Every Moment of Deep Sleep

Li Hao is a silent cog in the city during the day, but after nightfall, he falls into a dark path that continues to recur. The pursuer in the rearview mirror maintained a constant distance, and the nameless building between a factory and a villa was opening its interior to him with incomprehensible grammar. The sound of chopping vegetables, cooking fumes, and endless meat - "work" is stripped of its daily meaning here, and time is forged into a cold rule: "You must be back before ten o'clock." What is more suffocating than the rules is the silence. Except for the "store manager", no one has the right to speak. All faces are collages of memories, and all lips are closed like seals. Folding doors are snapping autonomously, and floating windows are opening and closing in defiance of gravity, as if the space itself is waking up. The man in the pig-head mask stands in the darkness, the silver light of the blade flashes before going out - is he a law enforcer, or an incarnation of a deeper order? Every time I woke up, the cold sweat deepened the doubt; every dawn, the remnants of the dream seeped into the cracks of reality. As the hand pressing against the shoulder blade from behind became more and more real, Li Hao gradually realized that being awake might not be an escape, but another kind of capture. The threshold is getting lower, the rules are multiplying, and behind that door that has never been crossed, is the exit to end the nightmare hidden, or is it the core where the dream finally captures all its prey?