Zhu Shuanghua drinks like her life depends on it; lately, she's been getting drunk almost every day.
She hasn't left the house for a whole week, even dismissing the cleaning lady who occasionally comes by.
At night, she sits alone on the basement level, in the extravagant hall.
The entire wall in front of her is filled with wine imported from France.
Just those indescribable wines alone are worth a villa.
She's wearing a silk robe, leaning against the armrest of the European-style sofa, with her hand holding the wine glass up, also supporting her forehead.
In the bright, glamorous living room, even the wine glass in her hand glimmers.
Yet she feels so down she wants to cry.
Half drunk and half awake, she can't help but start doubting herself.
She lifts her head, staring at the entire wall of wine and the expensive furniture.
Isn't this the life she always wanted?
But why, even though she already has it all, does she feel like a living corpse?
