The night was as dark as spilled ink, so black and thick that it was like paste, and it couldn't be dispersed.
At Xinye Station, the lantern is lit all year round, swaying back and forth in the cold wind, and making a creaking sound, as if it is crying, and it sounds like something bad is about to happen.
Liu Cheng woke up suddenly. What had hit him in the face? It turned out to be a chicken feather that smelled of blood.
"Hey, chicken feather letter!"
