Gu Jue died on the morning of his thirtieth birthday. The sun had just climbed above the horizon, casting golden light between the tall buildings. He stood on the dilapidated rooftop of the building, holding the last cigarette in his hand. The ashes were gently blown to the ground by the wind, and looming sparks flickered in his eyes.
He didn't put the cigarette in his mouth, just held it, and then watched the gray sky being cut by sharp golden lights, the egg-like sun slowly climbing up, the light gray light gradually turning into gray-blue clear and bright, and then the cigarette in his hand finally burned out.
So he took a step forward and stepped into the void.