The sound of "knock knock" on the door startled Mr. Wen and his wife awake.
The wife saw her husband sitting right in front of her, initially surprised, then rushed over to tightly embrace him, crying with an outpouring of tears and snot.
Mr. Wen allowed his wife to hold him, entirely bewildered.
Hadn't I already died?
He couldn't help but think of the three ultimate questions of life.
Who am I?
Where did I come from?
Where am I going?
Mr. Wen held his sobbing wife with both hands, then turned to look out the window, seeing that it was still covered in a blanket of snow outside.
The sky remained overcast, with no spatial rift, or a dust storm blotting out the sky.
Only then did he realize that what he had just experienced was merely a fleeting dream.
Mr. Wen sighed in his heart, "This dream was so realistic."
His gaze became confused, inexplicably recalling an ancient poem from Great Xia — Zhuang Zhou's morning dream, bewildered by the butterfly.
