Lin Fan's last memory was frozen beneath the deathly pale fluorescent light in the office at three in the morning.
On his computer screen was the eighteenth revision of the PowerPoint. The client's shrill demands still rang in his ears, like a ghostly nursery rhyme that would never end: "Make the LOGO bigger! Bigger! Even bigger!"
Lin Fan rubbed his throbbing temples, took a deep breath, and prepared to make one final round of adjustments.
The next second, the world seemed to be snuffed out by a giant hand.
He lost consciousness completely.
When he opened his eyes again...
"Village Chief! The Village Chief's awake! The Village Chief's awake!"
An indescribably foul, rancid stench shot straight into his head, so pungent it felt like an assault. Before Lin Fan could even pry his eyes open, the fumes choked him until his vision went black and his chest heaved. He nearly collapsed again.
It was a smell that blended several kinds of despair:
The sour rot of coarse clothes unwashed for half a month, fermented and moldy leftovers, the rank stink of animal dung, mud, and sweat... left under the blazing sun for three days, the smells piled on top of one another like the fiercest harbinger of death.
Lin Fan's first thought was:
"Did I... get thrown into a landfill?"
