At three o'clock in the morning, Chen Mo was awakened again by the strange noise in his body.
That was not an illusion - the persistent feeling of stagnation under his left rib, the burning pain in his stomach, and the constant accumulation of codes and debts in his mind reminded him that this body that had been used for thirty-seven years was silently falling apart.
During the day, he is the core technical backbone of an auto parts company in Shenzhen, struggling between the deadlines of the Sky Dome project and the never-ending customer demands. At night, he is a husband, father, and son, struggling to catch his breath among the bills of mortgage, tuition fees, and parents' medical expenses. His life, like lines of perfectly coherent but lifeless code, was heading toward exhaustion with precision.
It wasn't until after a social drinking party, on the street late at night, that my body's alarm completely went off. During the near-death experience caused by an acute panic attack, Chen Mo, on the edge of losing consciousness, "looked inwards" into his spiritual world for the first time - it was an endless cracked wasteland, dry and dead, with only a few weak flames swaying in the wind: the remaining love for his family and a trace of curiosity that had not yet been wiped out.
This is not an end, but an awakening.
