Behind Yang Fan was a narrow and shadowy alley, and ahead lay the brightly lit main street.
But at this moment, in Yang Fan's eyes, the two appeared to be reversed.
The back, though pitch-black and dim, seemed open and illuminated.
Conversely, the brightly lit main street ahead now felt suffused with malevolence, like the wide-open mouth of a monster reeking of a strong stench. With every step forward, Yang Fan felt himself drawing closer to the monster's jaws.
The air grew dense with an amalgamation of bizarre smells, primarily that of grilled skewers, turning thick and sticky—wet and clingy, as if myriad strange tongues were adhering to him.
Yang Fan instinctively held his breath.
This sensation made his entire body uncomfortable, his stomach churning with nausea.
The entrance to the alley slowly drew closer, and that dizzy, consciousness-blurring haze descended upon him once again.
Yang Fan lightly waved the ruler in his hand.
