After Lin Guoyun's death, the rain was the first thing to stop.
The night was fading into nothingness like diluted dark coffee. The Hong Kong streets, the 18th-century scenery, and all the boxy vintage cars dissipated one after another from her vision.
After the game ended, Lin Sanjiu found herself standing inside a room made of cement.
The room was a dim, bare cube, merely about ten square meters large. "We were running, killing, and fighting in this small room just now? How incredible," Lin Sanjiu thought. The room was ill-lit, and if it weren't because somebody had left the door at the front opened, which exposed the desert outside and permitted some light to enter the room, it might have perhaps been complete darkness now, as there weren't any light bulbs here.
