In the afternoon of late autumn, psychiatrist Lin Yan met Su Wu in the pure white clinic room - she was wrapped in a windbreaker that had been washed white, and her eyes were covered with mist that could not be resolved. She said that there were voices hidden in the walls, under the floor, and even in the bones. After her mother passed away, she locked herself in a room full of expired instant noodles. Her dissociative symptoms tore reality into pieces, and even her existence became a "fog that was about to be blown away by the wind."
Lin Yan tried to use a sketchbook, warm water and patience to help her anchor reality, but when she drew a jagged wall, curled up instant noodles, and quietly added a little sun, she found that her rational defense was quietly cracking. He thought it was salvation, but gradually he couldn't tell whether he was lifting the fog in Su Wu's world, or whether it was the fog in Su Wu's eyes that was dragging him into a dilemma of redemption and sinking.
When the voice in the shadow collides with the warmth of reality, when the doctor's calmness interweaves with the patient's fragility, can they hear the true echo that belongs to both of them in each other's mist?
Lin Yan x Su Wu
