Pain.
Excruciating pain.
As the numbness faded, boundless pain enveloped him like thousands of needles piercing his skin, while the burning sensation of his wounds felt as though he was being roasted over flames.
Qing Chen slowly opened his eyes and found himself lying in a decrepit room.
Finger locks and wrist shackles remained tightly clamped around his fingers and wrists.
"Why am I here? Was someone able to save me? No, I haven't been saved," Qing Chen silently pondered.
He had briefly regained consciousness once before when he was clearly on board an airship; whoever had saved him shouldn't have brought him to a place like this.
Moreover, anyone capable of intercepting an airship would surely have had the means to unlock the finger locks and wrist shackles.
Qing Chen looked around, enduring the pain.
The house was small with wooden, worn-out walls.
In the corner, there lay a pile of logging tools.
