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What's hers is mine. My food and drinks are hers, my clothes, belts, shoes, even my underwear and socks are all bought for me by her. She seems very energetic, and if she's in a good mood after get off work, she'll cook me a "lavish" breakfast. Her cooking skills are nothing to write home about; maybe it's because I'm used to eating out. But I still eat a lot, pretending to enjoy it and saying it's delicious. She also often drags me shopping; it's her hobby, like many women. I hate shopping, like many men. So I try to avoid it, put it off, and if I can't avoid it, I'll just go along with it half-heartedly. She doesn't like buying cosmetics, but they're the packaging for her body, so she has to buy them. She likes buying toys like dolls and teddy bears like a child; our already small room is almost completely filled with these strange things. Organizing her pile of toys takes a lot of time every day, but she still enjoys it. She also likes to buy household items like a housewife, and even picking out clothes for me has become a great pleasure for her. What exasperates me is that she always likes to ask my opinion when buying things. I just say it suits me, is good, and looks nice. Anyway, it wasn't a penniless wretch like me paying, so it didn't matter to her. The most ridiculous thing was that once she actually dragged me to take wedding photos. Wearing the wedding dress, no one knew she was a prostitute; she looked like a real bride.
Every time we finished, she always liked me to hold her in my arms, and she would slowly fall asleep on my chest. I asked if it was the same with other people. She said, "Pshaw, no way." Who would believe that?
I didn't care much about her. I rarely asked about her background, and she didn't want to talk about it, so I only had a vague understanding of her past: she was born in a small town, had a beastly stepfather, and she ran away. She said she only felt happy when she was with me, and only felt pleasure when she made love with me, and that I was her only family in this city, in this world; she couldn't live without me. I said me too. I also said I would love you forever. She asked, "Really?" I said... She asked how far forever was, and I said...
I was good at getting money from her because I was addicted to gambling. Once, I said... and she gave it to me.
Several times, I said... and she said no. I said... and she said no. I said... and she gave it to me again.
N times, I said... and she said no. I said... and she said no. I said... and she said she wouldn't fall for it again.
2 I said... and I said again... and I said it again... and she had no choice but to give it to me.
We lived together for a long time. I never expected this. Maybe it was because she spoiled me too much. She would agree to anything I asked for—money, her body. But time made me lose interest in her body; only money mattered. I felt she couldn't live without me, so my attitude towards her changed drastically from the beginning. I stopped saying sweet words, stopped eating her cooking, stopped going shopping with her, stopped... I started verbally abusing and beating her for no reason. When I couldn't get money, I even beat her half to death, and often kicked her out to bring other women home for the night. Once, she got pregnant, saying it was mine. She said she didn't want to continue and wanted to give birth. I thought, "What a joke! It probably has 100 fathers!" You're quitting? What am I supposed to do with all that money I've lost? I didn't deny it, but said she had to have an abortion. She was reluctant, but she went anyway. Later I found out she hadn't had the abortion. I was furious. I asked, "How can you be so sure it's mine?" She said she could have a hysteroscopy after giving birth. I said no, but she insisted. I hit her, relentlessly hitting her stomach, forcibly pulling her away, and coaxing her with sweet words to have an abortion. The doctor said it was too late and dangerous... so she had it. Due to multiple abortions, she is infertile for life. She cried bitterly, and I comforted her for three or four days. Not long after, I hit her again, saying, "If you don't 'work,' how will we survive?"
I rarely visited her unless we were short of money. She also said she wanted to leave me, but she couldn't resist my sweet words and threats. She couldn't leave me, hoping I would change my mind. She treated me like a gambler, knowing there was little hope but still hoping for a miracle.
Soon after, I went to jail. Four years. Hurt, indecent assault... a bunch of minor crimes piled up, four years.
I regret it. Everyone who comes here regrets it.
How far is four years? It depends on how you spend it. Here, four months is longer than four years. You can try it if you don't believe me.
What are you hoping for here? Why live? 1. To get out of prison 2. To have someone visit 3. To get a reduced sentence. I have relatives, and they are very angry that I was sentenced to four years. If it were the death penalty, I think they would celebrate with champagne. Although some friends come, it's only once every year or two. Only she comes to see me often, but because she lives far away, she can only come at the beginning of each month. When she comes, there are always cigarettes, food, and other necessities, so at that time, she was like a goddess descending to me, something I looked forward to. At that time, I made the most profound self-criticism to her, saying that when I get out, I will definitely take her to live a good life. I also said "I love you" and "we want to be together." Now it seems that what I said at that time was true, but the shelf life was short and it spoiled easily.
I went to the labor camp. Only a fool wouldn't want to get out. In the labor camp, the sentence reduction is fast, the treatment is good, there is fatty meat to eat, and there is a little subsidy, enough to buy two packs of cigarettes. We often go out to work, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. We can also enjoy "exercise" inside. But it was in a cage-like room, where people were kept like livestock, to prevent us from getting moldy and mildewed.
"You only know what you've got when you lose it." I used to cherish freedom. But now I know how precious it is. Even a beggar is worthy of my envy; I yearn for a free life. Inside, I thought a lot; dreaming about the "future" was a good way for me to pass the time. I really wanted to be a good "person" and live a "happy" life with her. I'll
be out soon. I'm doing well inside. I'm very generous; I always share everything she brings me, and I never bully anyone, nor do I allow anyone else to bully anyone. They envy me, saying I'm lucky. Their wives, even a tenth as beautiful as her, wouldn't have been wasted on their time together. I'm proud. I look forward to her. They are too; with her money, I had friends help me pull strings, I reduced my travel expenses three times, and got out six months early.
We still live together. But this time, I'm going to walk the right path. She's still a prostitute, working hard to earn money. I used her savings from selling her body over the years, plus 100,000 yuan she borrowed from various sources, to buy a truck for short-haul driving. I drove like crazy, and irregular sleep caused me to lose 20 pounds, all to pay off the truck costs (partly from her savings from selling her body, partly from her friends) and my gambling debts (from my relatives who once loved me). We tried every way to cut back on expenses. She stopped shopping and even ate very little at meals, saying she was on a diet and leaving the rest for me, saying she knew driving for long periods was exhausting. Although that period was tough, it was the happiest time of our lives. I said if we could hold on for two more years, we would run away together. What

was hers was mine. My food and drink, clothes, belts, shoes, even underwear and socks were all bought by her. She seemed very energetic, and if she was in a good mood after work, she would cook me a "lavish" breakfast. Her cooking skills were nothing to write home about; maybe I was just used to eating out. But I still ate a lot, pretending to enjoy it and saying it was delicious. She often dragged me shopping; it was her hobby, like many women. I hated shopping, like many men. So I'd try to avoid it, put it off, and if I couldn't escape, I'd just go along with it. She didn't like buying cosmetics, but they were the packaging for her body, so she had to buy them. Like a child, she loved buying toys, dolls, teddy bears, and the like. Our already small room was almost overflowing with these strange things, and tidying up her pile of toys took a lot of time every day, but she still enjoyed it. She also liked buying household items like a housewife, and even picking out clothes for me became one of her great pleasures. What frustrated me was that she always wanted my opinion when buying things. I'd just say it suited me, was good, and looked pretty. Anyway, it wasn't me, a penniless wretch, paying for it, so I let her do as she pleased. The most ridiculous thing was that once she even dragged me to take wedding photos. Wearing the wedding dress, no one knew she was a prostitute; she looked like a real bride.
After we were intimate, she always liked me to hold her in my arms, and she'd slowly fall asleep on my chest. I asked if she did this with other women too? She said, "No way!" Who would believe that?
I didn't care much about her. I rarely asked about her background, and she didn't want to talk about it, so I only had a vague understanding of her past. She was born in a small town, had a beastly stepfather, and ran away from home. She said she only felt happy when she was with me, and only felt pleasure when she made love to me. She said I was her only family in this city, in this world, and she couldn't live without me. I said me too. I also said I would love you forever. She asked, "Really?" I said... She asked how far forever was, and I said...
I was very good at getting money from her because I was addicted to gambling. Once, I said... and she gave it to me.
Several times, I said... and she said no. I said... and she said no. I said... and she gave it to me again.
N times, I said... and she said no. I said... and she said no. I said... and she said she wouldn't fall for it again.
2 I said... and I said again... and she had no choice but to give it to me.
We lived together for a long time. I never expected this. Maybe it was because she spoiled me too much. As long as I asked for something, she would definitely agree to it if she could do it—money, her body. Time, however, made me lose interest in her body; only money mattered. I sensed she couldn't live without me, so my attitude towards her changed drastically from the beginning. I stopped sweet-talking her, stopped eating her cooking, stopped shopping with her, stopped… I started verbally abusing and beating her for no reason. When I couldn't get money from her, I even beat her half to death once, and often kicked her out to bring other women home for the night. Once, she got pregnant and claimed it was mine. She said she didn't want to continue and wanted to give birth. I thought, "What a joke! It probably has 100 fathers!" "You're quitting? What do you think I'm going to do to win back all that money?" I didn't deny it, but said she had to have an abortion. She was reluctant, but went anyway. Later, I found out she hadn't had an abortion. I was furious and asked, "How can you be sure it's mine?" She said she could have a paternity test after giving birth. I said no, but she insisted. I hit her, relentlessly hitting her stomach, forcibly pulling her away, and coaxing her with sweet words to have an abortion. The doctor said it was too late and dangerous… so she had it. Due to multiple abortions, she is now infertile. She cried so hard, and I comforted her for three or four days. Not long after, I hit her again, saying, "If you don't 'work,' how are we supposed to survive?"
I rarely visited her unless I was short of money. She also said she wanted to leave me, but she couldn't resist my sweet words and threats. She couldn't leave me, hoping I would change my mind. She was like a gambler to me, knowing there was little hope but still clinging to a miracle.
Soon after, I went to jail. Four years. Harassment, hooliganism... a bunch of minor offenses piled up, four years.
I regretted it. Everyone who goes in regrets it.
How far is four years? It depends on how you spend it. Here, four months is longer than four years. You can try it if you don't believe me.
What do you hope for here? Why live? 1. Get out of jail 2. Get a visit 3. Get a reduced sentence. I have family; they were furious that I got four years. If it were the death penalty, I think they would have held a champagne party. Although friends come, it's only once every year or two. Only she comes to see me regularly, but because she lives far away, she can only come at the beginning of each month. When she came, cigarettes, food, and other necessities were naturally plentiful, so at the time, she was like a goddess descending to earth for me. Back then, I made my deepest self-criticism to her, saying that when I got out, I would definitely take her to live a good life. I also said "I love you" and "we want to be together." Looking back now, those words were true, but their shelf life was short, easily spoiled.
I went to the labor camp. Only a fool wouldn't want to get out. In the labor camp, sentence reductions were quick, the food was good, there was fatty meat to eat, and a small subsidy enough to buy two packs of cigarettes. We often went out to work, enjoying the sunlight and the breeze. Inside, we could also enjoy "exercise." However, it was in a cage-like room, where people were confined like livestock, the purpose being to prevent us from getting moldy and growing mildew.
"You only know what you've got when you lose it." Before, I didn't care much about freedom. But now I know how precious it is. Even a beggar is worthy of my envy; I yearn for a free life. Inside, I thought a lot; dreaming about the "future" was a good way for me to pass the time. I really wanted to be a good "person" and take her to live a "happy" life. I'll
be out soon. I did quite well there. I was very generous; I always shared everything she brought me, and I never bullied anyone, nor did I allow anyone else to bully anyone. They envied me, saying I was lucky. Their wives, even a tenth as beautiful as her, wouldn't have been wasted on their time together. I was proud. I longed for her. They were too; with her money, I had friends help me pull strings, I got off the train three times, and was released six months early.
We still lived together. But this time, I was going to walk the straight path. She was still a prostitute, working hard to earn money. I used her savings from selling her body over the years, plus the 100,000 yuan she borrowed from various sources, to buy a truck and drive short-haul trucks. I drove like crazy; irregular sleep made me lose 20 pounds, just to pay off the truck money (partly her savings from selling her body, partly from her friends) and my gambling debts (from my relatives who once loved me). We tried every possible way to cut back on expenses. She stopped shopping and even ate very little at meals, saying she was on a diet and saved the rest for me, saying she knew driving for long periods was exhausting. Although that time was tough, it was the happiest period of our lives. I told her that if we could hold on for two more years, we would run away together.

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