Luo Tian opened his eyes suddenly, and the biting cold penetrated into the seams of his bones along his rags. His throat was as dry as if it had been sandpapered, and every mouthful of saliva he swallowed smelled like rust. He wanted to raise his hand to rub his swollen head, but found that his arm was terribly heavy. When he looked down, he saw that his dirty wrist was as thin as a match stick, and was stained with unknown black mud and dried blood scabs.
Surrounded by the howling cold wind, the ruined temple with the sky above its head was ventilated everywhere. Several clay Bodhisattvas with missing arms and legs stood crookedly in the corner, with layers of spider webs. The floor was covered with some moldy hay, exuding a stench mixed with urine, musty and rotten smells, which made him almost vomit on the spot.
"No way... Wasn't I hit by a truck on the way home from overtime work? Why didn't I die completely, and why did I travel to such a ghost place?"
