I really wish someone would come save our lives.
Wang Chunrong traced a circle on the ground with his finger.
"Three more days."
Another beggar sat beside him, leaning against the wall as well.
He held a blade of grass between his teeth, his posture wild and unrestrained, but his expression carried a faint air of death.
In a certain sense, all three had the air of men who stood on death's doorstep and no longer cared.
Living men already dead.
"Three days it is," the beggar with the grass between his teeth said lazily when he heard Wang Chunrong.
"Who knows what method of killing that bastard wants to test this time."
They had been through so many cycles of reincarnation that they had lost count.
The reason they still had their memories.
Was that they had retained this layer of identity.
The three did not know what had happened to the others.
But after all the twists and turns, it seemed that, of everyone who had entered, only the three of them remained here, squatting as beggars.
Mo Mingkong, however, suspected that they were not the only ones left.
Rather, the others had already been assimilated into this damned place.
They had become its locals.
When it came to identity, they were all bewildered.
After some experimentation, Mo Mingkong had also begun to suspect that the identity they had entered with was important.
Now it seemed that this thing was something like an entry-and-exit pass, as well as a save file, an anchor.
Without that anchor, their memories of countless cycles of reincarnation would become muddled.
And they would eventually be assimilated into this city.
So even if there was no hope of getting out, that did not mean they should surrender their agency and abandon the