This is the "Dead Zone", an abandoned sewer pipe located three floors below Rusty Street. The air was filled with the stench of rot and rust, too strong to be dissolved. Every time he breaks free from the "echo", he has to wait in this hellish place for a long time.
The memory just now was sticky and hot, stuck to his consciousness like a rotten Band-Aid.
A skinny scavenger was smashed in the back of the head with a stone by another companion for half a can of expired lunch meat. No conspiracy, no secrets, just raw hunger and violence. The deceased's last thought was not hatred or unwillingness, but the can of lunch meat that rolled into the muddy water. What a joke.
"It's no use."
Yan Hui cursed in a low voice, his voice hoarse as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper. He leaned against the slippery wall of the pipe, gasping for air. Every time he uses his ability, a layer of emotional paint will be peeled off from the deceased and smeared on the canvas of his soul. Over time, his own color was almost covered. This is the price. Spiritual pollution, the fate of all Echo Weavers.
He took out a small piece of black bread as hard as a rock from his greasy pocket, stuffed it into his mouth and chewed hard. The dry crumbs scratched his throat, but they made him feel alive.
Stay alive to continue listening.
