Xia Siyu felt as if she had gone to the seaside and ridden on a banana boat. The boat sped along, and as she sat at the bow, cutting through the wind and waves, clinging for dear life, it was just enough to keep from being thrown off.
It was like she was skiing, having taken on a level-three slope, racing down with lightning speed. She had to twist and turn, dodging pedestrians and obstacles—if she made even the slightest mistake, she would tumble off the cliff.
She also felt like when she was a child practicing dance, with her mother marking spots on the ground. Swinging to the music, she had to step precisely on the marked points with every move. A single misstep would throw the entire dance off rhythm.
Yet, even under such extreme tension and excitement, she was like those people who did extreme sports—with adrenaline surging suddenly, dopamine starting to secrete wildly, she wanted to scream, to scratch, hesitating between fleeing and continuing.
