The fog had gradually crept into the second waterway, those hazy and chaotic mists floating near the ceiling of the sewer corridor like gossamer, making it feel as if the deep, thick roofs had disappeared, and the second waterway was being slowly swallowed by the "sky".
The short-statured old man, wrapped in an old coat, walked briskly through the strange and silent sewer corridor—he had been worn down by the decades, unable to move as swiftly as he did now for many of those years, yet somehow, today, at this moment, he felt his body lighten again, as if youth had returned to his frame, the joint pain and muscle weakness all gone.
He walked faster and faster, and the big wrench he carried no longer felt as heavy as it did at first; he quickly passed through those corridors and junctions etched in his memory, sprinting obstinately toward a direction he could no longer clearly remember but which felt exceedingly familiar.
