In late June, Saint Petersburg was welcoming its most enchanting season of the year: the White Nights.
Midsummer at fifty-nine degrees north.
The sun simply refused to set.
Late at night, the skyline... looked like a painter's palette, as though the Creator could not decide: dusk or dawn?
The Neva River reflected the Winter Palace. Now and then, a sightseeing boat passed through, looking from afar like a finger drawn across deep blue cloth.
"No wonder Pushkin praised this ancient capital as the 'window to Europe'!"
Translator Zhao sighed in admiration.
Tom added, "A shame Pushkin died so young!"
"How did he die?"
"Pushkin's wife was a renowned beauty in Saint Petersburg. A French nobleman kept provoking him and harassing his wife, so Pushkin challenged him to a duel. In the end, Pushkin died of his wounds at thirty-seven."
"It's almost one in the morning, and people are still out walking?"
The China National Football Team's bus slowly made its way toward their base.
Through the windows, everyone saw couples strolling hand in hand beside the canal, elderly people feeding pigeons on benches, and a group of children whizzing past on bicycles.
Had time glitched?
Or did the whole city simply refuse to sleep?
"Li Luo, look!"
"Shh! He's asleep!"
The bus immediately fell quiet.
Li Luo seemed to have no trouble adjusting to the new surroundings, nor did anything else appear to affect him. He had fallen asleep as soon as he boarded the bus.
Much later.
They arrived at their base. He stumbled groggily into his room and went straight back to sleep.
Early the next morning.
Li Luo woke up, first feeling around for a bottle of mineral water on the bedside table. He sat up, unscrewed the cap, and took a few sips.
Then he