No one said anything. Everyone sensed the distinct tranquility of war before it approached. It was as if they found themselves in a maelstrom formed by a storm, a fleeting serenity before the advent of mountain rain.

This serenity dampened the searing and restless turmoil in their hearts and allowed them to settle their minds. They gazed at the twinkling starry ocean in the sky, recollecting their pasts.

Xu Yangyi looked at his watch. It was 11:30 at night. “There’s still half an hour.” Fifteen people and one dog sat cross-legged on top of the building, enjoying the wintry-cold night wind. It was as if such a chilly night wind was able to blow out the burning fires in their hearts.

Zhan Twelve quietly wiped and cleaned the sharp glass-like blade that extended from his hand. He remained silent.

At some unknown place, Qin Xueluan had taken out a gorgeously rainbow-colored centipede, and it danced along her snow-white fingertips in the wind. She too didn’t speak.

Jun Man’s scorpion was climbing up his arm, and his gaze was peaceful like a lake as he looked at it. Likewise, he was silent.

Repression, expectation, and tension interweaved to form a great web of complex emotions, cloaking everyone underneath it. No one wanted to speak.

“We will return.” After ages, Xu Yangyi took a swig of his beer. He said calmly, yet unflagging in determination, “And everyone...