北京
印，青石小印靜臥案頭，篆文在晨光里浮凸分明。指腹摩挲印鈕，涼意滲入肌理，恍若觸碰千年文脈的余溫。
The seal, a bluestone stamp rests in stillness, its carved script catching morning light. Cool to the touch, it feels like the echo of history beneath your fingers.
泥，朱砂與蓖麻在青瓷盞中交融，沉淀成暗紅色的夢境。銀匙輕攪，便漾開層層疊疊的舊時月色，每一道漣漪都藏著未說盡的故事。
The ink, cinnabar and castor oil swirl in celadon, forming a deep, dreamlike red. A gentle stir sends ripples—like memories awakened under fading moonlight.
痕，宣紙承接印記的剎那，時間驟然凝滯。朱色漸次暈染，一個名字便有了生命——或端正如殿前奏對，或寫意似月下獨酌。
The impression, as seal meets paper, time seems to be paused. The red spreads slowly, and a name takes form—solemn or free, like a whisper from the past.
責編：勾曉慶
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