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I bought the
car and moved out of her place. I couldn't stand the hardship, because I was a scoundrel. Why not enjoy the good fortune? Pay back the money? To hell with it.
With some capital, I speculated and sewed. I'd do anything to make money; causing trouble was something petty thugs did, and fooling around at my age was just stupid. A man's life is like a midday sun after thirty, and I couldn't miss this "midday" in my life. After some effort, I had some success. If I didn't have to pay back the money, I could live a very comfortable life. She often came to see me, but never mentioned paying back the money. I tried to distance myself from her; maybe it was because life was good that I wanted to kick her away. Seeing her made me uncomfortable; the air seemed to smell of filth and decay, and I felt an indescribable disgust. She noticed. But what could she do? Maybe this was just my nature. I've blamed myself before, but it was too late to change. Until one day, I got fed up and hit her. She cried, cursing me as inhuman, a beast whose conscience had been eaten by dogs.
3 I fell in love with a girl. It was because she had a large family; she was a lucky star in my path to wealth. But one day, this girl broke up with me for no apparent reason. After some questioning, I learned that she had come to my place and told her everything about my past. I was furious. I went to find her. The entertainment venue said she hadn't been to work for a long time.
I went back to "home." I hadn't been back for a long time, but the lock was still the same. I opened the door with the old key. The house was messy and filled with a mixture of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and perfume. She was lying there watching TV, looking haggard. Even I felt sorry for her; after all, she had given all the money she earned with her youth to me. These years as a prostitute had ravaged her body and soul, and I had deeply stabbed her in the heart. I felt somewhat guilty; it was all my fault that she was like this, after all, my conscience hadn't been completely eaten by dogs.
She seemed surprised to see me, and when she learned I hadn't eaten dinner, she was very happy and prepared something for me. In the kitchen, I explained my purpose, and we started arguing again. I said she ruined my future, and she said I ruined her life. She cursed at me, talking about how much she had sacrificed for me, how burdened she was by these debts... she wanted to sever all ties with me and demanded I pay her back immediately.
I originally intended to pay her back, but living together was impossible; perhaps I would offer her material compensation. But enraged, I smashed a teacup over her head, shouting, "Pay back the money? Where's the proof of the loan?" She was stunned and said she would sue me if I didn't pay. I said, "Go ahead. Go ahead and sue me. I'll wait for you," and slammed the door shut. With my current connections, could a weak, out-of-town woman like her possibly bring me down? What a joke!
I continued to live a respectable life. Before, people called me "boss"; now they call me "manager." I had infiltrated high society. I had a certain air about me in both the legitimate and underworld circles. She didn't sue me, nor did she come looking for me again. I was too busy to notice her and forgot about her in a corner of my heart.
Then, at the banquet, she arrived. She was a mess; her hair was disheveled, dark circles under her eyes were marked by deep crow's feet, and a dirty bandage covered her head as she stormed in. She was there to cause trouble. She cried, shouted, and cursed, overturning tables, kicking chairs, hurling insults at me relentlessly, yelling at anyone who tried to stop her, acting like a shrew in the street, waiting for me to hit her. Everyone present was a respectable person. Could I lay a hand on her? Embarrassed and unsure what to do, I forcibly pulled her away.
She came to find me again, this time on the street. I didn't hit her then. Not because I didn't want to, but because of my status.
I went to see her with 80,000 yuan. She was still living there, the locks still the same. When I approached, she was curled up in a corner, covered by a thick blanket. The bandage on her head was gone, replaced by an ugly scar. Her appearance made me laugh. I threw the money on her blanket and said, "I'll pay you back. Stop bothering me. Whatever you want, I'll compensate you." Then I turned and left. She threw money at the back of my head, it rained down, and coldly said, "So you think you're so great just because you have money? You'll never be able to pay back what you owe me..."
She didn't come looking for me again.
I dated several other women. The wealthy ones cared about my background, the poor ones cared about my wealth. They were worldly-wise, making me think only 16 or 17-year-old girls were truly innocent and adorable. But I was already 30.
I was scammed. Someone I considered a brother almost swindled me out of half my money. From then on, I stopped believing in any feelings; they were all based on self-interest.
I got sick. Although many people came to see me, they were all there for work; the insincere small talk wasn't what I needed. What I needed was genuine care, from the heart. I felt, I was somewhat lonely. I thought of her, but I was rational; I knew we wouldn't have a good outcome together.
I went to see her again, with 40,000 yuan. I wasn't exactly well-off after being scammed, but this would give me some peace of mind. This time she didn't say anything. But she didn't even glance at the money.
I thought it was over. But no. She came again. I was having dinner with some clients. To my surprise,
she was still somewhat disheveled, her face expressionless. She didn't bother me. But fearing she might cause trouble, I forcibly pulled her away. I talked to her a lot, but she seemed no longer listening. As I continued, a gleaming sharp knife suddenly appeared in her hand, and she swung it at me, saying she would kill me. A dagger can be deadly, but she was, after all, a woman. She only swung it at me. I was cut by her sudden attack. But I still managed to knock her to the ground. I hit her hard. Because I only cared about myself, about my own life. She couldn't hurt me anymore. She committed suicide. She cut her wrists and brandished the knife to prevent anyone from approaching. Blood flowed everywhere.
Everyone present was stunned, including me. At that moment, I realized that there was still someone willing to risk their life for me.
I rushed forward, getting cut several times before finally disarming her. I held her wrists, hoisted her, who was almost as light as a chicken, onto my shoulder, with only one thought: get her to the hospital. Reaching my car, I realized I couldn't drive because I had to hold her wound in place with one hand. Driving with one hand? No way, she wouldn't obediently come to the hospital with me. I flagged down taxis several times, but who would dare take two blood-soaked people in a car? I was still carrying that sharp knife; I'd probably forgotten to throw it away in my panic.
I was going crazy. Luckily, a knowledgeable friend from the underworld came to my rescue.
At the hospital, she still refused to cooperate with treatment and was forcibly injected with sedatives…
For the next while, I quit my job and stayed with her every day, afraid she might do something foolish again. But we rarely spoke. Because I didn't want to deceive her anymore; without lies, there was nothing to say. I had forgotten how to tell the truth. I only wanted to show her through my actions that I accepted her.
I said that as soon as she recovered, I would take her far away. She laughed and said, "Are you willing to give up your current achievements and start over with me in a strange place?" I said I was, and she laughed again. I said, "Trust me, I won't hurt you again. I will take you with me, for the rest of my life. Give me one more chance, the last time." She smiled happily, a smile that left me somewhat bewildered.
She was almost fully recovered, looked radiant, and seemed to be in good spirits.
A large, lucrative business opportunity came my way, but I didn't pursue it; I stayed with her. She urged me to go to work and not worry about her, saying it was just a momentary impulse. I told her I would pick her up from the hospital.
On the day of her discharge, I went to pick her up, but the nurse told me she had left that morning. I asked who she had gone with, and the nurse said she had left alone. She had gone "home"—I knew her.
I returned "home," and the house was still so dirty and messy. The landlord said he hadn't paid rent in a long time and asked if I still wanted to stay… I searched everywhere for her, but she had vanished as if she had disappeared. Perhaps she had gone to clear her head; she would definitely come back, I knew her
…
I found the nurse and asked if she had left anything behind. The nurse shook her head.
I thought she would come back; I knew her.
...
I returned to my busy work, but I couldn't stop thinking about her.
It had been so long; I should go back "home" to see her. I found the house tidy and spotless. I was overjoyed—she had come back! I waited for her "home," knowing she would return; I knew her.
...
But she never appeared again.
...
I was disappointed. I even thought about searching, but where could I find her in this vast sea of people?
I became successful again, but the richer I became, the emptier I felt. I realized then that I truly had nothing. I was lonely. And I couldn't bear this loneliness any longer. I tried not to think about her, but the more I tried, the more her shadow surrounded me. The more time I had, the lonelier I felt. I was like a soulless shell, living a mechanical life, working hard, constantly making money, making money, never letting myself be idle, numbing myself with alcohol and cigarettes.
She never came back. Maybe I didn't understand her? Did she just leave like that? She left without leaving anything? Not even a note. Where did she go? What city could possibly take in a woman like her? Is she doing well without her support? Is she still being deceived...?

I can't deceive myself anymore. I need her. I went to find her, to the town where she was born. It's not a very big town. I found her house, but only found her beastly stepfather. I didn't hit him, because he was already a terrible old man. Maybe I'll be like that soon.
I even found the person who scammed me, but I still couldn't find her. I bought back the old "house" through some means. There, I hung up that wedding photo, placed a potted plant on the table, and a very conspicuous note. I went there almost every day to water the plant. Every time I opened the door full of hope, my hands trembled. The door opened, and everything inside was the same as before, but I would search through it, trying to find a trace that would excite me. All I felt was disappointment and helplessness.
You only know how to cherish something when you lose it. Only those who have experienced loss can understand my feelings. I wanted to say: if God gave me a chance to start over, I would... But I'll never have that chance.
I owe her, just as she said, I can never repay, never. This debt is suffocating me.
Hua died, died for no apparent reason. The "home" was sold, along with the furniture. The paperwork was completed yesterday. The "home" no longer belongs to me. I begged the landlord to let me stay one more night. My last night.
As I typed this on the computer, dawn broke. Dawn comes so early. And I must leave.
Loneliness is God's punishment for me, and I confess. I will be alone for the rest of my life, burdened with a debt I can never repay.

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