Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, and woke unsure of who he was. One is a struggling actor in the modern world; the other, a swordsman in ancient times. Which life is real, and which is a bewildering dream? Life is a dream, and a dream is like life. Above the great river, the sun sets; below it lies the desert, and beyond the desert, the ocean. How small we are, like a grain of sand in the vastness, a drop of water in the river. I wonder whether, at the end of the dream, there is someone else just like me...
A story where past lives and the present intertwine, also written for an actor I really like, to whom I've sent my heartfelt admiration~
Press your fingerprints and look slowly.