In the world, blue was the first concept to be forgotten.
As the sky and rivers faded to gray in everyone’s eyes, only Zhiwei could still see that vanishing shade of blue. She threaded her needle, trying to preserve its color on her embroidery hoop, alone and unknown, fighting the fading of the entire world.
Until she met Zhizhi, an ancient departed soul whose very existence was slowly fading away. He had followed the traces of her efforts to preserve color, and gazed at the lonely blue on her embroidery, before softly telling her:
“What you see is no anomaly. It is the truth.”
She was not an outcast after all. Amid the oblivion sweeping over all things, she was the only keeper of memories, preserving the last embers of civilization.
