Yue Yingzhou, who is far away in Paris, receives a wedding invitation from her high school crush. Thinking of their misplaced emotions, family dependence, and friendship companionship, maybe any of them is good. Either way is better than cutting off contact after crossing a line in a mean way.
Eight thousand kilometers, why are we willing to cross it only when it is irreversible?
The most cruel truth about love is hidden in the time between the ages of seventeen and twenty-seven: the medal he stuffed into her schoolbag is rusty, the bank card she left in the ward is frosted, and the undelivered blessings from 8,000 kilometers away become permanent electronic waste.
In the birthday greetings tampered with by time difference and the news covered by fresh snow, Yue Yingzhou finally understood that the sharpest form of love is not embracing, but cutting - using years of silence to forge each other into two rusty knives, forever sharpening the most painful acupuncture points in each other's lives.
When the news of his marriage arrived, she was wiping away the raindrops from the window six hours ago; the time difference is not a lie of the clock, but the cold steel seal of fate's coffin: some people's heartbeats are destined to last a lifetime longer than tears. The false proposition of dissecting qualifications, even heartache has become a privilege that requires approval
Love is a precise debt. The leg bone he broke for her became a weight to calibrate her heartache for the rest of her life.
Intention: The irreparable regrets caused by love and responsibility, time and distance.
