Long Sleep, Travel, Dream

Hurry, Huai Shi.

Hurry, or it will all be too late.

Huai Shi panted, gripping the iron pick tightly in the darkness beneath the moonlight.

With all his strength, he shoveled at the earth beneath his feet, drenched in sweat yet daring not to stop, dragged onward by an invisible terror that would not let him rest.

The shadow behind him swelled beneath the moonlight, grinning soundlessly.

As though looking down from above, it watched him cast aside the soil and sink lower and lower, as if digging his own grave.

Until his shovel suddenly struck something invisible, scattering sparks.

Huai Shi froze, then reached out with trembling hands and brushed away the dirt. He saw that cold, iron heart beneath the soil—and someone below began to laugh softly.

So mocking.

As Huai Shi stumbled back in terror, a hand stretched out from the grave he had dug himself and seized his wrist. Amid the dirt and dust, his own face emerged, looking up at him with a smile.

"Huai Shi, what are you looking for?"

Darkness descended.

A torrential downpour arrived. The rumble of a train came from afar, and the graveyard was bleak and desolate.

Huai Shi stood before the tombstone, staring at his grandfather's photograph. Behind him, he heard arguing—a man and a woman, hysterical and impatient, fighting as though they wanted to pin every mistake in the world on each other.

Even though the funeral had not yet ended.

They haggled over every last fraction of the inheritance.

When Huai Shi finally gathered the courage to turn around, the voices had vanished without a trace.

Only two skeletons remained, nestled together in the thin rain, their pitch-black eye sockets quietly staring at him.

Huai Shi's vision went dark. He covered his face wearily, but mocking laughter