Lingshan only believed in two things in her life: the cooking instructions passed down by her grandmother, and the water temperature she felt with her own hands. Until Zhang Yi, the fourteen-year-old boy who taught her how to recognize madder, came back from studying in the city. He is still the young owner of Zhang Ji Dyeing Workshop, with a big blue brick house and silver button cuffs; she is guarding a leaky workshop and can't even afford a decent pot. He handed over an urgent order from the dyeing shop, and she retracted her torn hands when picking up the twine. If the heat is not enough, the floating color will fall off and become mottled; if it is cooked for too long, the fibers will break at the touch. She hid the piece of twine under her pillow for eight years, and his notebook was filled with drawings of her profile. The two of them were separated by twelve bluestone dyeing vats and an iron pot that had been refilled three times, and neither of them took that half step. Until she left the village for the city and he chased someone on the platform; until the confession he carved on the date tree was obscured by wind and rain, and she dug out the old twine in the iron box under the tree. Only by cooking with moderation can the true character be fixed, and by being brave and with moderation can the heartbeat be retained. A lifetime of timidity will lead to a lifetime of missed opportunities. When the display cabinets in the museum displayed the "Young Chi" colored linen thread and the "Moonlight White" formula manuscript side by side, the half-arm gap in the middle was the distance that they did not dare to cross after all.
