The year when the flood destroyed his hometown, Yu Zhou clutched half a medical book, and Pu Qinglai carried a broken silver bracelet and stepped on the wooden plank to break into the endless waterway. For three hundred and seventy-one days and nights, they switched from rafts to awning boats and were pushed around mountains and valleys by the current. They lost their family items and their past appearance - the hand holding the pen was calloused, and the fingers for diagnosing the pulse were stained with river mud.
The shadows of the mountains on both sides of the Taiwan Strait are like moving walls, sometimes as narrow as a wall, sometimes as wide as a wall. They said goodbye to the silver bracelet on the dangerous shoal, rescued medical books in the heavy rain, counted the lines of the ship's planks in the quiet night, and soaked their unspoken guilt and dependence in the water vapor. When the awning boat finally passed through the last mountain pass, the river bank in front of them was flat and open, but the two teenagers were suddenly in a trance: did the so-called "passing" reach a new life, or did they hide their scars in a more hidden corner?
The running water will take away the sand, but it can't take away the pain engraved on the bones; the mountains will eventually give way, but they can't stop the looking back in the heart. This boat trip never carries more than just two people, but also the lights that were broken by the waves and put back together again in each other's eyes.
Purpose: Using the drifting journey of Yu Zhou and Pu Qinglai as a carrier, we explore the relationship between "trauma and redemption" and "loss and retention" - running water can take away concrete objects, but cannot wash away the deep-rooted memories; mountains can block the way forward, but cannot stop the resilience of supporting each other. Ultimately, under the appearance of "getting by", the essence of "symbiosis with scars" in growth is revealed.