Suspense and Warmth

New mother Lin Nian hears mysterious footsteps outside the baby's room every night, one step, two steps, three steps - the rhythm is clear, the route is fixed, and it's as punctual as clockwork. Her husband said she suffered from postpartum anxiety, and doctors diagnosed her with auditory hallucinations. Everyone thought she was sick. But she didn't believe it. Until she secretly installed surveillance cameras at home. In the late night replay, a blurry figure walked out of the closed door of the nursery through the wall, stopped in the middle of the living room, turned his head sideways, stretched out his hand in the direction of the master bedroom, and then retracted it at the last moment. That's an old man. The previous owner of the house died alone of a heart attack two years ago. What does he want to do when he appears here every night? When a secret about his life experience that had been sealed for decades was revealed, Lin Nian discovered that the footsteps ringing in the night were not scary, but a long-lost father, using his last obsession in life to cross the barrier of life and death, clumsily, silently, and cautiously - to protect his granddaughter he had never met. You have been here, and the sound of footsteps is your language. I heard it.