The narcotics officer standing on Ye Jian's left spoke in a low voice. In the empty hall, Ye Jian could feel the sorrow in his voice. It came from the depths of his soul. It was indelible and couldn't be healed. It had become a wound that was engraved in his soul. It would be there for the rest of his life. It was impossible for it to heal.
"Last year, a total of 18 people died in our team. It happens every month. Every month, there would be a few days when it rains. Some will be shot to death, some will be stabbed in the back, and some will be reported by drug addicts and killed by drug dealers… It often happens here."
"The photos displayed here are just the comrades who died in our team. The photo wall is a little small."
The last sentence, 'The photo wall is a little small', made Ye Jian's eyes tear up. If it was small… it meant that there would be more sacrifices in the future. There would be more black and white photos placed on the black and white wall.
