The burning pain at the back of his neck had barely faded when Lu Jingchen jerked his eyes open. Above him were familiar carved wooden beams. A copper bell hanging from one swayed in the draft, ringing clear and bright, nothing like the clanging of rusted metal in the apocalypse. Instinctively, he reached for the back of his neck. His fingertips touched smooth, warm skin. There was no horrific wound from being impaled by rebar, as he had expected, and no lingering stench of blood and rot in his nostrils.
