Take Lang’s Hand, Travel Ten Thousand Miles

The chill from the bathroom tiles crept up his spine. Shen Wenlang stared at the beads of blood welling on his wrist, as if watching a slow-motion film that had nothing to do with him. The droplets fell into the bathtub filled with cold water, spreading into a delicate red haze that was soon washed away by the fresh flow of water, as if his seventeen years of life had always been this numb and insignificant...