The mirror of the dance room reflected Lin Ximeng's spinning figure. When her skirt was raised, it looked like a burning flame. Azhe's hand holding the camera paused. The light in her eyes in the lens always made him mistakenly believe that he had already seen through the temperature of the fire - until she calmly said "you don't understand", he was shocked to realize that those captured moments were just the tip of the iceberg. He had never really touched the old wounds hidden under the skirt and the forbearance in the night.
And when Azhe began to clumsily learn to read the tiredness on her brows and the dull pain in her knees, Chi Jing was putting hot milk into An Ran's hands and watching her draw crooked puppies next to the high-mathematics questions. The trajectories of the three young people intersected on the Wutong Road in autumn: Lin Ximeng slowly lowered her guard in the world outside Azhe's lens, Azhe recorded her unspoken stories in a sketchbook, and Chi Jing silently guarded An Ran.
They had all been trapped in their own perspectives, thinking they liked catching light and following shadows, until one day they discovered that real closeness was through light and shadow, seeing each other's scars hidden in the shadows, and the flowers blooming on the scars. When the footsteps of dance shoes and canvas shoes intertwine, when the camera shutter overlaps with the notes on the notebook, this youth narrative about "understanding" has just begun.
This little writer is really amazing