This was a small room, pitch-dark inside, with the windows sealed tight, not letting in a sliver of light.
Sitting in the room, Song Qinghuan felt as though she were in a black hole, with only a tiny desk lamp that could illuminate a small area.
Not far away on the bed lay a person, or more accurately, a corpse, preserved with special chemicals and thus not decomposed.
Song Qinghuan could hear her own heartbeat, with such a frantic rhythm, as if her heart might leap out at any moment.
But as time passed, her heart slowly stopped beating so terrifyingly.
Her expression returned to normal, quietly looking at Bai Rubing, without pity or resentment, just very calmly watching.
For at this moment, Bai Rubing presented a pitiful sight, better described as ghastly rather than pitiable or tragic, she looked completely like a ghost.
