Leaning against the soft pillow, Gao Ming felt a headache coming on. During his coma, he seemed to have had a terrifying nightmare filled with strange things that could never exist in reality.
He had not understood why he would dream of those things until the patient in the next room told him he had been telling Gao Ming ghost stories every night, sharing his painful experiences.
"At least judging by the result, my efforts weren't wasted. You woke up." The man looked a little embarrassed. He stayed in the next ward and had assumed Gao Ming was in a vegetative state, so he had shared absolutely everything with him. Who could have imagined Gao Ming would actually wake up?
Frowning, Gao Ming studied the man before him. He looked neat and clean, with a bright smile and a gentle temperament. Yet beneath his long sleeves, his arms were covered in scars from self-harm, and he told ghost stories to a comatose patient every night. Could someone like that really be normal?
"Don't frown. I really do think of you as a friend," the man explained softly. "No one understands me, and no one wants to listen to my ideas. Over these past few months, you're the only one who has never contradicted me. You agreed with everything I said."
"I was in a coma," Gao Ming could not help replying.
"Anyway, you're one of my few friends. Don't go telling other people my secrets." This seemed to be the real reason the man had come.
"Don't worry. I can barely even remember my own name." Gao Ming withdrew his gaze blankly. Everyone called him Gao Ming, and he seemed to have been called Gao Ming in that nightmare too. But for some reason, whenever he began thinking about what