The True Story of the Mistress

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

This is a topic we cannot avoid; its existence is its own justification. It has appeared, and we can only face it.
The story touches upon some real-world issues in modern families regarding emotions, communication, and crises. Reading
this story may offer some help to families facing similar problems.
It also serves as a warning to those facing or about to face such issues.
Her hand rested on the wooden railing by the window, and he stood behind her.
Outside the window, the city's night sky resembled the dawn of a new day. The car lights on the streets were like flowing ribbons, exceptionally
beautiful, and the crowds coming and going under the neon lights were draped in a dreamlike hue.
It was a romantic night, and this bustling metropolis made too many people anxious and restless,
their hearts as pounding as their feet.
His heart was restless, very restless. His breathing was heavy.
"You're not a virgin."
"I had a boyfriend in college, we broke up, um..."
"You're so tight."
"I'm only 25, um..."
"You, you're very wet."
"I'm at the prime of my life. Um..."
A clattering sound echoed in the spacious office. It was a peculiar sound—the sound of a keyboard. No
one was at the computer; only heaven knew what it was.
Suddenly, a low growl came from the office. It was a deep, drawn-out roar, not a tiger's roar; there were no
tigers here. Then, after a long, heavy breath, it gradually disappeared into the city's night sky like an echo in an empty valley.
If only such collisions could spark happiness. However, such collisions
happen , but how many truly find happiness?
Their collisions also produced sparks—dazzling, romantic—but they did
n't consider how long such happiness would last. The bliss of cocaine use was only momentary. For that moment, how many
addicts their wives and children, their families destroyed, exhausting everything for that one instant? Even in the greatest pain,
they forged ahead. They didn't use drugs. Will they become addicted?
Perfume is poisonous, it can be addictive. Roses are beautiful but have thorns. Many people like them.
Is love poisonous? Is love poisonous? No, true love is not poisonous.
But there is a kind of love that is poisonous: illicit love.
This kind of love can also be addictive. He has already become addicted.
Everyone hopes for lifelong happiness, everyone hopes for a long and lasting relationship, just as women hope to stay young and beautiful
forever . "Only the fusion of the soul and the union of the body can produce eternal happiness," a
philosopher once said. What if it's not like that? The philosopher said, go ask Lao Tzu. So many people went to the book and
finally found that sentence in five thousand words: "True words seem paradoxical."
They sparked a connection, and the subsequent chain reaction unfolded like a conveyor belt, one thing
after .
He stumbled upon someone who made him wish he were dead, someone he would regret for the rest of his life... a different kind of mistress.
He wasn't considered a celebrity in Huhai City, because on the celebrity list, you either rank in the top 100 in wealth, and of those 100
, most people only remember the top ten, and the main leaders probably only remember the top five.
He didn't even make it into the top 100, probably not even in the top 1000. There's another type of celebrity: either
a leader or a master in the cultural sphere. Then there's the local official, who's neither a scholar
nor a businessman, nor even a local official. The only connection he has to these people is the two words after
"scholar"—"flashy guy."
He really is very "flashy," and not just ordinary "flashy." When he appears in public, his hair,
his clothes, his aura—in today's trendy terms, "Wow, amazing!"—at fifty-five, he's radiant and
spirited. He often says to his friends, "Wow, I'm so popular with women
," followed by an emphasized sigh. His smugness and expression make his friends envious,
jealous, and even resentful.
Besides his business dealings, he spends most of his time accompanying clients to hair salons, bathhouses, and nightclubs. Of course,
clients are limited, but he'll still go even if there aren't any. His most frequent line to his wife is: "Honey, being
a man is so tiring, always running around like this. In my next life, I definitely want to be a woman." His wife then gives him a pitying
look, meaning, "Honey, you've suffered so much; I can't help you at all." Every time he says this,
his wife feels guilty for a long time.
Once, a woman came to his wife demanding he take responsibility. His wife burst into tears. His
explanation was: "That day, I was with a client. He insisted on a local woman, so I asked a friend to find
this one. But the client thought she wasn't pretty enough, so I had to find a prostitute. This woman wouldn't have it and said
she had to be paid. I drank a bit too much that day, and I don't know how I ended up in bed with her.
Since paid, I can't let her get away with it, right, wife?
I never expected her to come to my door demanding responsibility. You'll see how I deal with her!" His wife quickly comforted him: "
Oh, forget it, honey. It's not your fault. What man doesn't make mistakes? I forgive you. Don't
argue with a woman like that. She's shameless anyway. Forget it." "After settling things at home, he immediately went to that
woman and spent ten thousand yuan. He finally agreed that they would go their separate ways, never
to see each other again, even if they lived within earshot.
She had been working for a year after graduating from university, majoring in foreign trade, and
had passed the CET-4 (College English Test Band 4). I once had a conversation with
her to have an English conversation with her, even though I felt
embarrassed to admit my terrible English level. I don't know if it was because my level was so bad, or because her supposed Oxford English was so high, but she could barely understand what I said, while her
English was limited to about five hundred words. My hopes were dashed.
I ..." We could only communicate in my favorite language: Mandarin. Her Mandarin proficiency finally put me
at ease; although she had a strong hometown accent, I could understand every word.
Her hometown is on the Loess Plateau, a place where strong winds blow across the slopes. The people there, with their blood and sacrifice,
nurtured our great People's Republic of China, allowing us to stand tall.
She worked hard and got into a university whose name I didn't know. It's said that the university's
founder was a private educator willing to dedicate his life to the country's education. She told me
the principal was a large, imposing figure. The walls of the hall of honor were covered with various honors, including awards from an education association.
She's been recognized as a philanthropist by one association, a social activist by another, and the most caring
rural . Anyway, this school is very prestigious locally. Her devout eyes revealed
boundless affection and longing for her alma mater.
She finally graduated with excellent grades from this prestigious university. In the photos she showed me, her graduation cap
and gown were fluttering in the wind. Her face radiated a bright
smile .
She inherited her parents' selfless dedication and came to support Huhai immediately after graduation,
contributing to making Huhai a better place.
This is a blessing for Huhai and for southern Jiangsu.
Back home, to verify if my spoken English was really that bad, I immediately called my daughter, whose English is already at a high level (level eight), and told
her to be home on time that night. She asked urgently what was wrong, and I said I was upset and wanted to talk to my dad.
My daughter obeyed my command and ran to my study as soon as she got off work. "We'll communicate in English, no
Chinese allowed," I said seriously. "Dad, what's wrong? You don't need English, why are you suddenly
speaking to me in English today?" My daughter came over and touched my forehead. "You don't have a fever." "Don't
joke around , be serious," I said even more seriously. "Okay, Dad, let's begin," my daughter said helplessly.
"Wow, Dad, you're amazing! After all these years, your level is still so high!" my daughter exclaimed in surprise.
"Trying to flatter me, huh? Tell me the truth. Is it standard?" I asked eagerly.
"Of course, absolutely standard," my daughter said seriously.
"Then why can't she understand what I'm saying?" I muttered to myself.
"Who? Who can't understand?" my daughter's question brought me back to my senses.
"Nothing, just a friend of mine," I smiled.
"Pshaw, that just means your friend doesn't know any English at all, maybe just a few everyday phrases,"
my daughter said dismissively.
"Don't talk nonsense, she's at level four." I glared at my daughter.
"Level four, pshaw, how could that be? Either she cheated, or she only passed the written exam; her spoken English
is terrible There are plenty of people with level four these days, but very few can actually communicate." My daughter's tone was like a teacher's.
"Can't you be a little more humble?" I was getting a little angry.
My daughter stuck out her tongue at me, made a face, and fled my study like the wind.
"Women of Mizhi, men of Suide." This saying probably circulated
long , and Chairman Mao himself once bowed down to the women of Mizhi. The Chairman's favor gave this saying even more extraordinary
influence.
She possessed the unique competence of people from northern Shaanxi, exuding a unique wild beauty.
Her figure lacked a certain softness, but possessed a firmness and proportion. Her speech was remarkably forceful, and her eyes, black as pearls beneath long
eyelashes , exuded a captivating allure with an indescribable beauty. Regardless of
the amount of knowledge she absorbed in school, she had, after all, received four years of systematic education. Leaving aside higher education, her speech
still revealed the breadth of her reading. Especially her firm, perky breasts, enough to drive men wild, were enough to make
even the most delicate beauties of Jiangnan take notice.
Even I, an old man who recites the Heart Sutra three times a day and claims to be without desires, felt a slight ripple in my heart.
Suddenly, I understood that those stories of "a smile that could topple a city, a second smile that could topple a nation" were not fabrications by historians. Even heroes cannot resist
the charms of a beautiful woman, let alone someone who wasn't a hero
. I felt that winning over such a man was almost effortless for her.
When she spoke, her gaze was firm and unwavering, yet her every glance exuded feminine beauty. Her long,
silky black hair swayed gently, releasing a subtle fragrance.
She was straightforward, never hiding her opinions or thoughts. Her voice, with its distinctive hometown accent mixed with Mandarin,
had a unique charm—sweet yet slightly spicy.
She could look you straight in the eye when speaking, never avoiding it. For two hours, I rarely saw her
embarrassed or evasive. Even I, who pride myself on being able to read minds, couldn't help but admire her.
She was a woman of strong ideas, someone who dared to immediately put her dreams into action. She couldn't tolerate being deceived. One of her
classic lines remains vivid in my memory: "I don't lie, but if you promise me something, I will take it. There's no
room for negotiation. Otherwise, don't make any promises. It's consensual. If we're happy, we'll sleep together; if not, we'll part ways. I
hate being lied to."
"If you lie to me, you'll have to pay the price, and I have absolutely no sympathy for you. Either tighten your
belt, or you'll have to take responsibility—that's only fair." She paused. "Although I'm a woman, a
highly educated woman, with excellent character, I have my own principles. People say I'm shameless, but where am I
shameless ? Why is it that men are considered shameless for doing that, but women are considered shameless? It's unfair! I want to be a true
defender of women's rights.
I believe in love; I don't doubt love. I was deceived this time, which only means I lack experience.
I'm certain this won't happen to me again." Her rapid-fire delivery impressed me;
she was truly a good orator, and her words were also very... That makes some sense.
Dear netizens, what insights did you gain from her words?
She came to Suzhou after graduation because a classmate was from Suzhou, and she met a
girl from her hometown there. They eventually ended up working in the clothing industry in Huhai Zhaoshangcheng. She first worked for a national chain clothing
company , earning 1,500 yuan a month, which she felt was far too little. After rent, food, and utilities, there was hardly anything left.
So she switched to another company, where the salary was similar, but with more commission.
The boss once pinned her down on the sofa, and she kicked him to the ground. As a result, she quickly lost that job.
She said, "Just seeing that bulbous nose and stinky mouth made me sick."
For a long time, she didn't feel like looking for work. She thought the men in Zhaoshangcheng, especially the boss, were of extremely low quality, like
thugs , no different from hooligans. I think if these words actually reached the ears of the Zhaoshangcheng boss,
he would definitely kick her around like a ball.
She decided to look for work in the central area of Huhai. She said, "People in the city are more civilized and less
vulgar, unlike those nouveau riche bosses in Zhaoshangcheng who barely know any characters and just lecherously stare at girls' breasts
and buttocks all day."
So she saw Boss Wu at the job market, who was personally recruiting. She said, "When I saw the monthly salary of three..."
When she received her first month's salary—plus commission, lunch, benefits, and a housing allowance—she jumped for joy. "Wow, that's
awesome ! I think I'm perfectly capable of handling this business representative position."
Without hesitation, she was hired by Boss Wu. She said she was so happy that day she spun around with her friend several times.
Her friend said that if she studied more, she could also find a good job like hers. She told her friend that once she had a
stable , she would definitely try to get her friend in too.
She received her first month's salary.
Boss Wu also gave her a newcomer bonus of 600 yuan, saying she was ambitious, progressed quickly, and was capable of great things.
She said, "My colleagues were so envious that day. As soon as I got the money, I wired 3,000 yuan home. Then, I treated my
friend to a nice meal, which cost 50 yuan. It hurt a bit; 50 yuan can buy 40 jin of sorghum rice back home."
Tears welled up in her eyes as she said this.
I knew she missed home, missed her parents. No matter how good things were outside, her home was, after all, a place where white clouds drifted
lazily . Although the place wasn't wealthy,
"There's no place like home." When you miss home, no matter your status, wealth
, or how far you've wandered, you have an almost obsessive longing for it, even in poverty.
Bonuses and wages spurred her to work even harder and learn more.
Soon she was familiar with all the company's operations and could discuss business face-to-face with clients. Her product
introductions and explanations were eloquent, and clients listened and watched with great interest, even though she didn't know
exactly what they were looking at or listening to.
Clients who rarely visited before now frequently came to the company, whether for no particular reason or not.
The customer is king.
Unfortunately, these frequent visits increased the company's expenses. Once, while
having dinner unintentionally remarked, "This month's bonus is gone." Several clients
almost simultaneously asked, "Why?" "Oh, I exceeded my entertainment budget this month," she smiled. "
It's okay , I wasn't talking about you guys."
She was a smart girl. To be honest, Mr. Wu hadn't complained about
the amount of entertainment expenses for his clients. He thought it was good; it made the company look popular. But she
noticed she was working for someone else, she should consider the company's interests.
These clients were already very familiar with the products; they kept ordering the same things, not much more.
They kept coming back, constantly inviting her to meals and coffee, which she found a bit annoying. They were guests; she couldn't expect them to
pay.
She hoped her words would have a good effect.
And indeed, the effect was obvious. After seeing the clients off, she went to the service counter to sign the bill. The restaurant owner told her that someone had bought over
30,000 yuan worth of orders for her company this month . She stared wide-eyed at the owner: "How is that possible?" "Really, why would I lie to you?" the restaurant owner said earnestly. Then she handed her a business card. It read: XXXXXX Company, Yang Tianfei. The name was impressive, quite striking. She was stunned. She composed a text message: "Mr. Yang, how could you do this? I'm so embarrassed. How could you buy the bill ? If my boss finds out, I'll lose my job. Please give me the invoice. Thank you for your kindness, I appreciate ." Mr. Yang seemed to know she would text, replying with astonishing speed: "It's nothing, this little bit of money is nothing . Consider it a little help from your brother to his sister. Don't say anything more, or I'll get angry." "Okay then, thank you so much, Mr. Yang. I'll treat you to dinner next time you come, but you can't pay." She smiled and pressed send. A pie had truly fallen from the sky, and it wasn't a small one, but it didn't knock her over; it made her dizzy with joy. When Mr. Wu heard that she hadn't received any entertainment expenses for a month, he could hardly believe his ears. Hearing that the clients had paid for all the meals themselves made Mr. Wu even more impressed with this business representative, so he immediately announced her promotion to Deputy Manager of the Business Department, with a monthly salary of five thousand. She was called to Mr. Wu's office, where he quietly took a red envelope from his drawer and handed it to her: "Don't tell anyone, this is a red envelope from the company, ten thousand yuan." She was almost stunned. Why was she so lucky this month? Being hit by a pie once was already a miracle, but twice in a row was a miracle within a miracle. She was almost dizzy with happiness. Just as her heart was about to leap out of her chest with joy, her phone rang. Opening it, she saw a text message from the first person to give her a pie—a shocking name, a shocking person— Yang Tianfei. The message read: "The stars tell me what loneliness is. Without the moon, my heart is especially lonely. This is for you." When she showed me the message, I spat out the coffee I had just drunk. Should she continue waiting for another pie, or…? What animal can fly in the sky when sandstorms are raging? What animal can swoop down at incredible speed when prey appears ? The eagle. With its keen senses and speed, the eagle always manages to successfully catch its desired prey. Was she prey? No, she was a rabbit. A rabbit that would bite if provoked. Mr. Yang invited her to a romantic dinner at a romantic restaurant. Mr. Yang's romantic eyes and romantic words were incredibly magnetic. Mr. Yang ordered his steak medium-rare. She had never eaten Western food before and asked, "What is medium-rare?" Mr. Yang replied knowledgeably, "In other countries, they also order rare, so the nutrients aren't lost." Then, with a gentlemanly smile, Mr. Yang asked her, "How well-done do you want it?" Without hesitation, she answered , "Well-done." Her voice was loud, attracting a lot of attention. Mr. Yang still smiled gentlemanly, and then, with a snap of his fingers, said to the waiter , "Waiter, change the other medium-rare to well-done." She was surprised by Mr. Yang's erudition and asked, "How do you know so much? You must have traveled to many countries ." Her eyes were full of curiosity, envy, and longing. "Not many. I've been to most places except Africa, which is too poor there." She exclaimed , "Wow, Ms. Yang, you're amazing! Changshu is the farthest I've ever been. I've only been to small county towns back in my hometown."

Mr. Yang said with a touch of pride, "It's nothing. If you'd like, you can
come with me next time I go out."
"That would be so embarrassing. My English isn't as good as yours. I probably wouldn't understand what people are saying."
She said somewhat awkwardly.
"It's alright, my English is good enough for communication." Mr. Yang was a little carried away.
"You're really amazing! Can you teach me?" She had already said "amazing" twice today.
Mr. Yang's smile grew even more smug.
But after hearing her words, Mr. Yang seemed a little hesitant. "Some other time. We're Chinese. In
Chinese places, we should speak Chinese. Speaking Chinese is patriotic." Mr. Yang had elevated speaking Chinese to the
level of national honor.
Her eyes had changed from envy to admiration.
This was a very classic dialogue.
"Mr. Yang, have you ever been to Egypt?" She had many questions she needed to ask this knowledgeable man.
"Yes, of course I have. The pyramids of Egypt are breathtaking, so beautiful." When Mr. Yang said this
, it was as if he were actually in Egypt.
"Oh, you've been to Egypt too? Didn't you say you'd never been to Africa?" she asked, puzzled.
He hesitated for a moment, then quickly replied, "You don't understand, do you? Actually, Egypt is more accurately described as the Middle East.
Egypt is one of the four ancient civilizations, and like our Chinese nation, it should also belong to Asia.
How could Africa, so poor, have such a long-standing culture? It's said that the Egyptian pyramids were moved from South Africa in the Americas." Mr. Yang said
this with great pride. After speaking, he looked at her blankly with the calmness of a scholar.
"Has South Africa now been incorporated into the Americas?" she muttered to herself. She seemed to be beginning to doubt
what . She dared not ask any more questions, afraid that her naivety would be laughed at.
Because there are too many mergers now. Tang City isn't called Tang City anymore, it's called Shajiabang now, and Yetang isn't called
Yetang anymore, it's called Shanghu Town now. Countries can merge too, she thought to herself.
She decided that she must do a good job of searching on Baidu when she got home that night. She needed to catch up on her studies.
Seeing that she remained silent, Mr. Yang believed he had completely won over the adorable rabbit before him.
He waited for her to walk step by step into his meticulously crafted romantic trap.
Mr. Yang was brimming with confidence.
Just as Mr. Yang cut into his steak, preparing to put it in his mouth, a sudden scream rang out: "Ah, blood!"
The steak in Mr. Yang's hand fell into the porcelain bowl with a "thud," the piercing scream and the crisp sound of the knife and fork hitting the bowl
remarkably clearly. All eyes were once again focused on the table where she and Mr. Yang were sitting.
Now it was Mr. Yang's turn to look bewildered. His eyes were no longer romantic, but filled with astonishment as he stared at her with
confused eyes. "Blood, what blood?"
She pointed at Mr. Yang with a pitiful finger and whispered, "There's blood on your lips, and blood on the beef."
"You, you, you called that?" Mr. Yang felt like crying, his face contorted in pain. "Grandma,
could you please be gentle? I can't take it anymore. Can't you see everyone's looking at us? I'm
getting chills."
"Blood, there really is blood." She looked completely innocent.
"I know there's blood, otherwise why would it be called medium-rare? It's all for the nutrition, please, let's not
talk, okay?" If they weren't in a public place, Mr. Yang would almost have knelt down before her.
"How can you be so dirty? It's so bloody! Have the people here gone back to ancient times?" She
was expressionless, her face full of incomprehension.
"Please, please, I'm begging you, I've explained, it's for nutrition." Mr. Yang felt
like disappearing into a hole under those stares.
She shook her head, lowered her head, and devoured the steak in front of her, muttering, "This is what beef tastes like!
Why not just eat a live cow for nutrition?"
Mr. Yang overheard this, and his previous romance and gentlemanly demeanor vanished instantly.
"Hahahaha…" Mr. Yang couldn't help but burst into laughter, oblivious to everyone around him.
This time, everyone in the restaurant, including the waiters, saluted and stared at them.
After finishing this ridiculous Western meal, Mr. Yang looked at her, who was walking ahead of him, panting, and gave her a wry smile. They left the restaurant under
everyone 's gaze. Mr. Yang suddenly felt like he was in the Emperor's New Clothes.
As she left the restaurant, she said, "I'm never eating this awful Western food again! It's ridiculously expensive, and I'm still
hungry. Isn't this just deliberately ripping me off?"
"What? You're still hungry? There were several dishes!" Mr. Yang was truly exasperated.
"It's still just steamed buns and rice to fill my stomach. I don't know what's so good about this." She was still
upset.
Now, Mr. Yang was the one who was confused. He had brought her to this elegant place to please her,
but instead, she had left him feeling utterly resentful and awkward. Mr. Yang was extremely annoyed.
Anyway, the money had already been spent, and he couldn't very well get angry with her now. With a forced smile, Mr. Yang said, "Then
how about we go find a coffee shop and get some set meals?"
"That's more like it." She also felt that her behavior was a bit inappropriate. After all, she was a client, and he had
kindly invited her to dinner. Although she had said she would treat, her outburst had ultimately led to Mr. Yang paying the bill. She sincerely
said to Mr. Yang, "Mr. Yang, I'm so sorry, I've really never eaten Western food before. To be honest, I really don't like this kind of
eating. How much did it cost? I'll pay you."
"What are you talking about? We're going to haggle over such a small amount? That's ridiculous," Mr. Yang said generously.
The two sat down in a charming café. The waiter brought them two glasses of lemonade and
asked, "Sir, would you like to eat or have tea?" Mr. Yang didn't even look up: "Give me the bill, I want to order."
When the waiter brought the bill, he also started introducing the restaurant's specialties. Just as he mentioned that they had beef rice, Mr. Yang jumped up
nervously : "Stop! I can order myself." It seemed that Mr. Yang had been quite provoked and hurt today.
The waiter was so frightened that he didn't dare to say another word.
Finally, after she wolfed down a plate of pork rib rice, she shouted to the counter, "Check, please."
Fortunately, the waiter was quick-witted and understood, bringing the bill: forty-eight yuan.
"What?! This little bit of food? I finished it in two bites! There are only a few pieces of ribs! Are you ripping me off?" Her voice
was loud . Mr. Yang stared at her again, his face full of incomprehension.
"I'm sorry, miss, that's our policy," the waiter said politely.
One meal left her feeling angry, two meals left her feeling angry again. Combined, she was filled with rage.
Actually, from her behavior above, we can see that she is a frugal girl, although she hasn't seen much of the world. Before...
She always handled client receptions by signing bills with the company, as instructed by her boss; she just had to sign. She hadn't paid much attention
to the actual , but when it came to paying out of her own pocket, she immediately understood how much it hurt. I also understood
why she said that when treating her girlfriends to dinner, "Fifty yuan can buy over forty kilograms of sorghum rice."
She was a genuine, simple girl. She wasn't a bad person to begin with.
The summer temperatures in Huhai are no less than in Nanjing, perhaps even worse.
Every summer is like being in a sauna. Normally, a 1.5-horsepower air conditioner is perfectly adequate, but on
the hottest days, even with the air conditioning on, you feel sticky and
humid .
Today is very hot, very hot, extremely hot, almost driving you crazy.
General Manager Yang is very hot right now, extremely hot. General Manager Yang is hot inside, hot outside, but despite the heat, she
doesn't seem bothered at all; she even seems to have a strange anticipation for the heat.
She finally managed to explain the situation to her boss, and only after learning that she was accompanying clients to tour the scenic spots of Changshu did she receive
permission to travel.
Mr. Yang's car had its air conditioning blasting, creating two completely different worlds inside and outside the car. He gentlemanly bent down
to open , and she was slightly flattered. As she got in, Mr. Yang seemingly unintentionally gave her
a gentle push on her rounded bottom before closing the door.
Even the asphalt road, softened by the scorching sun, couldn't withstand the torment, swerving from
side . Ahead, something like mist or steam was rising; experts said it was
for cooling. Mr. Yang's car wasn't hot, but sweat was beading on his forehead. He was also cooling himself off at
the revolutionary holy site: Shajiabang. Of course, calling it a revolutionary holy site only reflects the most cherished dream in the hearts of the people of Huhai;
even schoolchildren know it's a red education base.
The classic Peking opera "Shajiabang" was one of the four model operas of that turbulent era, becoming a
nationwide and even gaining international renown, because our beloved Premier Zhou Enlai had taken foreign guests to enjoy this
Peking opera, created in support of development, countless times.
This caused many outsiders to overlook the existence of Hu Hai, remembering only Shajiabang. Frustrated, we
painstakingly explained how profound, ancient, and glorious the true Hu Hai culture was, how many famous figures were associated with it,
and that it wasn't just Shajiabang. But after all that, people still looked blank. At that moment, I wanted to slap myself:
"Aren't you tired? Do you think they can understand what you're saying? You're just making a fool of yourself."
From then on, when people asked me, I would proudly say: "My home is in Shajiabang." And I would receive
envious smiles.
Superficiality, it turns out, has a better market than depth. I used to wonder why no one appreciated my beautifully written prose
. It turns out it wasn't suitable for the masses; it was too obscure, yet I often reveled in it.
Red represents passion, and coming to a red place on a hot day makes it even more passionate, because
Mr. Yang also has a passionate heart.
Shajiabang didn't change because of their arrival; the only changes were an extra car and a
couple .
The revolutionary base, despite its revolutionary history, didn't attract a large crowd in the sweltering summer. The comfortable lives
of the people, who fear hardship, made them unwilling to leave their air-conditioned rooms.
The martyrs' sacrifices, their perseverance and selflessness under harsh conditions, were all for a better ideal:
to bring happiness to the working masses. Therefore, those hiding in air-conditioned rooms take it for granted,
enjoying the fruits of victory given to them by the martyrs and heroes without a shred of shame.
The historical museum's materials are undeniably rich. Regardless of the authenticity of the exhibits, they represent events that
happened , and we deserve respect and reverence. Even the slightest desecration is at least
disrespectful to the martyrs.
Mr. Yang seems somewhat disrespectful now. The descriptions of the martyrs' battles, which supposedly ignite people's passion, hold
no interest for him. But he's looking—looking at
her slender waist, her hips, her proud breasts.
Mr. Yang is almost in a daze, perhaps even dreaming of the most erotic scenes.
She finally reached the end of the exhibition and turned around to find that Mr. Yang wasn't beside her. Calling out to him, she searched
for him and found him standing intently in front of an oil painting.
"Is it true that men can't attract women without praise? I need to investigate."
Leaving the exhibition hall, the vast square was deserted; even the tour guides and interpreters were hiding in air-conditioned rooms. They
had enjoyed the treatment of national leaders today; the entire scenic area was open just for the two of them.
Passing a small shop selling the floral button-down blouse that Sister Aqing wore, she stopped in front of it, and
Mr. Yang immediately approached: "Do you like it?" "Hehe, it's quite pretty," she said, touching the blouse. Mr. Yang
hurriedly looked for the shopkeeper, only to find a large, fat man
snoring . "Hey! Are you selling anything?"
Mr. Yang's voice was so loud that the fat man jumped up from his recliner, shaking his enormous head—
a gesture reminiscent of a Japanese sumo wrestler. "You scared me to death! Couldn't you have called out a little softer?" the fat man
complained, seemingly annoyed by the two of them, who weren't even gods to him. "If I didn't call out like that,
would you have woken up?" Old Yang retorted defiantly.
"Am I dead? Am I dead? Only dead people can't be woken up by shouting!" the fat man snapped. Fortunately,
she stepped in to smooth things over. After buying a piece of clothing and an umbrella, they left the shop. They had only taken a few steps when they heard
, "Damn it, what the hell?" She smiled and pulled Mr. Yang forward.

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