He forgot why he came in, he only remembered the words "You still have five minutes." Under the dial, time is life. Return to zero, gray out. There is a death round every seven days, with the winner recalculating and the loser losing his life. Gu Shi, a professional poker player, relied on 0.35 Time code to survive until the seventh day. He relied on his eyes to see through the dealer's game and won back 100. The more there is to win, the more there is to lose. On the ledger, the words "Lao Gutou" have been listed for more than ten years. In the ward, a young woman called him "Dad." He remembered that the cracks on the window sill of that hospital room looked like snakes, but he didn't remember her at all. He signed a contract: a sum, a sum for the future. Guarantor, Gu Shi (signed). You can only remember the debt you owe, not what others tell you. The dial stopped at 11:59, a minute owed to the world. The redemption price was not the time code—it was the name he owed. And that name is lying in the hospital, waiting for him to go back.
