Written in a pretty messed-up state of mind. Don't read it.
After a car accident, Chen Lin neither died nor woke up.
He was trapped in a strange room with no door. But there were three "people": a humming woman who was always by the window, drawing an electrocardiogram; a muttering old man who kept searching a flowerpot for "tomorrow's seeds"; and a middle-aged man with gear-shaped eyeballs who recited the "rules of the seasons."
They told him this was "the Wrong Spring," and that he had seven days left.
By day, the four seasons kept resetting inside a prison. By night, space and time expanded into an endless maze. He had to trade memories for rules, decipher codes amid the chirping of cicadas, and face countless failed versions of himself in the mirror.
But gradually, he discovered:
The three people were embodiments of his obsessions.
The car accident was the beginning of his consciousness being trapped, but not the end of the truth.
When the bell tolled on the seventh night, he would face one final choice:
Trade all his memories for an empty, living shell?
Or embrace all his pain and become the fourth rule in this eternal corridor?
There are no monsters here, only a single moment stretched without end.
There are no ghosts here, only souls that refuse to let themselves go.
When spring begins by mistake, the cycle reaches its 27th turn, and its final one: saving himself from within himself.
I drew inspiration for this book from Rusty Lake: Seasons and The Room of Reincarnation. My apologies to all concerned.
