He suddenly felt exhausted, his waist unable to exert strength, and there was a dull ache.
When he touched it—wasn't this just soreness?
Tsk, it really felt something like that...
Li Heng slowly crawled up on the bed, hissing a few breaths.
The oil lamp needed oil. He lived alone in the house and rarely lit the lamps. The pitch-black surroundings swallowed all light, and the entire house, square with sturdy walls, seemed oppressive.
Like a coffin.
The very coffin he originally intended to buy for his old father.
Li Heng's forehead broke out in cold sweat. He exhaled deeply several times and wiped his brow, preparing to lie back down again.
But as he turned his head, something caught the edge of his vision…
The door once shut tight was now slightly ajar, leaving a narrow sliver, and outside, something seemed to shift in the shadows.
Li Heng instantly tensed up, cold sweat trickling down his back.
He suddenly thought of the story told while drinking, shivering all over.
