It's not a sharp sting, but a dense soreness, as if every inch of my soul is being ground by a blunt instrument.
The moment Lu Zhidao opened his eyes, his consciousness was still on the cold obsidian floor of the Palace of Hell. He remembered the pale faces of his colleagues in the palace when he submitted the annual "Proposal for New Rules for Optimizing the Efficiency of the Six Paths of Reincarnation and Quantitative Settlement of Merit"; he remembered Yan Jun's eyes that showed no emotion; he remembered that when he was carried out of the palace by two evil men, the judge's pen slipped from the sleeve pocket of his official robe and hit the ground with a crisp and lonely "click" sound.
Then comes the endless fall.
Then, there was this strange, heavy feeling of being wrapped in some sticky substance.
"Heartbeat 72, blood pressure 110/70, blood oxygen 98... Vital signs are stable. Doctor Lin? Doctor Lin Yu? Can you hear me?"
A vague female voice sounded in my ears, as if it was unreal through a layer of water.
Lu Zhidao wanted to move, but found that this body did not obey his orders at all. His eyelids were as heavy as a thousand pounds, and his limbs seemed to be filled with the weak water of the River Styx. What shocked him even more was that the clearly discernible "golden light of merit" or "black energy of sin" that was inherent in the souls of all living things around him now became extremely dim and messy, as if separated by a thick layer of frosted glass covered with dirt.
