Cheng Zang

Laojie received a letter three years late. There was no sender on the envelope, only one line: Courtyard No. 9 Is open, come back. On the first night back, someone walked into Courtyard No. 4, Which had been vacant for thirty years. She saw a light in a door that wasn't supposed to be. The whole street remembers things it shouldn't. And her own name appeared in the last line of a blacked-out record. Twelve words. Twelve courtyards. It reads like this: When you are in constant danger, you should think about retreating. She was looking for the key that would close all the locks. But what if for every piece of truth she retrieves, she loses a piece of her memory?