At eight in the morning, in a certain hospital room, on a snow-white bed, Yin Hun the Nineteenth opened his eyes. He saw traces of wind passing by; on the ceiling, a thin sheet of wallpaper peeled off, dangling and trembling in the breeze. Following the traces of the wind, he looked toward a clean, open window, where the curtains adorned with jasmine flowers fluffed gently in the wind. The golden dawn light softly streamed in, filling the air with a refreshing scent; everything seemed new.
He stared fixedly at the window, the curtains, for a long time, before withdrawing his gaze. It was only then that he noticed an elderly man with graying hair leaning against his bedside, already asleep.
