Sixteen-year-old Lin Xiaoman thought that life was like the old tube building where she lived, dark, crowded, and with no end in sight.
After her mother left, she lived in a 20-square-meter room with her alcoholic father. She was at the bottom of her class and taciturn. She was considered by the teacher to be "impossible to help."
Until that rainy day, she picked up a lame stray dog in the alley, and accidentally ran into the studio of an old man living alone next door.
Brush and color, trust and companionship, like a glimmer of light entering her closed world.
She began to clumsily learn to hold the paintbrush, learn to find tenderness in a life full of cracks, and gradually understood that growth is never a sudden bloom, but in the mud, step by step, to live a sunny life.
