Tang Ye's eyes were complex, his tall body stood in the tiny room, scrutinizing everything. The boxes piled in the corner, the few clothes hanging on the iron rod of the window sill, some blown by the wind onto the floor and covered in thick dust, were unrecognizable of their original appearance.
His hand grazed past a wisp of wind, scattering the dust on the small desk. The blue plastic stool in front of the desk had turned black, greasy upon touch.
Tang Ye looked out of the window, the outside was pitch black, with only a faint starlight illuminating the moss on the stone platform in front of the bed.
He walked over, shook off the dust on the quilt, and freely lied down on the bed without caring for cleanliness. For an unknown reason, he felt like he had returned to his busy life of 796 before the Apocalypse, looking at the aimless life ahead and not knowing what his future would be like.
