Writer's First Novel

The seventh time he woke up at 7:03, Lin Zhou found that the scar on his left brow bone was hot - Chen Feng's chip was buried in this "new scar". Li Wei's coffee cup was stained with laboratory blue paint, Aunt Zhang's metal distress sign was engraved with clock symbols, and even the red clay soles of the old man's shoes by the lake were exactly the same as those of Zhou Ming's trousers. There was only one count left in Chen Feng's cycle. When the word "guard" pierced the chip with pain, he understood: the real cage is never time, but the authenticity of the people around him.