At thirty-six, Chen Yue led a peaceful life with a happy family.
That was until she began repeatedly dreaming of a gray-yellow village, where the air was thick with the smell of dry, dusty earth.
In her dreams, someone was always telling her, “You belong to Li Fei.”
But she had never met Li Fei.
The dreams grew clearer and more vivid: oppressive stares, silent lines of people, a pale, porcelain-like arm on a tray, and the terrified eyes of children.
She couldn’t tell whether it was a hallucination or some kind of chilling echo.
The boundary between reality and dreams began to crumble.
Chen Yue discovered that a village called “Xiwang” seemed to have really existed, yet also seemed to have been completely erased.
And the name Li Fei, carrying faded ideals and a bloodstained ending, became both the door that could unlock everything and the cage that held her captive.
Following fragmented clues, she drew closer and closer to the heart of the truth, only to realize that what she was searching for might not be a sealed-away past, but another life she herself had forgotten.
The wind had never stopped. It was howling from a winter decades ago, blowing toward her window in the present.
