Zhang Zian dreamt that he was in a snowy plateau. The sky was gloomy, the chilly wind was sharp as a knife, and he was surrounded by white snow. Beside him were a few people whose silhouettes were fuzzy. They seemed to have lost consciousness, and only he was awake, wrapped tightly by the overwhelming loneliness. He held the steel gun tightly to his chest and would not throw it away, even as he shivered in the coldness.
There was something moving around him, he looked down and found that it was Famous. It was lying alongside those figures, as if trying to warm them up with its own body.
The snow kept falling, piling thicker and thicker on the ground. It seemed that in this world, only two creatures, he and Famous, were alive.
Suddenly, Famous’s ears moved. Sitting up from the lying position, its eyes stared at the snow-covered distant place.
