The billiard room was filled with smoke, and the chandelier overhead flickered on and off as if suffering from malaria, illuminating the green baize table like a scene from a ghost movie. Murong Feng was lying on the club stand, with his right eye firmly pressed against the back end of the club, and his tip pointed at the red ball in the corner pocket. This ball is not difficult. It is half a billiard ball away and slightly angled. When he was in the best condition two years ago, he could hit it with his eyes closed.
But his hands are shaking now.
