After the Apocalypse, such a star-filled sky was a rare sight.
Cities had once blazed with light and been choked by heavy pollution. The air was so turbid that you couldn't see the stars—even the moon was often shrouded in a gray, hazy smog.
But now, with human civilization collapsed and machines silent, nature was quietly reviving. In turn, the world had returned to a state of tranquility, and with it, the privilege of looking up at the stars had been restored.
Nearby, Lan Jin sat a short distance from the campfire, occasionally tossing a piece of wood into the flames.
Despite the distance, each toss was casual, his movements so relaxed they were almost lazy. Yet the firewood would always land precisely in the heart of the fire. His control was so perfect that not a single spark flew out, and even the smoke was faint.
"Why'd you hit me?"
Jiang Ji rubbed the back of his head. When his fingertips brushed against a small, swollen bump, he winced in pain.
