"There are still four years."
After reading for a while that evening, Mr. Truman put down the book in his hands. It was one of the few pastimes he had left.
Reading.
It did not require him to go anywhere farther, nor would it delay his work.
Whenever something needed to interrupt him, he only had to slip in his bookmark.
He did not need to think; his mind simply turned along with the plot.
Yes, it was an adventure novel about strange phenomena. The protagonist and several companions discovered an alien treasure, triggering a series of events.
It was not particularly logical, the characters were not very well developed, and some of the dialogue was rather idiotic.
When he had first started reading, he had failed to get into it several times. If the words "Annual Bestselling Book" stamped in gold on the cover had not made him keep trying, he might already have given up.
He had to admit that sometimes, stories with plots like this were quite entertaining when read without using one's brain.
After enduring hardships and dangers, the protagonists in the story were getting closer and closer to the truth. Perhaps in another two days, he would be able to finish the book.
But he did not know why; he suddenly no longer wanted to continue reading. He had clearly been looking forward to the ending, yet now he stubbornly did not want to finish it.
Looking at the book in his hands, he removed his reading glasses and gazed at the sky outside the window.
It was not pitch-black. The sky over Bu Peien would never be that dark. Neon lights of every color dyed the darkness of night, and perhaps "multicolored black" was what Bu Peien's nights were like.
"Four more years..."
He