The owner of the diary was trying hard to reveal something.
But the diary hadn't ended, the handwriting from the following few days seemed a bit messy.
"June 26th, clear skies."
"I am Zhou Haoran, 45 years old, 1.73 meters tall, with a mature-looking face. I measured my height and found that I had grown a centimeter taller, unbelievable."
"I remember I attempted suicide yesterday? But it was unsuccessful."
"That cyanide must have been fake, quite a challenge I set for myself—how could there be cyanide in a hospital? It's obviously fake. The so-called suicide, just a joke. Why would I kill myself when I'm perfectly fine?"
"Oh, right, I actually don't have the habit of keeping a diary, do I?"
Wang Hao wiped sweat from his brow, somewhat concerned about the guy's mental state.
"…What exactly did I do yesterday, whether the cyanide was real or fake, it's impossible to tell now."
