Lin Feng opened his eyes suddenly, and his violent breathing made his chest hurt. Cold sweat had already soaked his back, sticking to the old sheets with sticky sticks. The air was filled with the lingering, musty smell of cheap instant noodles soup.
This is not the bone-chilling tomb of the Qianling Mausoleum in the Qinling Mountains.
There was no sweet smell of rotten soil, no stench of burning corpse oil, and no... The smell of cologne that remained on Zhao Qian's body on the gilt-copper dagger that penetrated his chest.
He looked around blankly.
The walls of the rental house, which is less than ten square meters, are covered with yellowing celebrity posters. The walls are peeling off piece by piece in the corners, like some kind of ugly skin disease. The windows were closed tightly, not letting in any light. Only the old lamp on the table gave off a dim and weak light.
This is... The place where he lived a year ago.
The nest before being forced to sign that damn "life and death contract" and become a "rule explorer".
Lin Feng's heart beat wildly, not because of fear, but because of an almost absurd ecstasy. He lifted the quilt and stumbled to the full-length mirror in the corner.
The face of the person in the mirror was pale, and there was still lingering fear in his eyes, but that face... Was young, with no traces of weather or frost, and no scar that ran across the left face and was deeply visible to the bone.
He reached out his hand and touched his cheek tremblingly. Real touch, warm skin.
