Seventeen-year-old knight Lyubov was packed into a monastery by his father. The crime was groundless. The main reason was that his father, a prodigal knight captain, owed a debt to the Pope, and the eldest son happened to be the most convenient collateral for the debt.
He met a man in the dungeon.
The man had been imprisoned for twenty years. He was barefoot and had blond hair reaching his waist. He claimed to be a writer who had stopped penning, and his pen name was "Dylan" - it was the author whom Lyubov read until dawn in the middle school dormitory, copied it on the wall, and rubbed it repeatedly until the corners turned white.
He writes about freedom, but people are locked up. Write on the wall, but people never step out. Write about light, but people have only seen candlelight.
Lyubov learned from the words he read that "the essence of imprisonment is not the wall, but the prisoner's identification with the wall." So he squatted down and said something to the man sitting barefoot across from the candlelight that he thought he would never have the chance to say face to face in this life -
"Let's go. There's no light here."
Concept: The essence of imprisonment is not the wall, but the prisoner's identification with the wall.