On the day Lin Wanxing moved into the rental house in the urban village, he bumped into Chen Yu next door squatting in the corridor holding a drawing board, his white shirt stained with paint.
She is an unemployed editor who is holding on to her savings after being laid off, and he is a down-and-out painter who makes a living by taking orders. The two people are running for life, sharing the halo of a street lamp in a rental house of less than ten square meters. She helped him revise his drawings and copywriting, and he drew for her the starlight when she returned home from working overtime at night. A dinner of instant noodles and ham also allowed her to talk about her dreams.
Until Lin Wanxing got the reinstatement notice and wanted to move to the city center, Chen Yu clutched the starry sky map with her silhouette and remained silent: "The starlight here seems to be unable to retain people." She looked at the dimness in his eyes, and suddenly remembered the light he quietly left for her every night.
"Chen Yu," she said softly, "home is where the stars are." It turns out that the warmest lights are never in tall buildings, but in each other's eyes.
