Shen Zhao's ideal of love and marriage has always been like a little girl trapped in a snowy night when she was ten years old - she was guarding the frosted glass on the window sill, waiting for someone to knock on her door with a dancing flame. Her soul was like a piece of ice wrapped in moonlight, cold, clear but fragile. She always thought that as long as it encountered a hot enough temperature, it would turn into a gurgling stream and flow around the person's fingertips into a gentle river.
But when that man really broke in with a passion as hot as hot lava, she was shocked to realize that when her water met his fire, it didn't turn into a dense mist, but a piercing white air.
He once wanted to melt her coldness with the force of a prairie fire, but when it burned her wrists, he saw his own flames trembling in her tears. So he began to try to lower the brightness of the flame, which hung three feet away from her ice like a star in the night sky, while she dared to find a stream of water and meander along the edge of his temperature, not touching but not far away.
Now they look at each other across the half-melted ice. Her water is no longer afraid of evaporating into mist, and his fire is no longer afraid of burning into ashes. It turns out that the encounter between ice and fire is not annihilation, but ice learning to use streams to carry the reflection of fire. Fire knows how to heat the edges of ice with soft light, and illuminate each other's softest folds in each other's lines.
