The seventh time I dreamed that the elevator crashed, my new colleague died in the dream.
The next day, she actually stood at the elevator entrance.
The moment I grabbed her, the elevator crashed.
"You can indeed see it." She smiled and wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth.
The mysterious organization "Dream Weaver" began to hunt me, saying that my dreams were tearing reality apart.
On a rainy night, I escaped into an old apartment covered with charms.
A familiar call came from the room on the top floor - it was my friend who had been dead for ten years.
His chest was open. There was no heart inside, just a swirling nebula.
"Chen Mo, welcome to the backside of reality."
