When Ji Li opened his eyes again, the scene before him was no longer boundless darkness, but a forsaken place amid ruins and ashes.
This was the Rose Hotel, emptied of all life.
A sliver of dawn rose on the horizon, sweeping over the Rose Hotel's shattered revolving doors and falling across Ji Li's face, illuminating an expression of profound exhaustion.
The crimson in his eyes had yet to fade. His sunken eye sockets held a sensitivity to light, while his cheeks were pale enough to resemble those of a corpse.
In the empty Rose Hotel, there was no longer any sign of people or ghosts. Fang Shenyan, Mei Sheng, Xiao Qian, and the others had vanished somewhere, presumably occupied with their own affairs.
Ji Li had opened his eyes and returned to a brand-new January 9, proving that his guess had been correct, though that did not mean it was over.
But his body swayed even as he stood, leaving him without the energy to think further. He turned and staggered upstairs toward his old room.
He had no idea how long he slept.
When he first fell asleep, the sky had only just brightened. When he opened his eyes again, the gold along the windowsill had already become the color of dusk.
An entire day of precious time had slipped away unnoticed, while his mental strength, drained to its limit, had received a relatively ample recovery.
Ji Li awoke on the bed in Room 412 and fell into a brief daze. Only when he instinctively pulled the Cigarette Case from his pocket and placed a slightly curled cigarette to his lips did he return to himself.
The rich scent of tobacco sank into his lungs, finally awakening his body and stirring his thoughts. Everything that had happened