In the quiet inn room, dimly lit by the warm flicker of a lantern, Mei Li lay motionless on the bed.
Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as if trying to make sense of the storm of emotions within her.
Her feelings were indescribable—a sensation of returning from hell, or perhaps somewhere even darker, colder, more suffocating.
On the opposite bed sat Wei Li, his posture slumped and his face clouded with guilt.
"Mei Li, I'm really sorry," he said, his voice low and sincere, barely above a whisper.
Regret weighed heavily on his chest, pressing down like a stone.
"You should be," Mei Li muttered, rolling her eyes without turning to face him.
Wei Li exhaled deeply and let himself fall back on his bed, staring at the ceiling just like her.
He knew there was no escape from tonight's dreams—nightmares were certain to come, vivid and cruel.
The events that had unfolded still gripped his mind like shackles.
