Lately, Jin Zhicheng had been plagued by nightmares. In them, he would always return to that grove, forced to relive the day Jin Zhiwei died. Because of this, he suffered from sleepless nights. His face was constantly shadowed by dark circles, and he had grown so haggard that he looked a size thinner.
But his family all knew how close he and Jin Zhiwei had been, so they simply assumed Jin Zhicheng was overwhelmed by grief. His mother had even made a special trip to the hospital for a bottle of sleeping pills. He had taken one tonight, hoping for a dreamless sleep, but to his surprise, he once again felt the sensation of grass under him.
The only difference was that now, his vision was pitch-black. His entire body felt restrained, unable to move. Only the feeling of the dry grass beneath his hands was intensely real.
