The rain in the 13th year of Jian'an was as lingering as the musty smell in Cui Daye's rental house.
She was awakened by the tiles. The dull pain in the back of the head crawled down the spine, and the right hand still held the phone - but the palm was empty, with only a few crescent-shaped indentations. In front of him is a dusty bamboo hat. Under the bamboo hat is a yellow and thin face, with cheekbones as high as two frozen pieces of cornstarch. He is shivering and shouting: "Big Goose, you are finally awake! If you faint again, Manager Liu will drag you to a mass grave!"
Cui Daye blinked. This voice is worse than her three-year-old second-hand mobile phone receiver.
