Cold sea water poured into the nose.
Yu Duqiao opened his eyes suddenly, and felt a tearing pain in his right shoulder - empty. He lowered his head and saw that the sleeves of the thick cotton uniform of the 1972 scientific expedition team were empty, soaked by the salty sea water, and stuck heavily to the deck.
Not Antarctic ice crevasses.
It's the deck. Rotten oak deck covered with dark red moss.
An indescribably thick gray fog shrouded the surroundings, with visibility less than five meters. The air smelled of rust, rotting flesh, and some sickeningly sweet spice mix. He struggled to hold himself up with his remaining left arm, his soaked cotton clothes rubbing against the deck, and he let out a hoarse groan.
