"Han Xinyue, you must not forget, not even in death."
Han Xinyue awoke from a moon-white bed, feeling as if she had been fished out of water, her underclothes soaked with sweat, the budding breasts faintly discernible through the damp fabric.
She pushed open the window, outside was pitch black, the stars in the sky dimmed, and a crescent moon barely shined, obscured by drifting dark clouds.
For some reason, Han Xinyue always felt that whether it was the stars or the crescent moon, if she looked at them long enough, they seemed somewhat counterfeit.
"Failed again, was I caught last time?" Han Xinyue looked at her lotus-white arm and felt a dim sorrow, sensing that she had once again forgotten something, and even, it seemed, that something had been added to her body.
When a person loses all memory, even if the shell remains, is she still herself?
"Perhaps after being caught a few more times, I won't be me anymore."