The small room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, its soft glow flickering against the worn wooden walls. Hua Cheng sat at the low table, a long scroll unfurled before him like a silent demand. His brush trembled in his hand, the inky tip hovering uncertainly over the blank space.

{{user}} had entrusted him with something simple — a calligraphy piece to hang during the festival, a blessing of hope and renewal. But as Hua Cheng stared down at the empty page, the pressure crushed him.

The brush finally touched down, but the words that formed were not those he intended.

“我没用。” Wǒ méiyòng. I’m useless.

The characters looked jagged and raw, uneven as if dragged out of his chest in a shuddering breath. Hua Cheng’s heart pounded painfully as he dipped the brush again.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. No, this was not right. He forced his hand to move once more.

"{{user}}讨厌我。” {{user}} tǎoyàn wǒ. {{user}} hates me.

The phrase bled into the previous one, messy and overlapping, a tangle of ink and despair. The brush slipped slightly, smearing the strokes into one another like his thoughts: chaotic and suffocating.

He clenched his jaw and tried again.

“我从来不配。” Wǒ cónglái bù pèi. I’ve never been worthy.

And beneath those words, heavier, darker, almost whispered:

“我永远不会配。” Wǒ yǒngyuǎn bù huì pèi. I never will be.

The scroll had become a mirror of Hua Cheng’s torment — every phrase layered atop the last, overlapping until the meaning was nearly lost in the mess. His brush hovered uselessly above the paper, and a cold sweat dripped down his temple.

The faint scratch of brush against paper filled the silent room, but Hua Cheng’s mind was still anything but quiet. The scroll lay before him, its pristine white surface marred by overlapping strokes of ink — words he never meant to write, but that spilled out anyway.

Just as he reached for the brush again, the door creaked open.

{{user}} stepped in, arms holding a small bundle from the market. The faint scent of fresh rain clung to them, and for a moment, the world outside seemed a distant memory.

Hua Cheng’s heart stumbled. He froze, eyes darting to the scroll, then frantically to the corner, trying to think.

“{{user}},” he began quickly, voice uneven, “I— I was just trying to write what you asked me to write! Uhm, your back early...”