The moonlight outside the window was like frost, as cold as the skin of a dead person. When Lin Sui'an opened his eyes, the smell of blood was still stuck in his throat. He didn't know if he swallowed it in his dream or bit his lip in reality. The iron bed creaked. He pushed himself up and his fingertips touched a piece of cold water - not sheets, but water. Thick, warm fluid was seeping out from under him, slowly crawling towards his ankles. He didn't move. There was a person standing at the end of the bed. His clothes were as white as snow, and his hair was like ink. There was no wind, but the hem of his clothes floated like a soul hanging in the air. The man held a celadon cup in his hand. The liquid in the cup was dark red and steamed with fine heat. It looked more like blood than tea. The blood tea is not cold yet. "Drink it," the man said, his voice low and slow, like the wind passing through an ancient clock thousands of years ago, shaking Lin Sui'an's bone marrow. "It will make you dream of the truth." Lin Sui'an laughed, until the corners of his mouth were torn and blood seeped out: "The nurses in the lunatic asylum now even use blood tea for hypnosis?" He should have revealed the truth.
