New York, after coming of age.
Lu Bai's head ached intolerably, the pain made his thoughts sluggish. New York was gradually getting colder, neither good nor bad, always fluctuating. His immune system was almost paralyzed, with colds coming and going, wearing him out. His body, long hollowed out by illness, was too weak to withstand even a single blow. Lin Jingsheng mocked him, "You're really getting more and more like a ghost."
Lu Bai pressed a fist to his lips and coughed softly.
"A patient should have the awareness of a patient. Don't drink so much coffee." Lin Jingsheng took away his coffee. In a little over a month, it would be Christmas, and soon another year. Mu Liang returned to City A to accompany his wife and child. "Your birthday is tomorrow. You're really not celebrating?"
Lu Bai's birthday is November 11th, a Scorpio.
Chu Lin always teased him, saying it was truly a day destined for loneliness, a very bad choice of birth date.
