"In late autumn when I was six years old, he picked up broken glass for me."
In the cold wind, Li Zi huddled on the street corner holding an overturned wine bottle, tears dripping down mixed with the blood on his palms.
The boy in the blue down jacket knelt down and wrapped the broken wine bottle with a handkerchief: "Don't be afraid, I'll pay you three bottles."
From then on, the sweetness of cheap fruit candies became the only light in the darkness.
"The fourteen-year-old warehouse hides all the stars in the universe"
Under the leaky iron roof, Fu Jingshen taught him to write "rose" and "forever".
The young man pressed the glass beads into his palm: "I have tamed a hundred foxes, and you are also a unique rose."
But a promise is like a crack on a wind chime, which will prick people's hands with blood ten years later.
"When we met again, his cufflinks reflected the scar under my collarbone."
In the neon abyss, Li Ziyi learned to cover his palm prints with cigarette scars.
Until one day when he was stuffed into the back seat of a luxury car, a man in a suit and tie handed him a mint: "It's not too late to say it hurts now."
But he had long forgotten how to cry out for pain - just like Fu Jingshen had forgotten who hid the glass beads in the heart of the stone statue. .
——
From bluestone town to neon city, from rose thorns to glass ruins
This chronic sinking with tenderness as its edge will eventually pierce all dimensions of time and space——
"In the last breath of oxygen before drowning, I heard the broken glass singing the song of childhood."
Intent: The struggle between social class and human nature & the healing of time and memory