Cold.
The biting cold penetrated into the seams of bones.
Tong Kailiang opened his eyes suddenly, and his vision was blurry white. He was lying on a hard iron bed with rough linen under him. A strong disinfectant and something more pungent, like formalin, went straight into his nose.
He raised his upper body and looked around.
Rows of equally cold iron beds are arranged neatly. Most of the beds are covered with white cloth, and under the white cloth are outlined the outlines of human figures that are either long or short, fat or thin. The air was dead, except for the low hum coming from the ventilation ducts in the distance.
This is... A morgue?
