During the Chunyou period of the Southern Song Dynasty, Shen Shu'an, the first poet in the dynasty, became famous all over the world, and his lyrics were praised as "the best since the Southern Song Dynasty".
No one knew that he had not written a book for ten years. The four pen pens on the desk are hard and cold, and have never been dipped in ink.
His wife Xue Lingwei knew.
Because those words - every single one of them, were written by her.
She was grinding ink under the south window, using the ten-year-old pine smoke ink he brought back from Huizhou. The grinding out had a very light rosin smell, just like the first step towards the deep pine forest after snow in the mountains in winter. She cut the paper, put down the pen, and placed the written words on the table. He sat across from him, took the cup, took his first sip of tea - and then waited. The pause between the first and second bites was all he could say. The longer she pauses, the better she writes. The tea was cool enough and the foam had dispersed before he took a second sip, which was the highest compliment.
She thought this was the most private understanding in the world. A lifetime is the width of this desk.
Until one day, she opened a collection of words circulating outside and found that he had secretly replaced the sharpest words in her words one by one.
Replace "thin" with "micro". "Yan" is replaced with "light". "Dense" is replaced with "Far". Replace "broken" with "fine". "Cold" is replaced by "cool".
Every replaced word is the most naked part of her soul. He rounded them and made them safe, put them on with his name, and sent them to tea houses, wine shops, Goulan tile houses, and engraving and printing shops in Lin'an City.
He said it was to protect her.
Her words go places she cannot. She stood at the door of the carving workshop and saw her sentence engraved in reverse characters and signed with his name - she did not go in.
He is her only reader and the only one with the authority to erase her soul. His "understanding" is the most sophisticated cage in the world.
Later, the whole world knew her name. Later, she could not write a word.
She threw half her life's lyrics into the fire and said only one sentence:
"They were written to you. You gave them to everyone. Then they are no longer mine."
The fire is out. There was a scrap of paper among the ashes. The ink color is still there.
Purpose: To explore whether private love and understanding can become another form of imprisonment - being the only person who can make you fully bloom is also the reason why you can never face the world with your true identity.
