[The light is always at the end of the tunnel.
Light at the end of tunnel.
On a late autumn night, Zhou Tongguang was leaning against a street lamp, his posture was lazy and casual, his expression was dark and unclear, and his eyes casually fell on the blurred neon lights in the distance.
Sparks flickered between Tong Guang's fingers, and a small piece of cigarette ash suddenly fell, interrupting the silent atmosphere.
He looked away and spoke.
——The first time I came close to death was when I was eighteen years old.
——I survived.
After saying these two words, he put out his cigarette and turned around to leave as if he had completed some task.
Under the streetlight, the dim light seemed to be looking for something.
Unfortunately, there was silence all around, and there was nothing.