The wind whistled in my ears, carrying the unique salty smell of urban nights, mixed with exhaust gas and distant noise.
Lin Che's last consciousness was of the cold concrete floor rapidly magnifying on her retinas, and a sense of nothingness mixed with great reluctance and absurd relief. In 2023, I am thirty years old, with steel nails in my knees, sitting at the end of the bench watching the team being eliminated, my life is like a dry well. Then... There is no more.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
