There is a strange smell in the air.
It seemed like iron tools that had been left for too long were mixed into the rotten wood, and there was also a faint smell of blood. The smell penetrated the nasal cavity and stuck to the throat, making people want to retching.
Lu Zhiwei frowned slightly, but didn't stop walking.
He was carrying an old shovel that looked quite old. The shovel head was polished and the wooden handle was oily and smooth, obviously the result of years of use. He was wearing a work jacket that had been washed white, and his trousers were stained with mud. His whole person exuded an idleness that was incompatible with his surroundings.
In front of you is Wangchuan Town.
A dead city.
