Clutching the brick of a phone covered in cracks, Wang Xiaoliang pressed hard on the power button on its side.
The screen stayed black.
He held it down until his thumb hurt, but still got no response.
He turned the phone over. The back was just as much of a wreck.
Two days, two phones, both ruined. The one Wei Zijin had given him and the one Liu Xinyu had given him had taken turns dying in his hands.
He needed to get it repaired.
Right away.
Wang Xiaoliang's first thought was to rush out and find a phone repair shop.
How long had he slept? Three days? Five? His mind was full of fragmented images: the cliff, the glass room, Old Third's face, Liang Yanni's hand. Li Lanxiang's knife. He couldn't tell which parts were real and which were dreams.
What if Wei Zijin had sent him messages?
Not a single reply. No reply for two days. Three days.
Knowing her, she would be angry on the first day, cold on the second, and by the third, she would have draped a white sheet over their relationship in her mind. She already believed he had emotionally cheated on her. Disappearing now was practically the same as fleeing to escape punishment.
Wang Xiaoliang turned to look out the window.
A gray haze. Dawn hadn't fully broken.
At this hour, even the dogs on the street weren't awake. What phone shop would be open?
He deflated. His body slid down along the edge of the bed, and he lay flat on the medical underpad again. The plastic material made a harsh scraping noise.
He was too tired. Repairing the phone would have to wait.
He rolled onto his side and pulled open the bedside drawer. The Book of Fate lay quietly