My head is a splitting pain.
Consciousness is like broken jade sinking at the bottom of a deep pool, struggling to surface little by little. There was a buzzing in my ears at first, and then it gradually became clear - suppressed sobs, and the distant, vague chirping of birds outside the window.
I struggled to open my eyes.
What comes into view is an ancient Chengchen, with a light apricot-colored gauze half-draped, and the corners of the tent are embroidered with lotus patterns. The stitching is fine, but it has faded. The air was filled with a faint, bitter medicinal smell, mixed with the smell of old wood and the scent of sandalwood that had been smoked and dissipated. This is not the smell of hospital disinfectant, nor is it what my 9-to-5 apartment should smell like.
"Miss... Miss, you are finally awake!" A voice with a heavy crying tone sounded beside the bed.
