"One Hundred Years of Solitude" writes, "No matter where you go, you should remember that memory is an endless road, all past springs no longer exist, and even the most tenacious and crazy love is, in the final analysis, nothing more than a fleeting reality."
"The days that I can't get back are like being hit on the head by time. I can't remember it clearly." Zheng Zhizi can no longer tell whether the past is a reality or a dream.