In the darkness of the blackout backstage, she wrote in the memo for the first time: "I think I'm in love with him."
He is Xu Shanzhen, an actor with a burning soul on the stage, and a figure as calm as a distant mountain off the stage. She was Jiang Yufu, who was used to sinking under the water and watching the fireworks in the world, but she saw all her excitement and silence in him.
They understand every silent avalanche in each other's eyes, but they are always washed away by the crowd just when they are about to touch.
This story is about a group of young people, a group of gentle and hot young people, with strong emotions, paranoid love, self-admiration, but longing for someone to see their unique soul.
Later, she traveled across the ocean with regrets, while he stayed in Beijing and was turned into a gray shadow by reality, but this is not the end of the story.
Five years later, she became confident in a foreign country, while he curled up in a small rental house, almost forgetting that he was once light.
Looking at those melancholy and indifferent glasses again, she thought that some diseases cannot be cured - such as having to give form to love, such as knowing that it is a play but insisting on participating in it.
"Literary disease is a quiet and stubborn rebellion we devote to ordinary life."
The curtain goes up and the lights come on. Do you recognize them?
——Those who write their heartbeats into poems, compose regrets into music, and live persistently into metaphors in reality.
"This time, I won't be an audience member."
One day I will die from a literary disease, but my romance will remain unchanged.
Concept: "Literary Disease" is about a group of people who live their lives as a stage - they breathe with dramatic grammar and love with poetic logic. Jiang Yufu turned his crush into a silent rhinoceros backstage, while Xu Shanzhen burned his soul in the spotlight but gradually forgot his words in reality. Their "disease" is a gentle resistance to rough reality: when the world demands straightforwardness, they choose metaphor; when life tends to be flat, they insist on living as three-dimensional poetry. And love is the deepest destiny and the warmest salvation in this disease. They are like two pages of a long-lost script, constantly dislocated in the hustle and bustle of youth, but quietly stitched together in the depths of time. Reunited five years later, there is no thunderous oath for redemption, only the rising fog in the soup pot, parallel footsteps in the middle of the night, and the sentence "I understand all your unfinished lines." What the story ultimately leads to is not healing, but recognition - identifying the same "sick" souls in the vast sea of people, and whispering: "We share the same set of grammar, and we can write the rest of our lives together into the most romantic improvisational play."