Wu Gailun

It felt as if countless red-hot steel needles were drilling through the seams in his skull. Every beat of his pulse brought a tearing, dull ache.

Wu Gailun's consciousness seemed to be sinking into a thick darkness. A chaotic roar surrounded him, sometimes near, sometimes far. It sounded like the unending beeping of a monitor in a hospital emergency room, yet also like something older and more muffled, carrying the smell of earth and rust as it slammed against his eardrums.

He tried to raise a hand to rub his temples, only to find his limbs as heavy as lead. Every movement made it feel as if grains of sand were wedged between his bones, grating painfully. His eyelids were stuck together, and it took all his strength to open them a crack.

What met his eyes was neither the familiar white ceiling nor the stark lights of an emergency room.

It was a thatched roof, gray with dust.

Layer upon layer of yellowed thatch pressed down overhead, and a few streaks of dim yellow light filtered through the gaps,