The Drowing Summer

Xia Xiaoman seized the chance to pull out her pepper spray, but the moment she pressed the nozzle, the man twisted her arms behind her back and pinned her to the damp grass. The can clattered to the ground, the pungent capsaicin mingling with the rain and rising in the air. Unexpectedly, Li Moting took a deep breath, and the grip restraining her noticeably loosened.

"Extract of Burmese chili?" His voice turned hoarse. "And... lemongrass?"

Xia Xiaoman froze. This formula had been taught to her by her late grandmother, and only that old-fashioned general store in the city still sold it. Li Moting's nose nearly brushed against the curve of her neck, his scorching breath sending shivers down her spine.

"You smell..." The man's Adam's apple bobbed. "Like a night market in 1970s Rangoon."

Just then, Xia Xiaoman's corset strap snapped, and the backup camera hidden inside slipped out. Li Moting let out a low chuckle, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her waist as he picked up the camera. "Psychological healer? Or..."

A bolt of lightning split the night sky, illuminating the image just captured on the camera's screen—a bloody handprint in the corner of the document. Both of them stiffened at the same time.