Chapter 119

The dim room.

The ceiling was so low that you could touch it by reaching up.

The walls were covered with special cotton layers, providing soundproofing and preventing those trapped inside from committing suicide.

A vertically placed bed and a horizontally positioned table had already filled the room.

The light was dim, making it hard to see inside the room. To be precise, it was difficult to make out the situation inside this "box".

Here, it seemed as if the air had stopped circulating. The cramped, small space felt stifling, making it hard to breathe.

A hand groped around in the darkness for the switch and gently pressed it.

The dim yellow light illuminated the table.

On the table, there was a neatly arranged stack of books, a fountain pen with its cap on, an old green desk lamp, and a pile of manuscript paper densely covered with writing.

A person's shadow was cast on the manuscript paper. His hair was a mess; it looked like he hadn't had a haircut in a while.

Slender, long fingers picked up the fountain pen and unscrewed the cap. The pen tip danced on the manuscript paper, the handwriting lively and flowing like silk, exuding a sense of life.

"December 23, 2024, weather unknown."

"However, a few days ago, the temperature suddenly dropped, and I woke up several times at night from the cold. I guess in a couple of days, the snow will start falling in Silverlight City."

"In previous years, around New Year's, Silverlight City always had heavy snow. Even though the north is dry and has little precipitation throughout the year, it always snows a bit. The heavy snow would fall for days, covering time and history, but it couldn't cover our longing, the aroma of home-cooked meals, and the loneliness between heaven and earth..."

At that point, the pen tip paused, a light sigh was heard, and then continued writing.

"For the past two months, I've been restless at night, often dreaming of Nancy. She looks at me and cries continuously as if all the times Nancy cried in her life were seen in my dreams. I feel heartbroken, guilty, and powerless, and can only cry with her."

Tears soaked the manuscript paper, the pen tip trembled slightly, and after a long time, continued writing.

"I had anticipated a bad outcome, but I didn't expect it to come so quickly. Actually, during that time, Nancy had already noticed my abnormal behavior. She didn't ask out of trust, and I didn't say anything because I wanted to find the right opportunity to tell Nancy about the old steel mill, about my childhood and friends."

The sound of a door opening was heard.

The pen tip stopped, the cap was put back on, and the pen was gently placed on the edge of the table.

Frank slowly wheeled in, looking more haggard. He was so thin that he seemed little more than skin and bones. In his thirties, his hair was already gray, and his face was devoid of any color as if it had been dusted with frost.

The only thing that hadn't changed was his eyes, which had sunken into his gaunt sockets, appearing even more eerie and intimidating.

He stared at the man sitting in the chair. His dark, deep eyes blinked, and he remained silent. After a moment, the man turned and smiled at him.

"You're here, Frank."

Frank was taken aback. During this period, the man had always had his back to him, never turning around. Why was he now taking the initiative to greet him?

He was a bit surprised, and a warm feeling arose in his heart. The man was a friend who had gone through thick and thin with him at the old steel mill during their childhood. Those four years in college were their happiest years. He was the one who told him the meaning of life and pulled him back from the brink of suicide.

Frank felt a bit emotional. The man in front of him had remained the same for over twenty years. He wasn't particularly good-looking, to be honest. In terms of features, he was neither as delicate as Joseph nor as dashing as Bob, not even as good-looking as himself. Among the group of kids, he was extremely ordinary, as ordinary as could be.

He has a gentle expression and eyes as calm as a lake. Despite being confined in this dark, sunless room, he had not only maintained his will but had also remained full of vitality. Frank felt a surge of jealousy.

"Do you hate me?"Frank rubbed his face, glanced around the room, and suddenly asked.

"Why would I hate you?" The man was taken aback, not understanding why Frank would ask such a question.

Frank frowned, raised his hand to point at the room, and leaned forward. He didn't know where the anger came from andsaid sharply,"I've kept you locked up here for nearly two months, and you don't hate me?"

The man replied, "There's a bed, a table and chairs, a lamp. You even prepared books, paper, and a pen. You know my hobbies and my preference for a quiet life. This place is the quietest, and you even added soundproofing cotton. Why should I hate you?"

The man smiled and said seriously, "Frank, if I hated you, I would be heartless."

Frank sneered, "You're implying that I'm heartless."

"Why would you think that?" The man shook his head, his eyes dimming. "Among our friends, in some ways, no one understands each other better than we do. At least, that's what I used to think."

Frank said, "That's true."

With a beep, the electric wheelchair slowly moved forward and stopped beside the man. Frank was half-lay in the wheelchair, adjusted to a more comfortable position. He looked at the man, and suddenly laughed, "We've never really talked like this. When we were kids, we thought about how to get enough to eat, how to avoid beatings, and how to escape those strange abuses. Later, you were in Sand Village, and I was in Shadow City. We mostly communicated through letters because phone calls were too expensive. We contacted each other a few times a year, mostly feeling lucky to have survived. Of course, my days in Shadow City weren't that great either."

Frank paused, took a long breath, his eyes shining, and continued, "We agreed to apply to the same university. If it weren't for Douglas misleading Duke, Lally would have smoothly finished his studies. In the end, it was Duke who was useless!"

Mentioning Duke, Frank snorted, and the man nodded in agreement, "I agree with that."

Frank continued, "In college, we had fun in the opera club and were full of hope for the future. But I always felt that feeling was fake, unreal, something intangible. It was merely depicted through words and emotions and just a fantasy born from an excess of youthful hormones, like deceiving ourselves, like a stage play. You wrote so many scripts, but did you become a screenwriter? Did you become the person you wanted to be, Alan?"

Frank tilted his head to look at Alan.

Alan replied, "No, after graduating from college, I became a civil servant, working honestly in Silverlight City, living an ordinary life."