A golden wheat field.
I fell into this softness.
The pain is transmitted from the nerve endings to the heart, and the pain is fine and numb. I don't know how many times those lunatics stabbed me. I struggled to pull the corner of my mouth, trying to show a contemptuous smile, but I didn't know which nerve was affected, making my heart beat even slower.
Blood flows along time.
In an instant, I remembered many things.
The alleyway I ran with Shao Cheng when I was young, the gray-black sky I gazed at with Ye Shen, the umbrella opened in the humid rainy season in the south, and the rusty metal railing in the cell where I sat alone.
The past events crowded into my unconscious brain. My pupils reflected the crow-blue sky, and the scene in front of me began to blur.
Shaocheng. Shaocheng. I really want to sleep like this forever.
Shaocheng. Shaocheng. You say, will I be your hero?
Note: A fan of "Afterimage of a Young Man" written in the seventh year of Jin Dynasty, first person, main focus, tragedy, drama