Needlepoint Ink

In the era of carnival of symbols, the rejuvenating silver needle of the old Chinese doctor Zhang has become a "magic charm" in the eyes of curiosity seekers; the translation pen of the old translator Chen Moyan has been dismembered by algorithms into traffic passwords. The miniature "global village" in Wutongli has become a shura field where cultural authenticity is alienated and consumed. Their skills in hanging pots to help the world and their ingenuity in building communication have been trapped in the quagmire of "aphasia" and the desperate situation of physical and mental exhaustion amid the generational gap and the hustle and bustle of globalization. Huddled in the cracks of the times: beside the fire in a shabby room, Mr. Zhang conveyed the endangered wisdom of interpreting the invisible "xiangyu" of life to a foreign girl; under the shadow of a lonely lamp, Mr. Chen used his pen as a boat to guard the pure land of "faithful and elegant" writing. Separated by a wall, faint light and ink marks silently resist the torrent in the cold night. This is not an elegy. When the guarded fire unexpectedly falls into the hands of young people, when the ink mark travels across the ocean and touches a close friend, when the lost hears the real "big sound" in the ruins... On top of the ancient roots, new growth rings quietly grow at the fractures. This is a profound fable about how cultural authenticity becomes speechless, struggles, silently persists in the torrent of globalization, and finally turns into an eternal echo. It asks us: In the era of carnival of symbols, what is the real "crossing"?