In the bedroom, silence reigned.
The curtains completely isolated the outside noise and the faint glow of streetlights.
Fang Cheng sat cross-legged on the bed, his back straight and eyes closed.
The rhythm of his breathing appeared deep and steady, yet his consciousness was entering another dimension belonging to the spirit.
The familiar outlines of the surrounding furniture, the texture of the walls, dispersed quickly like sand sculptures blown by the wind.
A slightly cool night wind replaced them, gently brushing across his cheeks.
Fang Cheng opened his eyes, floating high in the sky.
At this moment, here too was enveloped by the deep night.
In the center of the island, the majestic golden palace stood quietly, emanating a faint yet sacred glow in the darkness.
And in the remote corner on the west side of the island, the abandoned asylum, formed from his memory, still lurked silently in the shadows.
