The smell of hospital bed disinfectant was pungent, and Suning heard a long, cold beep coming from the instrument. When he opened his eyes again, the fan in the classroom in 2012 was whirring, and his classmates were laughing at him for soaking the math paper with saliva. Suning lowered his head and stopped breathing - the ancestral ring that his mother had pawned in exchange for tuition fees was firmly on his index finger. Consciousness sank, and in the gray space of 500 square meters, the only one displayed was an internal real estate map before the housing prices in City S skyrocketed in 2015. He took a deep breath, turned to look out the window at the familiar dead locust tree, and dug his nails into his palms. In this life, I will never be that tired dog again.
