Chen Mo was woken up by a violent jolt. He opened his eyes and found that he was lying on an old ox cart, with moldy hay under him and a leaky straw mat shed above his head. The rain dripped down the cracks in the mat and hit his face, which was bitingly cold.
"Where am I?"
He sat up suddenly, feeling a sharp pain in his head, as if someone had hit him with a stick. Holding his hand on his forehead, Chen Mo tried hard to remember, but he only remembered that he worked overtime until three in the morning last night, changed the last line of code in front of the computer, and then didn't know anything else.
"Young Master is awake? Great, Young Master is awake!"
A childish voice sounded in my ears. Chen Mo turned around and saw a boy of fourteen or fifteen years old, wearing coarse short brown clothes, his hair was messily tied into a bun, his face was covered with rain and mud, looking at him with wide eyes, with tears in his eyes.
