Zhao Si stared wide-eyed at the apocalyptic scene outside the window.
A gray, colorless world, with a black spire stretching between heaven and earth.
In a place dominated by gray and white, the sudden splash of red stood out particularly sharply.
Especially since that red looked like fermented bean curd, an ominous shade of red.
It was even a little nauseating.
Suddenly, a small boat struck the outside of the office building's floor-to-ceiling window.
The boat was wrapped in that ominous red, and shallow water appeared out of nowhere beneath its keel, just enough to support it.
"Jingle, jingle."
The old woman aboard shook the bell in her hand. Hearing it, the gray-white souls behind her scrambled to follow.
The old woman, withered and frail as dry kindling, forced a hideous grin at Zhao Si that looked worse than crying.
As the saying went: better to hear a ghost cry than hear one laugh.
Seeing ghosts in broad daylight-and a procession of ghost soldiers at that-was already enough to fray anyone's nerves.
Zhao Si, in his ordinary office-worker state, simply could not process so much information.
Every hair on his body stood on end, and goosebumps covered him.
From his skin to his joints, there was not a single place that did not feel cold and painful.
He wanted to run, but his legs had gone weak. He could barely stand.
He had watched plenty of movies, but whether he could handle actually seeing something this bizarre was another matter.
Everyone had probably heard the story of Lord Ye, who professed to love dragons until he met a real one. That story was not made up for nothing.
"Si, why are you spacing out again?"
Zhao Si shook and shuddered. Turning, he saw his coworker looking at him with concern,