The familiar room, the familiar people.
Late at night, Yang Jian stood in the room and looked out the window, recounting the series of events that had happened recently.
It all seemed like a story—thrilling, terrifying, exciting, yet even more wonderful than any story, because it had truly happened in reality. Yang Jian was the protagonist of that story, and what he told was everything he had experienced.
Yang Jian's account was very detailed, detailed enough to make the listeners feel as though they were there.
Meanwhile, Jiang Yan and Zhang Liqin sat at the desk, constantly writing everything down with pens.
The soft scratch of writing echoed through the silent room.
Neither of them said a word, focusing entirely on their work.
The more they recorded, the deeper their understanding of the supernatural world became. That was precisely why they constantly felt uneasy and afraid. They even wondered whether they knew too many secrets, whether Yang Jian might alter their memories someday—or simply silence them forever.
Sometimes, they even wondered whether their memories had already been altered.
Yet deep down, Jiang Yan and Zhang Liqin also longed for Yang Jian to alter their memories, because perhaps only then could they peacefully accept this hard-won "happiness."
Yang Jian continued telling his story until deep into the night.
The two women kept recording until deep into the night as well.
The contents of the two thick notebooks represented Yang Jian's life experiences. He had never touched either notebook, never flipped through them, and had not even checked whether Jiang Yan and Zhang Liqin had made any mistakes in their records.
"Finished recording?" Yang Jian asked.
"Finished." Jiang Yan and Zhang Liqin rubbed their aching arms.
Yang Jian said, "There was a lot to cover this time, involving many details. It's normal