Lin Xin is twenty-three years old, unemployed, lovelorn, and insomniac.
Like a piece of paper that was crumpled and unfolded, he floated to Lingxin Temple on Qingfeng Street. There was an abbot Xuankong in the temple who rolled out two bamboo sticks for him: one was engraved with his name "Xin" and the other was blank without words.
"This 'nothing' is not empty, it is making room. My heart is too full and new things cannot come in."
Between the incense, the evening breeze and the falling petals, Lin Xin began to learn to wait - waiting for the old pain to scab, waiting for the obsession to loosen, and waiting for a breeze to truly blow through his heart.
This is a story about "after loss".
There is no counterattack, no miracle, just one person slowly putting himself back together again.
Intention: to welcome the morning light again from the darkness