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"Even with the Weakest Light" is Cui Enrong's latest collection of novels, including a total of seven works. The work takes women as the center and focuses on the intense, long-lasting and tough complex relationships between women. With gentle and fresh words, he captures the violence and resistance that are ignored under the calm water. The women in the story fight against similar fates and become each other's support. In the many cages that want to oppress and imprison them, they resolutely carry out mutual rescue and support - the female teacher who uses her own clothes to help the female students during their menstruation in "Even with the Weakest Light", the company female employees who silently listen to each other's concerns in the cold and unfair workplace in "One Year" Seniors and interns, the sister in "Reply" who chooses to protect her sister from domestic violence even though she is in jail, and the aunt in "Letter to My Aunt" who has lost her fertility and endures the glare of her family but still devotes herself to raising her niece... They are close and distant, relying on each other and independent of each other, like small light spots flickering face to face, telling the trembling and touch of finding the same kind in the dark night. They were infinitely close and then suddenly drove to different distances. In the end, they could only reconcile each other with light across a long distance. Even if they never met each other, even if they were extremely weak, as long as they knew that the other party existed somewhere, they could keep walking.

After divorcing my husband, at the age of thirty-one, I came to the seaside town of Xiling alone, where I met my grandmother whom I had not seen for many years. After the embarrassment and silence, my lonely heart got closer and closer, and my grandmother and I became friends who confided in each other. In the old photo album in my grandmother's old house, I found a woman who looked very similar to me, nestling next to my grandmother when I was a girl. Each vivid face gradually came to me from the black and white photos, from the touching letters, from the long memories, through the era when women's life was like a piece of grass and their life was like a piece of grass. The stories that came to me through my great-grandmother, my grandmother, and my mother, their lives replayed before my eyes. Can I reach them now? Just as the countless selves in the past make up the present me, can the present me also see the countless selves in the past?