As autumn set in, the nights became a bit chilly, and places like hospitals often felt colder.
Earlier, in the corridor, it wasn’t so bad.
The wind couldn’t reach him, but now that he stepped outside, the evening breeze blew against him.
Li Zhuiyuan took out a thin jacket from his backpack and put it on.
Everyone carried specific supplies in their bags.
During the summer, even after wading through rivers, it didn’t feel too cold, and that thin jacket remained tucked away at the bottom, unworn.
When he zipped it up, he discovered the zipper was faulty; no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t budge.
Back home, his great-grandfather would have taken a candle and rubbed it against it to fix it.
The old man watched as the boy struggled with the zipper, moving closer with a steady pace.
Previously, Li Zhuiyuan held a proud air, a little arrogantly even, but at that moment, he felt his eyelids twitch involuntarily.
The one casting spells was sensitive to such feelings.
Even if he disregarded that aspect, there were two likely outcomes in this scenario: either the boy in front of him was a madman, or his previous actions might have seemed mad to anyone observing.
The old man swallowed hard and waved his wooden stick three times backward.