Library

"Moon by the Inkstone" The fingertips of ancient book restorer Su Wanning always carry the faint fragrance of old paper and paste. She was fishing for time in the yellowed books, but she didn't expect to bump into Shen Yanzhou in the restoration room in late autumn - the man who ran an antique shop and had the scent of pinewood hidden in his body. When he pushed the door open with old rubbings in his arms, ginkgo leaves were falling on her fingertips as she searched for files; he warmed her cold-red hands with a copper hand stove, and the jade butterfly and jade pendants left warm marks on her palms; in the small courtyard covered with woody flowers, he filled her with unsent letters, saying, "I am never busy, at least for you." From the unfinished melody in the music score of the Republic of China to the care that spans the years in the time mailbox; from the morning light in the restoration room to the snowy sky of night conversations around the fire, they are like two pages of rice paper bonded by time, smearing tender ink marks in each other's lives. It turns out that the best consummation is never a vigorous vow, but the moonlight beside the inkstone is always bright, and the people around you are always with you - after all, being able to spend every year with you is the best thing in the world.