The wheels of the carriage rolled across the bluestone road, making a "clunking" sound, unhurriedly, like a dying old man moving.
Yan Shuchen opened the corner of the car curtain and saw the familiar red walls and high tiles of the capital.
After ten years of absence, nothing seems to have changed here. It still looks grand but rotten on the inside.
A gust of wind rushed in, and he couldn't help it, and there was an itch in his throat.
"Cough... Cough cough..."
He quickly put down the curtain, took out a clean white handkerchief from his sleeve, covered his mouth, and coughed violently. The originally pale face was stained with a thin layer of sickly red due to the cough.
