The fourth time he pushed the door open, he lowered his gaze and watched his right foot step in, his left following.
His feet landed on a floor of pale yellow tiles, which faintly gleamed with the water streaks left by a mop.
Fu Tailan collapsed to the floor.
No sound came from behind him, because there was no longer a door there.
He stared blankly, head bowed, at the hand where Carter's teeth had torn away a piece of skin. Dried blood stained the entire hand, making it look like a scarlet glove.
For the first time in his life, without a single puff of a cigarette, Fu Tailan felt no pain.
Emotions were such weighty things—heavy, intense, born only from the bodies of those with flesh and blood.
He was just a wisp of smoke, ready to dissipate the moment he closed his eyes. He didn't deserve to feel.
Fu Tailan closed his eyes and slowly crumpled to the floor.
'Fu Han has probably already forgotten.'
'Was it... back in March of this year?'
