The road was both fleeting and endless, the headlights occasionally illuminating the zebra crossing, at times a road sign, and other times a dim corridor;
As they passed through the mountain tunnel, the whistle of wind surged in through the car window. The glow of the traffic lights swept over cars jammed together like sardine cans, while the buildings flanking the road were shrouded in a drab filter—the lifeless, iron-grey structures stretched like train tracks toward the edge of the city...
He could hear his own rapid breathing, unable to make out the woman's face in the passenger seat beside him.
Now, recalling the moment, Cen Dongsheng felt as though he had been dreaming. What lingered in his mind were fragmented, illogical, and disjointed memories. He could scarcely recall the drive home, as some searing emotion boiled within his chest, his brain engulfed in a surreal haze.
