Stars for Lamps, Night for a Road

After 327 sleepless days in a row, He Xi met a man standing barefoot on the edge of a rooftop in an unfinished building.

He said, “Don't be afraid. As long as I'm awake, I won't fall.”

His name was Song Shi. There was no record of him in the social security system or the household registry, and even ride-hailing apps had no record of his account. But he knew how many days He Xi had been unable to sleep. He knew the exact moment her partner died. And he knew that the missing 47 minutes concealed a secret terrifying enough to make certain people afraid.

He Xi decided to get in his car.

That night, she found a crumpled ball of paper. It was in her dead partner's handwriting, with four words on it:

Don't trust Song Shi.

The dead can't write. Unless he isn't dead.

And Song Shi, watching her in the rearview mirror, said something even more frightening:

“You haven't lost your memory, either. You just buried the things you weren't supposed to remember in your dreams.”

Now someone wants to make sure she never wakes up.

Someone wants to make sure he never dares fall asleep.

And behind every window glowing late at night in this city, a pair of eyes refuses to close.

He is looking for them.

She is looking for herself.

Two people afraid to close their eyes, and 47 stolen minutes.

When you can no longer tell dreams from reality,

staying awake is the deepest trap of all.