Twenty-five thousand miles high in the sky, Fu Han slowly opened her tightly shut eyes. She looked out the window into the darkness that still enveloped the outside.
Her journey was magical, in a sense. This flight was like one that evaded the light, with the sun chasing them from behind yet never quite catching up.
They boarded the plane in M Country during the night and disembarked in City A while it was still dark; they saw very little sunlight during the entire trip.
Throughout the long flight, Fu Han only saw the clouds when lightning struck. She didn't know where she was at the time, but amidst the thunder and lightning, the clouds tumbled endlessly, dreamlike—as if from a scene in an ancient fantasy TV drama where immortals endure their tribulations.
Unexpectedly, an image arose in Fu Han's mind: He Xing sitting cross-legged on a cloud, the clothes on his upper body shredded by lightning, with streaks of blood seeping out from his skin.
