It was simple, he could now feel the cold, but it would never cause him pain or discomfort.
Then, Clo fetched a goblet and placed it on the edge of a large plastic basin.
"Ah—" he comfortably lay on the bed made of three or four layers of ice cubes, emitting a somewhat wanton moan.
He pulled out a small knife and slashed his wrist.
Blood slowly seeped out, congealing into a crimson line at the cut, which, obeying gravity, flowed downward, slid past Clo's fingertips, and dripped into the goblet.
The red liquid gradually covered the bottom of the cup and slowly rose higher.
And Clo just let his blood continuously flow out into the transparent goblet, simply smiling as he watched the scene in the mirror.
Transparent ice cubes, a transparent goblet, bright red blood, a bright red plastic basin.
Against the backdrop of snowy white walls, a blond man with a handsome face lay on the ice cubes in his slightly wet white shirt.
