I sat on the sofa and slid my fingers up mechanically. The plot on the screen was like a revolving lantern with the fast forward button pressed. One moment it was the prince falling in love with Cinderella, the other moment it was the God of War returning for revenge, and in the blink of an eye it was the immortal cultivator who failed to overcome the calamity. The time in the upper right corner of the phone has jumped to 1:30 in the morning. It feels like there is a ball of dry cotton stuffed in the throat. Every time I swallow, there is a slight sting. It must have been three hours of watching the short drama, and the moisture has long been dried by the light of the screen.
