Zhang Xiaobo froze again. Why was the conversation going in circles, leaving him behind while others left? What was the point of him staying and enjoying things alone? In the past half year, everyone's contact had been sparse, and gatherings had become rare. Making the effort to travel across borders, they had hardly spent a few days together before someone was already clamoring to go home, without even rekindling the camaraderie among the old brothers.
Sigh, life really does feel increasingly dull.
Tonight, everyone had drunk quite a bit. Perhaps due to Zhang Xiaobo indulging in a few extra cups, as he pondered, he suddenly felt an ache in his heart for the first half of his life. It had been bitter in its own way. In these past six months of uneventful days, he realized they felt far less fulfilling than the days spent fighting on the battlefield. So plain and so lackluster.
