The apartment door swung open, and dust hit him full in the face.
Wang Xiaoliang did not turn on the lights. By the streetlight filtering through the window, he felt his way to the sofa and dropped onto it. The springs creaked, and dust drifted up from the cushions.
The smell of dust filled his nose.
I haven't been gone that long. How did it get so dusty?
After walking more than ten kilometers, he could not feel a thing in the soles of his feet. His legs were not sore either. His body seemed to belong to someone else. But his head felt full of lead, too heavy to lift.
He did not want to move.
The bed was in the bedroom, and he could not be bothered to walk those few steps.
It was not just that. The bed was meant for two, and besides, it was only a bare mattress, with neither sheets nor covers.
They had not rented this place out. Neither of them wanted outsiders entering their territory. Too many wonderful things had happened here.
As long as I can lie on the sofa, it'll do. How could a sofa be the death of me?
He slumped sideways, resting the back of his head on the armrest. It was hard and dug into his head. He did not care anymore.
The ceiling was pitch-black. He stared at it, unable to see anything.
All the jumble in his mind came flooding out at once-the muffled sob Wei Zijin had let out before closing the door, like a punch to his heart. He had already lost count of how many punches that made.
He closed his eyes.
This apartment belonged to Wei Zijin too. She had bought it outright with the huge prize she had won at