My stomach is growling again.
Lin Feng leaned against the corner of the third-floor bleachers of the stadium, burying his head in his knees, trying to use this posture to compress his stomach to relieve the hunger that almost drove him crazy.
Useless.
The acid in my stomach burned like fire, and my throat was filled with bitter water. He hasn't eaten anything for a day and a half. The last time he ate, he used half a pack of damp cigarettes and half a black steamed bun that was so hard that it could kill someone in exchange for it from an old man.
He ate the half of the steamed bun in three separate meals, chewing each bite dozens of times in his mouth until it completely turned into a tasteless paste before he was willing to swallow it.
But now, that little energy has long been exhausted.
"Damn..." Lin Feng cursed in a low voice, his voice hoarse like sandpaper being rubbed.
He raised his head and looked around this ghost place, which was officially called "Safe Area 13".
This was originally the largest indoor gymnasium in Beijing, but now it has become a refuge for tens of thousands of people. The court, the stands, and the aisles were all crowded with people. The air was mixed with the stench of sweat, excrement, and a rotten smell of despair.
There is no order here, or rather, there is only one order - the order of fists.
