...Sister Zhai left her resignation letter on the tombstone... bidding me goodbye forever... The ink on the paper had faded.
Bei Sangyun tried to write again.
The next thing I knew... — but the ballpoint pen had already run out of ink.
She put the pen down and glanced at the window. The sun was already rising. She had spent the whole night writing about the previous life — or at least, the parts she could still remember.
Her hand touched the journal, now half-filled.
Ever since that moment in the car, Bei Sangyun had been writing in it. But her memories of her previous life were slipping away. Some she could recall, while others had vanished no matter how hard she tried.
Her journal was full of gaps, out of chronological order. Sometimes, when she went back to reread earlier entries, she was shocked to find she couldn't recall any of them — as if the memories had been wiped clean.
