Deep in the Qingshi Alley of Beijing, the old ink and camphor incense of Shijian Zhai have been floating for nearly a hundred years.
Su Yan is the owner of this ancestral used book shop. He is twenty years old, wearing plain clothes and a skirt, and has a calm temperament. Her book repairing skills are exquisite. She can restore scattered ancient books and insect-eaten pages one by one with her fingertips. Even the dusty old events between the lines can be ironed and smoothed. After her parents passed away, she stayed alone in her study, living a quiet and peaceful life, spending the rest of her life with old volumes of pen and ink.
Until just after the summer heat, new residents moved into the courtyard that had been vacant for a long time at the end of the alley.
The man's name is Shen Qinghe, he wears a plain blue shirt, his eyebrows are gentle, and his fingertips always have light ink marks. No one knew why he stayed away from the bustling city and lived in an alley. They only knew that he preferred southwest chronicles. He often came to Shijian Zhai to sit for a long time, sometimes reading for half a day, and sometimes watching her quietly while she was editing. He brought hot date cake along the way, and she brewed the dried chrysanthemum tea; he read the remaining pages under the lamp, and she patched up old pages under the window.
Under the eaves, the sweet-scented osmanthus blooms and falls, and the love between the pages of the book slowly spreads with the fragrance of ink. There are no shocking entanglements, only the daily fireworks of day and night. It turns out that the most touching thing is never a sudden glance, but the greeting in the morning light. The shadow of the lamp in the dusk is the slow approach of two gentle people, turning the ordinary years into a long scene with the fragrance of ink.
Purpose: Slowly savor the fireworks of the world to gain inner peace and tenderness