On a rainy night seven years ago, when Lin Wan disappeared with the dialysate carton in her arms, the jacaranda tattoo on her collarbone glowed coldly in the rain. Chen Mo didn't see her tears clearly. He only remembered his mother's torn sketchbook and the life-saving money that suddenly arrived the next day - that money was like a scalpel, accurately cutting off his lover.
Seven years later, the operating table glowed coldly under the shadowless lamp. Chen Mo's gloves were covered in cold sweat. Under the old scar on the patient's neck, blue-purple lines were rising and falling with his breathing. "Can you prevent everyone from recognizing me?" A hoarse voice filled with the smell of blood came.
His scalpel hung over the hideous car accident scar, and the jacarandas in his memory suddenly grew wildly. The girl who was despised by her mother as "not worthy of the Chen family" is now lying under the knife and begging for a complete rebirth. And can these hands, which have created countless perfect masks, reveal the truth that has been sewn shut by time?
