"I've pre-ordered Black Myth: Wukong, and it's pre-loaded and ready to go."
Zhao Ling stood by the window, gazing at the pedestrians on the street below.
Her four arms wrapped around herself, her head hung low, she stood like that for a long time.
In recent years, her flesh had been alive, but without regular exercise, it no longer possessed the athletic beauty it had in Yin Country; instead, it had grown a bit more voluptuous. Her bare feet stood on the floor, the crimson toes with their knotted joints, translucent skin revealing a dense, maze-like network of black veins and nerves.
Wei Tianyang lay on his side in bed, watching Zhao Ling's silhouette.
"Speak up," he said.
Zhao Ling turned around as if to speak but then hesitated. Wei Tianyang looked at her profile against the backdrop of the white window, the dark silhouette like a piece of artwork.
"Zhao Ling, you weren't this silent before," he said.
