Hang Zhenyu opened his eyes and found himself lying on a hard bed.
The ceiling was made of blackened wooden beams, and there was a musty smell in the air. He sat up suddenly, feeling a tightness in his chest - no, this body was wrong.
He lowered his head and saw a pair of slender, pale hands with mud between the nails. Further down, there is a floral shirt that has been washed white and is heavy on the chest.
