Eighteen years ago, Wan Moli, a disciple of Wu Dao Sect, danced on the ascension stage.
Use your body as a furnace and love as a fire. After the dance, he degenerated into a baby and his memory disappeared, leaving only half a broken jade pendant and a flute that never played again.
The one he loved did not ascend. She gave up on the door that had been opened for her, walked down the ascension platform, picked up the baby, and entrusted it to a man who chopped firewood in the capital.
Three days later, the Wudao Sect was destroyed.
Eighteen years later, a lazy young man walked on the streets of the capital, with the ebony flute hanging around his waist. His name is Xiao Chen, and he has no memory of his past life. He only knows that his adoptive father has been chopping firewood for eighteen years and keeping a promise that he has never made clear. The half piece of jade pendant in my arms is waiting for another person to close it.
The woman is here.
Su Qingluo, wearing the other half of the jade pendant - the broken parts fit perfectly. She came to pick him up. But she has a secret she has never told: In the past eighteen years, she has saved countless people with her healing skills, and every healing consumes her memory. Things about him were disappearing bit by bit from her mind.
She didn't mention it, and he didn't ask. Until one day, he stopped her in the yard.
"Wait until I remember."
She stood with her back to him for a long time. Only one word was said in the end.
"Okay."
The dance of the Wudao Sect is not danced for one person to watch. But for some people, one dance is enough.
Intention: At the expense of sacrifice and memory, explore the two extreme forms of love - one person burns himself and sends the other person to heaven, and one person abandons the road to heaven and hugs the ashes to the earth. Reunited eighteen years later, he is recalling, she is forgetting, the two timelines are running in opposite directions. The dance of Wu Daozong is not danced for one person; but for some people, the embers of one dance are enough to burn for a lifetime. The entire article explores an ancient question through the original cultivation system of "Entering the Tao through Dance" and the dual-line setting of "healing must pay a price": When remembering and forgetting are not up to oneself, what is left for a person's relationship? The answer is not in the memory - it is in the body, in the bamboo branches, in the warmth of the flute, and in the bowl of water brought every morning.