Outside the window lies a harbor, the gloomy gray weather leaving Rodest Port as just a silhouette.
The smokestacks of the industrial district have been inactive for many days, yet a mysterious fog still shrouds Belfast.
A hand pressed against the filthy floor, a figure crawled up from the dark room.
The cold, damp sea breeze poured into the room through the window frame that had lost its glass, then left through the gaping, gnawed door frame. The rusted wind chimes hung silently swaying. On the disassembled wooden chair lay a filthy, blood-stained coat, long dry, wrapped around a skeleton. Malignant mildew climbed the walls, caked with mold and larvae corpses.
The room, as if draped in a veil, stirred deep and ancient memories within Lu Li.
Ignoring the dust that inevitably clung to the hem of his coat and the knees of his trousers, Lu Li stood by the window.
