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she wanted to scream out a final cry for help, but it was frozen in that moment forever. Her hair was spread out in a mess, tangled with the blood on the ground, as if telling of her final struggle.

Not far from Yulina's head, Sharla's head was nailed to another stake. Like a statue ruthlessly carved by fate, Sharla's head lay motionless and silent, as if narrating endless desolation and misery. Her hair lay disheveled, a few strands clinging to her pale, paper-white face, tinged with a hint of gray, like the marks left by fate's merciless whipping.

Looking closely, her skin had lost its former luster, becoming as rough and cracked as old parchment. A single teardrop still clung to her eyelashes, gleaming in the dim light, a final expression of her despair and helplessness.

She stood there quietly, her eyes glazed, yet they seemed to conceal a deep, turbulent sea of ​​suffering. Within that sea of ​​suffering, countless whirlpools swirled madly, each like a ferocious demon, its fangs bared, claws baring, telling of the pain and despair she had experienced. The edges of the whirlpools glowed with a cold, dim light, like sharp blades, slicing at every nerve in her body.

Her eye sockets were sunken, the whites bloodshot, like cracked porcelain, poised to shatter at any moment. A few unshed tears clung to her long lashes, flickering in the dim light like a candle about to go out. Endless sorrow and resentment, like a tidal wave, crashed through her already shattered soul. Each impact sent a slight tremor through her body, like a fallen leaf in the wind, helpless and fragile.

Her lips were slightly purple, twisted and curved, like a broken vine. Cracks and cracks covered them, oozing traces of blood, making them particularly glaring. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but fate had mercilessly blocked her mouth. Her open lips seemed to be silently shouting, and her protruding tongue made her look incredibly poignant and helpless.

The wound on her slender, fair neck bore a terrifying appearance. The neat incisions betrayed the sharpness of the beheading blade, each mark a startling furrow. The blood had long ceased to flow, instead congealing into a dark brown. Its brooding hue seemed a curse from the abyss, like the final, indelible mark of fate.

The coagulated blood clung to the wound like a thick, hard scab. Looking closely, one could see the irregular lines formed by the coagulation, like a dry riverbed, a reminder of the bloody agony. The skin surrounding the wound glowed a terrifying purple, swollen and bulging, appearing hideous and distorted. Tiny veins of blood covered the surface, like a fine web, tightly enveloping the wound, as if to speak of the endless pain she had endured.

The entire tower was filled with a suffocating aura of death. Like an invisible yet incredibly tenacious net, it tightly enveloped the surrounding environment, leaving the stench of decay permeating the nose and throat with every breath. The walls were splattered with dark red blood. Upon closer inspection, the stains varied in form: some spurted like the final struggle of life, while others formed in tiny drops, like the final traces of a passing life. These stains, like poppies blooming on the wall, exuded an eerie and alluring aura, yet also held a deadly danger.

The heads of Sharla and Yu Lingna were like two puppets, cruelly punished by fate. The surrounding shadows were like greedy beasts, constantly devouring the only ray of light, making the two heads even more eerie and terrifying.

Sharla's hair lay tangled on the ground, like windswept weeds, dry and brittle, streaked with blood, strands clinging together like twisted snakes. Fear and resentment were etched on her face like a deep scar. Her hollow eyes, wide open, slightly bulging and bloodshot, stared straight ahead, as if she were seeing the hideous face of her killer, or perhaps even traversing time and space, uttering her own unfulfilled wishes. Her lips parted slightly, revealing a protruding tongue, still stained with fresh blood. The dark red blood at the corners of her mouth had congealed, turning a dark brown, glaring against her pale skin.

Sharla's miserable condition is like a shocking picture of hell, which is unbearable to look at.

Her hair was a tangled mess, like dry grass whipped by a late autumn wind, scattered haphazardly and without any apparent purpose. A few strands clung to her cheeks, wet and stained with dust and congealed blood. The blood, a dark brown like dried mud, intertwined with the dust, making the once-smooth strands coarse and stiff. Each strand seemed to tell of the agony and struggle she had endured.

The expression of terror on her face was frozen as if under a spell. Her eyes, once bright and wide, were now just two black holes, empty and dead. The skin around her eye sockets was blue and purple, as if pinched by an invisible hand.

Her nose was a horrific sight. The bridge of her nose had visibly collapsed, the fractured bones clearly visible. The once straight nose was now twisted and deformed. Blood gushed profusely from her nasal cavity, leaving a series of horrifying bloodstains on her face. These streaks snaked down her cheeks, some dried and dark in color; others still moist and eerily shiny. The blood dripped onto the ground, forming irregular stains, like blood-red flowers blooming in hell.

Sharla's mouth was wide open, and her sticking tongue seemed to be silently shouting out her grievances and pain.

The faint smell of blood permeated the air. It wasn't overpowering, but it lingered in every corner like a ghost. It blended with the air, creating a sickening odor. It seemed to emanate from deep within the earth, carrying a scent of decay and decay, as if telling the horrific story of the skull's past. Like an invisible demon, the odor penetrated the nose, irritating every nerve, making the stomach churn and a strong urge to vomit rise in the throat.

And Sharla's miserable head lay quietly nailed to a wooden stake on the city wall, like a lonely soul forgotten by the world. The surrounding city wall was like a huge embrace, tightly wrapping her, waiting to be completely swallowed by time.

That sorrow, like the relentless cold rain of winter, carried a bone-chilling chill, soaking every inch of her soul, drop by drop. Each drop was like a sharp ice knife, piercing her heart deeply and leaving her with anguish. She could almost hear the sound of the raindrops, a sound that was particularly harsh in the silent room, like fate's merciless mockery.

The unwillingness is like a beast trapped in a cage. It possesses a strong body and sharp claws, yet it is bound by invisible shackles. It roars in anger, lashing out in vain against the seemingly fragile yet indestructible shackles. Each impact leaves it scarred, yet it never gives up. The raging anger in its eyes is a longing for freedom and fairness.

Her eyes stared straight ahead, their fixed gaze filled with a resolute determination. Her gaze pierced the blood-soaked air, past the executioners, yet seemed to penetrate everything before her, as if glimpsing the distant past and the endless future. Her eyes were filled with questioning, questioning the injustice of fate, questioning the almighty yet indifferent god of fate. She wanted to know why such cruel suffering had befallen her. She had once been a person with dreams and hopes, fighting hard for her beliefs, but fate, like a mischievous and cruel child, ruthlessly destroyed everything she had.

She thought of her former family and friends, those warm smiles and words of encouragement, now a distant memory. She recalled her former ideals and ambitions, those beautiful visions and longings, now shattered. She refused to accept this fateful end, unwilling to be manipulated by fate. Her soul struggled in agony, her eyes revealing an unyielding will. Even if only her head remained, she would wage a final struggle against fate.

Her face was as pale as paper, devoid of any color, as if drained of life. The sunlight that shone on her face failed to add a hint of life to her paleness, but instead highlighted her weakness and helplessness.

Her skin, once so proud of itself, was once delicate and smooth, like the finest silk, radiating a healthy glow that drew countless envy. But now, it was covered with traces of weariness and fatigue. The tiny wrinkles were like ravines carved by time, as if time had ravaged her in this moment. Each line concealed the hardships and vicissitudes she had endured, and each darkening hue spoke of the torment she had endured during this period.

Her once majestic and proud face, like a beautiful dream, was ruthlessly blown away by the raging winds of reality, long gone. Once, she towered above everyone, her commanding presence like a king's cloak, commanding awe. Whenever she appeared before them with an elegant and confident stride, the entire space seemed frozen in her presence. Her gaze was sharp and unwavering, and wherever she glanced, no one dared to look directly at her, as if her gaze could penetrate their souls. Her proud expression, like the brightest star in the night sky, shone with an unparalleled brilliance. The corners of her mouth curled up slightly, a hint of contempt and disdain, as if everything in the world was under her control.

She held lavish banquets, packed with guests, and everyone surrounded her, flattering her. She sat on a magnificent throne, receiving everyone's worship and enjoying the supreme glory. She possessed endless wealth and power, and she could get whatever she wanted. It seemed as if the whole world revolved around her.

But now, all of this has become a thing of the past.

Beside the majestic city wall, her head stood silently, as if forgotten by the world in this deserted corner. Her eyes, besides a sorrow as deep as fallen autumn leaves and an inexpressible resentment like an unfinished chess game, were filled with despair and helplessness. That despair, like a dark abyss hidden deep within the mountains, was deep and cold, emitting a chilling aura. It spread silently, engulfing her whole being with an irresistible force. Every inch of her skin, every cell, was tightly wrapped in despair, leaving her unable to sense even the slightest glimmer of hope, as if she were trapped in eternal night, with no sign of dawn.

And that helplessness was like a vast, viscous swamp. She struggled again and again, trying to escape, but each struggle only sank her deeper. With every movement, the sticky mud would tightly wrap around her head, like countless invisible hands, pulling her deeper. Her consciousness was gradually restrained, and her strength gradually faded in this futile struggle. She could only watch helplessly as she sank deeper and deeper, unable to stop.

She seemed to have foreseen her tragic end, her hollow eyes seeming to have traveled through time and space, beholding the doomed tragedy of the future. She seemed to be bidding a silent farewell to the world, that single look like a silent farewell letter, carrying a lifetime of regret and pain, slowly drifting off into the unknown distance.

Her lips were wide open, like two leaves trembling in the bitter cold wind, stripped of their former rosy glow and luster, appearing pale and fragile. Those wide-open lips seemed to speak of endless suffering. Her tongue flickered timidly, as if she were about to say something. Perhaps it was an angry accusation of the unfairness of fate, the suffering she endured surging through her mind like a tide, and she longed to cry out her resentment. Perhaps it was a deep longing for the good old days, those warm memories of being with family, those joyful scenes of playing with friends, all flashing before her eyes like a movie. Perhaps it was an extreme fear of the unknown future, the unknown dangers in the darkness like a demon with bared fangs, filling her with dread.

Yet, she could no longer utter a single sound. Her throat felt as if gripped by an invisible, powerful hand. Every time she tried to speak, she felt only the iron-like pressure of the hoop. The words she wanted to confide were like a bird trapped in a cage, frantically flapping its wings in her heart, uttering a silent wail. They clashed in the narrow space, unable to break free from the shackles of silence. They gradually dissipated within her heart, transforming into an endless sadness.