Introduction to the work:
In a border town in Russia that is forgotten and repeatedly remembered by winter, a former soldier met a Chinese female doctor.
It sounds like the beginning of a lame joke, but there's no punchline here.
Alexei Torv, thirty-two years old, retired soldier, can cook authentic borscht and can recite Shakespeare's sonnets (Russian version, poor translation). He lives alone in the old house left by his father, and occasionally thinks of the bad vodka he drank for the first time when he was fourteen, and the pungent taste is still stuck in his throat. His eyes were grey-blue and he had seen too much snow, so everything looked like he was seeing through a layer of melting ice.
Song Yi's glasses are dark red, and they are just like her - unflattering, unsociable, but absolutely accurate. She comes from Anhui, China, a south without heating, but she refuses anyone's help in the cold wind of Siberia. She studies Marxism, hates cats, and is naturally wary of kindness. If she falls in the snow, she will get up, pat the snow, and walk away without even saying thank you.
In theory, two people who should not have any intersection began to live under the same roof because of a rotten Shakespeare and an extra bowl of borscht.
This is not a love story.
At least they don't admit it.
Torv felt that Song Yi was like a fox that strayed into the snowy field, pretending to patrol the territory even though he was shivering from the cold. Song Yi felt that Torv was like a birch tree that had been tilted by the wind but refused to fall. He was inexplicably stubborn, inexplicably clean, and his waist was inexplicably thin.
The snow outside the window has fallen year after year. There is always a pot of soup warm in the kitchen. The light in the living room is on, like a lie deep in the frozen soil that refuses to go out.
The content of the lie is: We just live together.
Intention: Write whatever you want