The perpetual fog continued to blanket Shambhala in its greyish body, and Lin Sanjiu could see nothing more than a glimpse of the ground. There were cracks here and there on the land beneath them. The ground was crumbling and caving in on itself, accompanied by an unsettling crunch. It looked like a pool of bubbling lava.
Lin Sanjiu retracted her gaze and looked back.
The choppers and the skytrain had been fully occupied when they came to Shambhala. But now, it took only one chopper to fetch the remaining survivors.
Only five members from the Munitions Factory survived the tragedy. Right now, four of them sat next to Lin Sanjiu, their faces each paler than the last. All of them had put their heads together and chatted quietly, their faces were clouded with confusion. Pricking her ears up, Lin Sanjiu tried to eavesdrop, but she couldn't understand a single word they said, as they spoke Italian.
