"Someone... someone... Why is there no one? Why..." A voice resembling a plea echoed within the vast and empty hall, but no response came. The room was so dim; due to the power outage, the ceiling lights had gone out.
To prevent the risk of shell strikes, the windows were sealed shut with sandbags. The room was pitch-dark, with only faint glimmers of light piercing through the narrow gaps.
Struggling to rise from the soft bed, Zhao Ji felt as though his body no longer belonged to him. His skin was covered in festering sores, making him look like a corpse.
Previously, relying on medicine obtained from the Great Tang Empire, he barely managed to maintain a semblance of humanity. Now, as the medicine was almost entirely depleted and what remained had lost its efficacy, he resembled anything but human.
Like a vengeful ghost, he writhed in his room. Using every ounce of strength he had left, he managed to sit upright on the filth-laden bed.
