When I die, my consciousness does not dissipate.
I was floating in the air, watching my twin brother Zhou Mingyuan kneeling in front of my tombstone, his forehead bleeding, crying and begging me: "Take it back."
He was once the youngest MD in an investment bank, and his life was going smoothly.
And I was severely depressed, with a weird blue patch under my left eye. I committed suicide by taking pills in the spring of my 28th year.
Between us, there is a curse called "Container".
All his pain will be transferred to me. When he is injured, I am in pain; when he is frustrated, I am sick; his life is rising step by step, while my life is sinking all the way.
I once asked for help with my grandfather's diary, and they said I was sick.
I have tried to escape, but blood is an inescapable chain.
So, I did the last thing before I died: I sent a sober report on "family mental illness history" and "date comparison" to everything that could ruin his real world - his company, his father-in-law, his social image.
Now, the container is broken.
The floodgates are open.
I watched him start to lose sleep, lose control, lose his job, and become separated from his family members.
I looked at a blue patch that was exactly the same as mine slowly growing under his left eye.
The things he had allowed me to bear for twenty-eight years were all coming back to him bit by bit.
And I will always watch.
Purpose: To explore the hidden emotional exploitation and karma in the native family, and to reveal the price behind "luck" and the indifference in the name of "family affection". Reflecting reality through a surreal setting, it shows the silent struggle of the ignored and the fairness of the rules themselves.