Although Zhang Zian had already slept on the plane, he still fell asleep quickly and soundly at night. When he woke up, it was already dawn. He did not have to deal with jet lag.
When he opened his eyes, he immediately forced himself to wake up. He thought that this was some kind of illusion, that he was still sleeping in a tent in the Egyptian desert. Peter Lee was snoring in the tent next to his. In the next moment, he heard the sound of the tent unzip, the sound of feet running on the sand, and the sound of toilet paper ripping. A voice kept muttering, "I can't hold it… I can't hold it…"
Yet there was none of that. The surroundings were quiet, very quiet. There were only the sounds of the elfins breathing, the sounds of cars parked along the sidewalk, and neighbors waking up and greeting one another.
Above him was not a tent, but a ceiling that had already turned yellow. There was also an old-school ceiling lamp.
