In autumn, the third year of Jian'an.
Lu Daye woke up from the cold.
It wasn't the dry cold of late autumn in the north, but the damp and cold smell of water, like a frozen snake burrowing down the collar, wrapped in the smell of rotten grass and mud. It made him cough violently, and his mouth was suddenly filled with the smell of earth.
"Fuck..." He wanted to curse, but his throat felt like it had been sandpapered, and he could only make a hoarse sound.
It took a full two-quarters of an hour for his vision to go from blurry to clear. The sky above was gray, with leaden clouds hanging low, and there was a faint sound of fighting in the distance. It was not the sound effect on the TV, but the real sound of the collision of weapons, mixed with the screams of people dying, which made the eardrums hurt.
