Adapted from the author's personal experience
When she was three years old, Qingqing carved a rest mark on the corner of the piano on her forehead. This scar became the password of her life - when her stepmother Jia Qian was forced to kneel, she used her fingernails on the floor to calculate the circumference of the scar (11.3 Cm); when olfactory hallucinations occurred, she smelled the fragrance of jasmine on the day her mother attempted suicide; after becoming a psychological counselor, she taught her children to draw self-inflicted scars into constellations.
This is not a story about recovery. 23-Year-old Qingqing still gets headaches on rainy days, and her smart bracelet monitors the never-ending thunderstorm in her brain. But when she explained for the ninth time that the scar on her forehead was "the staff left to me by my mother," a little girl secretly stuffed an eraser in the shape of a piano key that the nurse had thrown away.
From the blood stains on the piano cover to the star scars in the consultation room, all pain eventually became a navigator. Those traumatic memories that were accurate to the second (2 hours and 15 minutes of piano practice, the penalty kneeling at 1:07 in the morning), on an afternoon illuminated by a rainbow pill box, suddenly had a new calculation formula: scar area = volume of love × time?
Intention: "In the coordinate system that accurately calculates pain, find the imperfect formula of living."
