Zhang Heng returned from the grocery store with a bag full of useful items. He walked through the lobby of the Gilman Hostel, backpack on his back. Although the rifle clearly protruded out of it, the surly-looking male staff didn't say a word, pretending he hadn't noticed it at all.
After that, Zhang Heng stepped on the broken stairs to get to his room located on the top floor. Every step he made creaked loudly, as though the old wood under his feet was protesting the sudden increase in burden.
The lights in the corridor were no better than the ones on the street. Although turned on, the distance the light could reach was sorely limited. The long shadows it cast on the walls made the whole place look even eerier.
