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.,Huo Mingzheng's action of drinking soup stopped abruptly, and then he left。