林凡 waking up in a cold sweat, the ceiling tiles were cracked like the Big Dipper. He pinched his cheek, it really wasn't a dream. He opened his eyes and looked around: it was an ancient and primitive room. The walls were all adobe walls, and the rafters were covered with straw, full of dust and smell of hay. A faint western wind blew from the crack of the door, blowing the single sheepskin on the ground gently. "Ah... it's really not a dream..." Lin Fan sat up from the bed, his body a little stiff, as if he had not slept for a long time. He looked at his hands, which were usually slender, now became a pair of big and rough hands, and he could clearly feel the thick calluses. "Where am I?" Lin Fan stood up, his feet stepping on the ground that was cracked and uneven. He looked around the room again, except for a small wooden table and two wooden stools, there was nothing else. The table was covered with dust, and there was a small oil lamp on it that was half-owner, emitting a weak light.