When the beacon smoke spread over the city tower, swordsman Shen Yanzhi picked up a young man holding a broken flute among the rubble. He blocked the arrows for him, and his fingertips touched the bloody marks on the opponent's waist; he played the broken music for him, and the sound of the flute shattered into snow in the wind. The encounter in troubled times was like a blood-stained ink, worn into the inkstone by the years - until three years later, the ice on the moat melted, and the Xiang Fei bamboo flute wrapped with red silk thread under the willow shade once again startled his heartbeat that was still cold in the scabbard.
The former arrow holes have been filled with brick patterns, and the bloodstains from that time have faded into shadows of moss. When the hand holding the knife learns to sharpen the ink, and the finger holding the flute dares to touch the blade, the dipterocarp-scented ink in the inkstone will ripple with warmth: It turns out that what is hotter than the beacon fire is the Jiangnan that was rubbed into the sound of your flute when we reunited; what is longer than the broken monument is the rest of our lives carved with scars and double shadows in the inkstone.
Purpose: Using the scars in the war as an inkstone and the years of staying together as ink, we write about the gentle coverage of cruel times by the warmth of humanity in troubled times, and explore how trauma can precipitate into the power to nourish life in the process of staying together, ultimately confirming the universal philosophy that "love can melt ice, and emotion can fill a hole."