On the day Wen Tang came to the ancient town, it rained heavily.
Holding her grandmother's remaining inkstone in her arms, she took shelter from the rain at the entrance of Shi Inkstone Studio and watched the young man inside grinding ink. The ink sticks rotated on the inkstone, spreading out in circles, like the ripples of rain falling on the bluestone.
The young man raised his head and glanced at her, without saying anything, but moved the bamboo stool at the door towards her. She sat down, put the remaining inkstone on her lap, accidentally knocked off the Polaroid, and the photos came out - there were cracks in the old wall, the shadow of the awning boat, and a blurry, inked silhouette of him that had been secretly taken just now.
He bent down to help her pick it up, and when his fingertips touched the profile photo, he paused and handed it back as if nothing had happened. "The inkstone is cracked," he suddenly said, his voice as soft as the raindrops, "My grandpa can repair it."
Wen Tang didn't answer, because she was afraid that if she said too much, she would reveal her secret - she was obviously a blogger who restored ancient books, but she couldn't even repair a broken inkstone.
Later it was discovered that he was a deskmate named Lu Shiyan. During class, he always drew the inkstone in his draft book, and the drawings were more serious than the formulas in the textbook; after class, he went back to the inkstone studio, where he still polished ink, and the fragrance of the ink floated far away, even getting a little bit on her textbook.
One time she failed a math test and cried on the table. He handed her a piece of paper. Instead of words of comfort, it had an ugly inkstone drawn on it. Next to it was written: "If you grind the ink too hastily, it will produce scum, and the same goes for doing the questions."
She couldn't help but smile and turned to look at him. He had turned back and pretended to read a book, but the tips of his ears were red.
The rain was still falling, the lights of Shi Yanzhai were on, and the fragrance of ink mixed with the rain slowly spread over the entire end of the alley. She thought that maybe the rain in the ancient town was never meant to be avoided, but meant to be encountered.
Intention: The residual inkstone rolls into the inkstone house and reveals the young man's thoughts.