The night Wang Mei first saw the ruler, moonlight was dripping like mercury through her window. The translucent measuring stick floated three feet above her desk, its markings glowing with an otherworldly blue luminescence.

“I’ve been waiting for someone worthy,” it spoke in a voice like wind through bamboo. “Someone who can measure the immeasurable.”

“What do you mean?” Mei whispered, reaching out to touch it. The ruler darted away playfully.

“Love, time, destiny - the things that truly matter cannot be measured with ordinary tools,” it replied. “But I can show you how.”

That was how Mei became the keeper of the swift ruler, using its mystical abilities to help others understand the true measure of their hearts. Word spread through the village of the young woman who could quantify the unquantifiable.

Then came Chen Yi, with eyes like autumn rain and hands that spoke poetry when they moved. “I need to know if what I feel is real,” he said.

“Hold still,” Mei instructed, lifting the ruler. It danced between them, numbers flickering faster than thought.

“Interesting,” the ruler hummed. “His love for you measures deeper than the ocean trenches.”

Mei’s heart stumbled. “But I didn’t ask about—”

“The ruler shows what needs measuring,” it interrupted. “Not what we wish to know.”

As seasons turned, Mei and Chen Yi’s love grew like wildflowers after spring rain. But the ruler grew restless, its measurements becoming erratic, its voice taking on an edge of desperation.

“You’re neglecting your duty,” it accused one night. “Love makes you forget your purpose.”

“What purpose?” Mei demanded. “You never told me.”

“To measure the world’s pain, to calculate its suffering. That is why I chose you.” The ruler’s glow turned blood-red. “Love makes you weak. It must be eliminated from the equation.”

The next morning, Chen Yi was found by the river, his body cold as stone. The village whispered of curse and fate, but Mei knew the truth. She had let power into her heart, and it had measured love wanting.

Now she sits alone in her room, the swift ruler hovering nearby like a faithful servant. It measures her tears, her grief, her regret - endless calculations of loss that stretch into infinity.

“You’ll thank me one day,” it whispers. “Now you can truly serve your purpose.”

But Mei knows that some things should remain unmeasured, some depths unplumbed. She reaches for the ruler one last time, not to measure but to break.

As it shatters, numbers spill across the floor like broken dreams, and she feels both heavier and lighter. Some prices are too high, even for the power to measure mystery.

In the end, she realizes, love is not meant to be measured - only felt, only lived, only lost.