Before the burning sensation on the back of his neck had dissipated, Lu Jingchen opened his eyes suddenly and saw the familiar carved wooden beams. The copper bells hanging on the beams were blown by the draft and jingled. It was not as clear as the collision of rusty ironware in the apocalypse. He subconsciously raised his hand to touch the back of his neck. What his fingertips touched was smooth and warm skin. There was no hideous wound penetrated by steel bars as expected, nor was there the lingering blood and putrid smell that filled his nasal cavity.
