Ashes filled the keys with prophecies. Seventeen-year-old Lin Xiaoman held on to half of a burnt old photo and met Jiang Yichuan in the music classroom filled with a scorched smell - the boy whose earrings could refract rainbows, with a brand on his wrist that was the same as the date of her mother's death.
When the soda bottle bursts on the burnt Do sound, the clock on the top floor always stops in the shadow of three quarters of an hour. The arson suspect in school uniform held a utility knife and chuckled: "Want to hear the sound of dancing skeletons?"
The stage accident twenty years ago was resurrected in the flames, and his mother's ballet shoes became inextricably entangled with his burn tattoo. The sheet of music crawled out of the wreckage of the piano, and every scorch mark was an unspoken confession. And their touching fingertips are rekindling the ashes of truth buried deep under the old concert hall.
In this game with the time arsonist, the most dangerous thing has never been the lies. It is the trembling morning light on Jiang Yichuan's eyelashes, and the soda bubbles between his collarbones that rise and fall with his breathing and at the same frequency as her heartbeat.
"Have you heard the confession sprouting from the ashes? Those are the burnt notes saying I love you for me."
Department girl Lin Xiaoman vs walking contraband Jiang Yichuan
Ten suspense and ten romance stories on campus
Shuangjie/he
Concept: When all clocks start to run in reverse, only the interlocking pulses can measure the precise temperature difference between truth and lies.
