I am the last reader of a library.
Every book here records things that have been forgotten by the world - disappeared cities, erased history, people who never existed.
And I have a special ability: reading is existence.
As long as I open a book, everything described in the book will briefly come to life in reality.
Until that day, I found a dusty novel in the corner of the sixth floor——
"The Non-Existent Lover".
After turning the first page, a voice came from behind:
"You're here. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
Her name is Shu Wei.
She only exists when I read. Once she closed the book, she returned to the novel, carrying all the memories with her, waiting for the next time she opened it.
I started reading her like crazy.
One day, two days... On the seventh day, she touched my hand for the first time.
She told me, "I know I'm going to disappear. But right now, I'm real."
But later I discovered——
The author of this book is myself.
And her memory is pieced together from the fragments of my late wife.
If love could be copied, would it still be real?
If she is just words, are her tears real?
The Forgotten are after us. They say that existence is suffering, and forgetting is compassion.
And I just want to ask her one thing:
"If I became a book, would you read me?"
