Later, he left again.

　　There was only me left at home.

　　Whenever I closed my eyes, I would go back to that day.

　　The burnt skin rotted away bit by bit in the summer.

　　It would be better to die.

　　But I didn't die.

　　It was Zhou Wei again.

　　A strange phone call came, a familiar female voice apologized for bothering, and rambled on about unrelated things, pretending to be relaxed, trying to cover up something.

　　So I exposed it directly.

　　"Why are you calling me?" She hesitated for a moment.

　　Suddenly stammering, unable to form a complete sentence.

　　For a long time, it felt like mustering up courage.

　　"Don't die." "Jiang Zhe." "I'm afraid, I'm afraid that you'll commit suicide, that's why I wrote down your number..." I didn't expect her to be so straightforward.

　　The words were scorching.

　　They burned my eyes, causing unbearable pain.

　　I could hear her breathing in the room, nervous and hesitant.

　　I saw the blood flowing on the table, dropping onto the floor and forming a few plum blossoms, reflecting a cold light from the knife.

　　Finally, I said, "Okay." "Help me call an ambulance."