When Shen Nian fled from Beijing to western Sichuan, he never thought of staying.
She just couldn't walk anymore. It is a small town that is not even a county seat, with an altitude of 3,200 meters above sea level. There is only one street in the town, a 300-year-old walnut tree, and an old doctor who is almost blind. She helped the old doctor keep an eye on the pharmacy for two days and then left.
Two days turned into two months. Two months turned into two years.
She began to remember some things: fourteen seventeen in the morning was the time when the emergency frequency of the rescue station would sound; Lao Yang's prayer wheel would pause for a moment amid the sound of sharpening; Lu Yan did not speak in the snowstorm, but his steps were a little slower than usual - not waiting for her, but controlling the rhythm of the entire team.
He thought no one noticed.
The first winter, her fingers froze during an early morning rescue operation. Lu Yan said: "Wear an extra pair of socks next time." She has been in Western Sichuan for two years, and that was the first "next time" she heard - as if it was a tacit admission that she would have a next time, and next time, she would stay here for a long time.
She didn't object.
The mountains in western Sichuan have no names, but they are inhabited by people. She also settled in.
This is not a story about who saves whom. They are two broken people, slowly putting themselves back together in the most suitable place for being broken.
Concept: This is not a story about who saves whom. They are two broken people, slowly putting themselves back together in the most suitable place for being broken.