4:23

After his mother passed away, Lu Yan thought that life would eventually return to normal. Living alone in the city for half a year, he went to work, worked overtime, and made do with it, hiding the pain of bereavement in his ordinary life, thinking that time would heal all regrets. Until an old wooden comb suddenly appeared, completely breaking the false calm. The comb that belonged to his mother had obviously been burned at the funeral, but now it was lying quietly on his coffee table, with a few strands of long gray hair entangled in the teeth of the comb. It felt cold to the touch, but when I clenched it in my palms, a touch of warm body temperature unique to my mother slowly spread out. The collapse of the world has followed since then. The clock on the wall suddenly stopped, and the hands were always fixed at four-twenty-three. That was the moment of farewell that he did not want to touch. The memories of everyone around him have been tampered with. Relatives, friends, and colleagues are all convinced that his mother is fine. Even the updates in his circle of friends that mourn his mother have disappeared out of thin air. The smoke from the old house has not dispersed, and the stove fire is at room temperature. The sound of washing rice and chopping vegetables in the kitchen is still there, and the pot is simmering with the homely taste he is most familiar with. Mother stood at the door against the light, her tone as gentle as ever: "Back? Let's eat." This is a Chinese psychological horror without ghosts. There are no evil spirits at work, and the most heart-wrenching weirdness is always hidden in ordinary fireworks. It is obsession that weaves into a cage, and deep love that forms a fetter. He was trapped in longing and refused to let go, so she could not travel safely. It's never the souls of the dead that haunt the living. It was in front of the grave that day that he clenched his obsession with the earth and made a promise with his own hands for this reunion that would never return.