Lu Xin sat quietly on the barstool, his palm gripping Chen Xun's arm.
The candles on the bar suddenly began to flicker. It wasn't just the candles—the golden liquid in the four wineglasses on the bar was gently rippling too, while the broken or empty bottles on the shelves behind the bar clinked together.
Because of Chen Xun's words, more memories began surging into Lu Xin's mind.
More and more things began to grow clear.
He suddenly remembered what the orphanage he had lived in as a child looked like.
It was a three-story building with plenty of space, surrounded by tall walls topped with barbed wire.
He remembered dozens of children living in the orphanage, studying, playing, and listening to the adults talk about the civilized era. He also remembered that, back then, chaotic shouting, gunshots, screams, and booming explosions often seemed to come from outside the walls.
But the orphanage had been extremely safe. That chaos had never appeared inside it.
He remembered the kind and approachable Old Director, who always wore a gentle smile.
He also remembered that, besides Old Director, some "teachers" often appeared at the orphanage.
Some were young, some were old, and some always gave people a cold feeling.
He also remembered playing and fighting with the children at the orphanage, and digging through the hidden folders on Old Director's computer.
He remembered how they had banded together to "get revenge" for Little Nineteen after she was bullied, and how they had seized the swings.
These scenes began appearing steadily in his mind, as if layer after layer of fog had been brushed away.
But all of a sudden, the fog turned blood-red.
Every bright, sunny scene began to develop blood-red edges, like old photographs stained from the borders inward.
That horrifying red continued