You think I’m the one who’s gone mad? No, the whole world has gone mad.
My name is Li Zhichu.
No, I killed Li Zhichu.
Wait, then whose hands are these, gripping a knife and trembling?
The day the eternal night swallowed the sun, humanity went mad on the stage.
Some grew a third, festering eye. Others stewed their own kin in a pot of thick soup steeped in cognitive corruption. And I…
became the only spectator at my own funeral.
Now, something calling itself “The Play” is putting on a show inside my head.
It grants me seventy-two masks made of human skin and gives me strings to control memories, yet just as I’m about to touch the truth, it tears down every curtain. “Young Master Xiao Ning, tell me: this eternal night…”
“Is it the end of the world, or an absurd comedy we’re performing together?”
Warning: When crimson seeps into your pupils, remember to say this to the mirror three times:
“I am not The Play’s pawn, nor Li Zhichu’s shadow. I…”
(Shh. You can’t say the third line. It’s listening.)
It's super beautiful. Why are there so few people reading it? It's a great book with potential.
Don't give up, it's not easy to find an interesting one