The End of the Day, Dreams and Campus

That dream, like a thread repeatedly pulled by time, has repeatedly pulled Lin Zhao into the same illusion since three months ago - the old Qingwu building. The window at the end of the corridor is open, and cherry blossoms are falling like snow. She stood in the light and said softly: "You are going to die again, Lin Zhao. This time, can you still remember me?" Every time he dreamed of this, he would wake up, and her face, like writing on the sand, was erased by the tide, leaving only a faint crescent-shaped scar on her wrist, like an old wound or a sealed contract.