Secret Color

About This Novel

At 2:25 in the morning, although the air conditioner in the standard room had been turned on to 15 degrees, sweat was still falling from my forehead and back one by one. My hands were shaking constantly as I held the four-petal begonia flower mouth bowl with yellow and green glaze. I glanced sideways at the man sitting under the floor lamp, who looked to be only in his mid-twenties. She obviously had a face that was more delicate than that of a woman, but it was expressionless, as cold as an iceberg, and the strong muscles glowed with a bronze luster under the light. But I'm really not in the mood to appreciate it now, because I'm holding a fatal thing in my hand. I carefully put the bowl on the bed, pulled the fourth child over who was smoking, and whispered: "Are you crazy! Who is this person? Tell me, did the thing come from a dirty place?"

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