On January 14, the first light of dawn slipped through a gap in the curtains and fell across Ji Li's paper-white face, piercing the stupor of the night.
In the quiet Seventh Branch, on the soft, comfortable bed in the manager's room, Room 301, he woke fully dressed, a dull ache lingering in his heart.
Everything that had happened the night before felt unreal the moment he woke, but his physical discomfort and mental exhaustion proved that the final scene had truly taken place.
As expected, things had finally reached this point.
That final scene had been the moment when the power of time fell into disarray and the terrifying ghost lying in something neither coffin nor bed awoke.
At that moment, even though the ghost had not attacked, it had still inflicted some almost unbearable harm on Ji Li. Even the Ghost Heart had developed an inexplicable problem.
As soon as he opened his eyes, Ji Li felt a tightness in his chest. Ordinary breaths could not seem to satisfy his lungs, forcing him to gasp through his mouth. Only after half a minute did it ease slightly.
Yet the Ghost Heart's powerful, faintly panicked pounding still left him deeply uncomfortable.
The Ghost Heart was panicking...
What was it afraid of?
There was only one possibility—tomorrow... no, tonight would most likely be the hardest hurdle.
Ji Li sat up stiffly on the bed, his head hanging weakly. His long hair fell strand by strand, hiding his face.
Only a little light filtered in, falling on his black hair and revealing a few stark white strands scattered among it.
There was no need to belabor it. In just a few short months, his actions had repeatedly shown that Ji Li was tired. One could even say he had grown old.