In the gradual relaxation, Old Qiao felt that some new sparks seemed to be jumping between his logic chips—loose and pleasant nerve impulses spread within his body, the drowsy whispers like warmth coming from the border between sleep and awakening, giving him some new inspiration and ideas, some new… processing plans and processing objectives.
It seemed as though he had already forgotten the damages sustained by this shell, forgotten the need to repair his body.
Old Qiao's vigilance was being worn down bit by bit by this 'comfort' that seemed to be lulling him into slumber, and then after a moment, he suddenly heard some sounds in his half-dreaming state.
There was a rustling sound coming from the opposite side, a silhouette swayed in front of his eyes.
