Fu Yan Huo Ming Zhen

He wasn't a heavy smoker, barely smoking a few cigarettes in a month. But after days of constant spinning, his nerves were frayed. The nicotine rolled through his lungs, bringing a brief sense of ease, but with it came the crushing weight of grief over losing a loved one.,It's late now, the windows on the twelfth floor are dark, there's no light, she must be asleep.,The hand holding the phone had evenly proportioned and slender bones, it clenched suddenly. The streetlight illuminated the windshield, leaving half of his face in shadow, devoid of color.。