The smell of disinfectant still lingered on the tip of his nose, and the last thing Yong Dae saw was the dazzling white light of the operating lamp suddenly exploding. As one of the top plastic and cosmetic surgeons in the country, she had just completed a six-hour cheekbone incision surgery. Before the soreness in her fingertips had dissipated, a sudden circuit failure devoured everything.
The feeling of weightlessness only lasted for a moment, replaced by a biting chill and the sting of rough linen rubbing against the skin.
Yong Dae opened his eyes suddenly. What he saw was not the emergency room of the hospital, but the low, damp adobe wall. The roof was covered with sparse thatch. A few rays of pale skylight leaked from the holes, illuminating the dust flying in the air. Beneath him was a hard wooden bed, covered with a thin layer of straw that exuded a musty smell.
