In another corner of the city, near a township and by the highway, lay a wilderness.
An abandoned factory had long stood silent in the dim and stormy weather. Walls had crumbled on all sides, and the remaining structures bore slogans painted in red oil paint, like "Cross the river by feeling the stones" and others.
Smokestacks that no longer released exhaust stabbed into the sky. One, two, three, uneven in height, some standing straight up, some leaning askew, like lances scattered haphazardly on a battlefield.
The rusty factory gate stood open to the outside, while the other end led to the pitch-dark interior, with building outlines obscured by spreading shadows.
The only sounds that echoed in the ears were the sparse and scattered noise of wind and rain... Beyond that, everything was deathly still—a stillness that sent shivers down one's spine.
