Yutong is a ventilation maintenance worker in a mountain village in northern Gansu. He uses hollow iron pipes to punch holes in the mulch every day, 2.5 Centimeters in diameter, no more and no less. If the hole is too big, water will escape from the soil; if the hole is too small, the seedlings will have their roots choked. She has taken root in this vegetable garden for ten years. Her fingers are rough and her palms are calloused. She feels that her life is as stable as a hole-in-the-wall standard.
Shen Yan is back. The young lover who once said, "This place is too small to accommodate me," is now wearing a suit and leather shoes and is back from Shenzhen to deal with his grandmother's old house. I'm leaving in seven days. He still felt that it was slow, boring, and that everything was "slowly decaying." But he squatted down on the ridge of the field and watched her drilling holes all afternoon.
The holes in the mulch film are related to the life and death of the crops, and the blank space in the emotional film is related to the life and death of each other. She is willing to take root in her hometown of fireworks, while he insists on rushing to unknown distances. The directions of life are completely opposite, but neither one can uproot the other from the heart. Ten years later, the standard for holes is still 2.5 Centimeters, but the distance between people has never been measured by a ruler.
