Murphy sat on a stool, holding a broken brush in his hand, gently stirring the charcoal fire in the basin.
The wind and snow outside the window had stopped, and the light from the snow shone through the paper-pasted windows, illuminating the room.
He was originally very afraid of cold, and he didn't expect that he would wear it in winter. In this era, there was neither floor heating nor air conditioning, and it was so cold that people just wanted to stay in bed and sleep, and didn't want to go anywhere else.
But when he thought about being killed by others in this world, Murphy couldn't close his eyes and felt depressed.
The charcoal fire burned more vigorously. He stretched out his hand and put it over the flickering flames, warming his hands while clearing his thoughts.
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