There wasn't a hint of light along the highway at night; looking toward the distance, he couldn't find a single streetlamp, and even passing cars were rare.
In the weed-choked woods, tiny insects flitted about, and a muggy heat, mingled with the calls of insects, birds, and other animals, enveloped Chen Zhou's senses.
The weakness from the injection still hadn't faded; that chill had devoured his strength, making him feel, for the first time in ages, the fragility he should have as an ordinary person.
Struggling to control himself, he took off the animal skin coat, revealing the filthy combat uniform underneath. Chen Zhou looked like a scruffy drunk, wobbling forward along the highway.
The sky was growing darker, and at last, vehicles sped down the highway.
The shapes of those cars resembled the style of the 1950s—body designs shifting from rigid old classics toward smooth lines, with most sporting independent round headlights up front.
