They all called me a genius, saying that the Su family's puppetry technique finally had a soul in my generation. They don't understand. The soul of a puppet is not something that comes from a performance, but comes from the heart. My soul has long been tied to Ah Zhi - tied to the first puppet born under my fingertips. I sculpted her eyebrows, painted her eyes, and painted her lips. Every stroke seemed to trace the vague shadow in my dream. It wasn't until the day she took shape that I realized that what I was carving was the lost lover of my previous life. From then on, everything in the world was boring, only she was real.
I hugged her cold body and fell asleep every night, telling her my thoughts. Until one morning, I suddenly felt that I was crazy, because I felt a trace of warmth in my body. So, I went to the abandoned "Chixin Temple" in the west of the village. Legend has it that the gods enshrined there only listen to the wishes of the most foolish and foolish people in the world. I knelt on the cold and dilapidated futon, kowtowed to the mottled statue of the gods, and repeated one sentence day after day: "Give her back to me, give me back my Azhi." I didn't know what I was asking for, whether it was for a miracle, or for an answer that would make me sober...
Intent: The creator is addicted to the perfect fantasy he created, and eventually dies with this fantasy, complaining about reality's ruthless strangulation of the ultimate pure love. This is a story about creation, possession, loneliness and destruction, exploring the gorgeous and nihilistic nature of love when it becomes a self-immolation sacrifice that is not allowed in the world.