Luo Yunxi, Wu Jinyan and Wei Xiao director's cooperation of "Feng", do you really understand?
Luo Yunxi played the minute hand that had been stagnant for 30 years. At first, he spoke slowly and his eyes were distant. The former hour hand was broken by a naughty child 30 years ago, and in the long wait, he also had a long period of time, year after year, year after year, but he fell short again and again, lonely, disappointed, abandoned, decadent and numb, is the indifference of traveling through infinite time and space. The original solo dance was also rigid, lonely, and step-by-step, like a narcissus alone.
But Wu Jinyan is a new copper hour hand, she is full of curiosity about everything, full of hope for the future, she wants to know the past life and brilliance of each gem on the clock, she is cheerful and light, flawless and jumping.
In the face of his indifference, she still said, "Let me drink with you." He leaned against the door frame with anger in his eyes, "This is my wine." But he still couldn't resist the invitation and walked out of the shadows. He raised his glass of wine and walked forward slowly, and memories came like a tidal wave. He stopped, his eyes were confused, slowly turned the wine glass, and his index finger cocked and touched the rim of the cup, this set of movements is very delicate, showing a state of immersion in memory. When he said, "I can still hear the sound of wood breaking", he bowed his head, frowned, and closed his eyes like a needle, many years later, but the pain of the piercing heart and the reluctance to look at the past are still vivid. Yes, 30 years ago, he and the former she also drank countless times under the moon, when they had dreams in their hearts, smiles in their eyes, where there were the sweetness of flowers, the leisurely travel of clouds, but now, the wine color is lost in the moonlight, it is like the streamer when the dream is broken.
As time passed, the minute hand and the hour hand overlapped again, her exquisite posture, the flying clothes, the youthfulness of the face, so that the heart like a mallet he rekindled the passion, she seemed to be a long-lost light, teasing him to chase, his eyes were no longer alienated and lonely, the corners of his lips were slightly raised, and the eyes were gentle. The blood that had been sleeping for thirty years was finally revived, yes, he was not just a wooden minute hand, he was a warm soul, and at this time their dance had cherished, resonated, had joy, had desire, and had passion.
But the encounter is only a moment, beautiful and fragile like a short flower. In order to keep warm, human beings will burn down the bell tower after the second meeting of the hour and minute hands, and when the two hearts are nestled again. Human beings are such a selfish species that they can wantonly destroy the warmth of anyone for their own benefit.
The paradox of fate may lie in the moment when the fire is lit, which is precisely the warmest heartbeat after a long silence. A brief encounter, a sudden separation. He was shocked, he was silent, he had tears in his eyes, he pretended to be calm, he spoke quickly, his face was miserable, he was sad and indignant... I'm just a minute hand made of wood, and I can't control my own destiny. But you are different, you are made of copper, escape with peace of mind under the lies I have woven, let me sacrifice, and protect your peace.
She sensed something strange, and when he said, "Let me sacrifice for you," her expression was unusually expressive and restrained. He put his hands around her, a strong desire to protect her. But it is not a hug, because the hug is too fanatical, they are not lovers of life and death, only "Plato" warm guardianship. Then he spread his hands and stepped back sharply, showing the meaning of "I'm going to leave, you go fast." There was no sadness or reluctance on his face, but there was a hint of "little happiness sacrificed for you", because my fate was never in my own hands, before and in the future. Instead of living a chaotic life, it is better to take the initiative to run to destruction for you and be burned to ashes. Let me sacrifice for you, he stared at her, his eyebrows slightly raised, with untamed, desperate and proud.
The warmth of the past, the senseless expectation, the short-lived joy, the eternal pain, the passion of the moment, the nostalgia of the bone, and the love? Too many, entangled, dreamlike.