Dilapidated Shrine

He parted his lips to ask, but no sound escaped his lips. Let alone speak, he couldn't even blink or raise his eyelids to see who the other person was. His mind felt unusually sluggish and his limbs laden with lead, just like an old machinery in desperate need of oil. 

A hand extended toward him, palm up, as if waiting for him to grab it.

In a daze, Song Zhuyu reached out his hand… and it was then that he woke up. 

It took a moment for his blurred vision to focus, gradually taking in the wide expanse of pitch-black sky above him and the moving canopy of trees. Faint vibrations rumbled beneath his back, letting him know that he was currently being hauled by a two-wheeled cart – the kind he had seen the villagers transporting dead bodies with.