The familiar room, the familiar furniture, the familiar living room, the familiar single apartment.
Everything remained as it was when he left, as if encased in an amber shell outside the flow of time, immune to change no matter how much time had passed.
Zhou Ming entered the small living room of the single apartment, standing in this room where he had lived for many years, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.
It had been a long time since he had returned to this place—sometimes, he even felt as if he had forgotten this single apartment, forgotten that this single apartment represented that "other world."
But in the end, the self-deceptive "forgetfulness" was meaningless.