After closing the room door, Xu Huo took a moment to survey the room's decor.
Judging by ordinary aesthetic standards, this room was almost unbearably hideous; its walls were carved with complex, indecipherable patterns, a look mimicked by the carpet, the bedsheets, and even the bathroom tiles and curtains.
In the dim yellow light, the room felt oppressively gloomy. The only bearable sights were the toilet, the wash basin, and the mirror above it.
He entered the bathroom and carelessly draped a towel over the mirror before tending to the wound on his arm, rolling up his sleeve.
The long, festering wound had grown even larger, and although he could see the mycelium inside, the discomfort from the injury had not dissipated.
After cutting away part of the wound and bandaging it, he came out, draping his coat over a chair. "I'm not going out today," he said.
The Girl in the painting affixed inside his clothes blinked, maintaining her original position within his clothes.