The rain outside the window was pattering, as if someone was whimpering softly. Shen Liang sat behind the checkout counter of the convenience store, his eyes glancing at the surveillance screen from time to time. On the screen, platform 302 was shrouded in rain, and a figure in a dark green gown loomed. It was Chen Wu who he had longed for but could no longer touch. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the red marks on his wrists, where Chen Wu's warmth once stood, but now only a piece of coldness remained.
Lin Yan stood in front of the window of the office building, looking at the city blurred by the heavy rain. The plan in his hand was once again ruthlessly rejected by Party A. His mood was as depressed as this rainy night. He turned back to his desk and suddenly received an anonymous message on his phone: "The birthmark on the back of your neck hides a secret from twenty-five years ago." He subconsciously touched the back of his neck. The moss-shaped birthmark seemed to be slightly hot under the light.
Intent: When we talk about "Moss Marks", we are talking about how trauma becomes a medal of love, how regrets weave an eternal web, and how those unspoken loves in moist memories will eventually grow in the cracks of time into imprints that will never fade in the toughest form.