What lay before Nalan Ye Jue was: four extended heavy trucks, squeezing a regular purple taxi in the middle, now reduced to a heap of scrap metal.
The ground was stained with blood, and the traffic police at the scene sighed, saying such a chain crash was extremely rare, and there were no survivors.
The arriving ambulance carried stretchers laden with broken limbs, dismembered clothes, and organs wrapped beyond recognition.
The horror of it was far more shocking than the news photos by a hundred times.
No one survived.
Four words defined the death of Lan Qingxin.
Nalan Ye Jue's brows knitted tightly!
"I want to see our Xin! Where is our Xin?"
"I don't believe Sister Xin is dead, sobbing, during the exam I even let her copy my big questions, and she was so serious about it!
