Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 1 Prologue
"When-when-when-"

The distant chimes struck Zhang Chaohua's eardrums, waking him from a bizarre nightmare, his brow beaded with sweat.

He instinctively shouted, "Xiao Ai, turn on the lights!"

The room remained dark and unresponsive.

"This piece of junk, the internet's down again?"

Zhang Chaohua turned over to touch the glasses on the bedside table, but found nothing.

He then realized that he could vaguely see his surroundings without the aid of glasses.

This is an unfamiliar bed, and this is an unfamiliar room.

Judging from the irregular roof shape and the round skylight, it should be an attic.

The first rays of morning light were already streaming into the room through the skylight, and one could barely make out a desk placed opposite the bed.

On the desk, a quill pen sat in the ink bottle, its pristine white color strikingly conspicuous. Zhang Chaohua could even see the delicate downy feathers trembling slightly in the air—

Memories of Lionel Sorel suddenly flooded back, overwhelming his mind like a tidal wave.

Before Zhang Chaohua collapsed, only one thought remained: "I'm not nearsighted anymore? That's great..."

(End of this chapter)