There is a butterfly scar on the back of his hand, her birthday coordinates are engraved on his heart, and a blood-stained ginkgo bookmark is hidden in the pocket of his suit; there is a deadly cinnabar mole on the back of her neck, and a poisonous pen is hidden under the gentle mask. The lovers who broke up on a rainy night five years ago reunited in a bloody confrontation at the medical summit - his hand that destroyed the evidence tore old scars: in court he admitted that he was the executioner of the pharmaceutical giant, but she dug out the pregnancy test sheet from 20 years ago from the evidence room - their parents' numbers were listed side by side on the victim list. In the ruins on a snowy night, he used glass to cut his veins and feed blood. During the hearing, she tore open his blood-stained shirt and exposed the burn scar to the live broadcast camera of the entire network. When the countdown to the explosion reaches zero, the password is the number of seconds of their first kiss, and the nine hundred marriage letters in the safe are burning... You say that flowers cannot bloom from ashes, but you and I are like wildfire that burns away lies.
Intent: In the wrestling field between machinations and sincerity, what this work finally reaches is the most painful awakening for contemporary people: love is not the savior's scepter, but a jigsaw puzzle of two incomplete souls - it does not have to fit perfectly, as long as light can shine through the cracks.