Lin Wei's left hand hides a childhood scar, like a secret she has hidden for twenty-six years - her mother's emotional blackmail is a thorn wrapped in sugar, her father's absence is a door that can never be closed, and she lives her life like a silent fragment in the ancient book restoration room of the library.
Until Chen Yu broke in with his old camera. He is a photographer whose lens is filled with broken landscapes, a lonely man who dreams of his mother falling from a building late at night. His father's wine bottle and his mother's pool of blood are the shadows that he has not escaped even after twelve years of escaping.
They reunited because of a Qing Dynasty fragment, and smelled the smell of each other's wounds in the damp musty smell of ancient books. She repaired the broken pages, and he photographed the incomplete scenery. Two people who were crushed by their original families tried to spell out the shape of "home" in each other: he would make her a cup of warm honey water and wait for her to repair the ancient books until late at night; she would quietly wipe the old camera left by his mother, carefully avoiding the undeveloped film.
But wounds are thorns buried in the bones and blood, and even the slightest touch will prick each other's bodies. Lin Wei's mother's serious illness dragged her back to her suffocating home. The appearance of Chen Yu's father tore open his unhealed scars. Internet violence ripped out his past and drenched him with blood. He lost control amidst the curses of "You killed your mother," and finally left behind the words "I'm not worthy of your light" and disappeared into her world.
Five years later, Lin Wei's memory began to become disordered. She was afraid of forgetting the warmth of his palms and the light in his lens; while Chen Yu in the border town, in the pain of gastric cancer, repeatedly rubbed the roll of film that had been hidden for five years - it was him.
