Go to Tianxu

Eight thousand years ago, there was a man standing in front of a door. He split himself in two. Half of it stays inside the door, holding it against the door and blocking what's behind it. Half of them are left outside the door, knowing nothing but remembering one thing - I come to the door every day, put my hand on the door, and cover the crack. The half in the door later forgot who they were. I also forgot about the half outside the door. But the hand is still there. One day, one year, one hundred years, one thousand years. When the snow falls, he is there. The snow stopped, but he was still there. The door never opened once. Eight thousand years later, someone found him deep in the snowfield. He was still holding the door. Behind the door, there was a very soft sound. The sound was very soft, as if someone turned over inside. He didn't push away. He waited for it to ring again.