The Story of Tongsu

In the morning light he could now see the man, perhaps in his late thirties and pencil thin. The blood had thickened almost to a paste and covered his entire front as if someone had emptied a can of paint on him. Tongsu expected that someone would eventually come looking for the man. He worked through the morning and then he buried the pistol, the man, the empty canvas bag and even the wine bottle. A month went by and then another. In the evenings he walked down to where he had buried the man. Drinking wine Tongsu said, is there anyone coming?