The dim underground shelter, the small room was silent.
Lu Li silently raised his hand to touch his face, feeling only a rough layer of short stubble.
If he had been underground for twenty-four years, his hair should have grown long enough to be woven into clothes, his beard should be long enough to be used as hair, and his face should be showing wrinkles.
Recalling something, Lu Li pulled over a burlap shirt, stained with sticky dark black blood on the chest, it was no longer wearable, so he had to reluctantly put on a coat for warmth.
His hand reached into the coat pocket. The diary found in the shelter was still there.
He opened the diary, the faint scribbles were hard to decipher in the dim light.
Lifting the moldy quilt, Lu Li stepped off the bed barefoot and walked to the desk.
Under the woman's puzzled gaze, Lu Li pulled out a wooden chair, placed the diary on the desk by the candlestick, and began to read the diary by the faint candlelight.
