Chen Feng, having returned to the hotel, felt a bit dizzy. He lay down on the bed to rest, and soon fell asleep.
He had lived cautiously all his life—though now, diagnosed with a terminal illness, after a period of decadence and despair, he had come to terms with it.
A human life is as fleeting as vegetation in autumn; no one can escape death. It's just a matter of sooner or later.
Well, dying later is definitely better than dying sooner.
But there's no helping it. Chen Feng could only accept the inevitable and continue to eat and sleep.
When he woke up, it was almost 3:30 PM.
Thus, Chen Feng could only book the nearest plane at 5:30 PM, still in first class.
It wasn't that he wanted to indulge; he was pressed for time, and first class was the only section with available seats.
Having booked the ticket, he realized he was starving—that he hadn't even had lunch yet.
He was close to death; he definitely needed to eat well.
