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Silence. Endless, suffocating silence. Time collapsed at that moment, sealing the world into a transparent cocoon. Jia Yang wanders among the frozen rivers, hovering birds, and frozen people, touching the cold surface of everything. Every touch is like confirming its own existence. Return. A fall. Falling back to the noisy colors and temperatures, falling back into the arms of my lover. But the returning body is inhabited by the echo of silence. Something was pulsing uneasily deep in his spine, and the dream was like thick amber, wrapping and suspending him. Reality has become as fragile as cicada wings. Under the familiar outlines, the cold and hard texture of the dead world sometimes appears. To truly break out of the cocoon, you may need to face the frightening possibility: all the reality you touch is just another thin shell wrapping consciousness.