In the dark and cramped room, green smoke lingered. The doors and windows had been nailed shut, and the early morning sun shone through the gap between the wooden bars of the window.
The house had been in disrepair for a long time, and there was a special smell of corroded and moldy wood. The floor was littered with cigarette butts. Jiang Zhiyuan's face was hidden in the darkness, and only when he inhaled the smoke into his lungs could he see the expression on his face through the little red light that was lit up.
It was a call from Jiang se. He could recite the number backwards and would never forget it.
Before he was ready to do this, he could not control himself. He had called Jiang se once. He did not want to disturb her life or try to ask for anything from her.
He had been alone for too long and really wanted to hear his daughter's voice.