Su Ming drank with Old Zheng from noon until dawn. They went through two cases of baijiu, yet neither the Super Soldier nor the Qi Cultivator managed to drink the other under the table. Even as they stepped out of the restaurant, they were still not quite satisfied.
But Old Zheng had a far stronger sense of responsibility than Su Ming. He could not simply abandon the hundreds of thousands of people at the S.P.E.A.R. Agency, so after agreeing to have roast goose together next time, they parted ways on the streets of Shuangqing.
From the bustling crowds when they arrived to the scattered lights when they left, though they had not drowned themselves in drink and dreams, it had all passed in the blink of an eye.
Looking at this familiar yet unfamiliar city, Su Ming stood beneath the lights outside the restaurant, lowered his head, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.
The familiar scent of tobacco mixed with the damp heat of the night, flowing into his mind like alcohol.
"Am I really so bored that it hurts?" As he walked down the street, he spoke with Strangle. Public safety in China had never been a concern. Forget him—even ordinary people could safely walk alone at night. "No matter who I ask, they all say nothing has been happening lately. Has the universe really become this peaceful after its ascension?"
"Eek."
Strangle comforted him. World peace was a good thing. Even it would get indigestion if it ate people every day.
"The main thing is, I feel like something is off. You know what I mean, right?"
Su Ming rubbed Little Sprout's head on his shoulder, took out a piece of chocolate, and shared it with Strangle, one bite each.
It shared memories with its host,