[Modern Romance] A Life of Debauchery After Graduation

Occasionally, noises rose from the movie theater: people talking, eating chips, making phone calls, and even dozing off. I didn't complain; after all, it was a public place.

The movie ended like this: the protagonist happily ate feces in a corner by the wall, his joy tinged with a hint of relief. Around him were people scrambling for it, some even not human. Some were putting on airs, some were blushing, some were smiling with hidden malice—all sorts of things you could imagine. Outside, even more people, and not-humans, were diligently studying books printed with feces. Many were even defecating themselves. The scene was aesthetically pleasing, presenting a positive and uplifting atmosphere.

My imagination is lacking; I couldn't understand what the work was trying to convey. I only vaguely thought: life should have pursuits. Whether it's feces or urine.

Many of the audience members around me said they didn't understand it. One cursed, "What a terrible movie!" Another replied, "To be precise, it's just terrible, not a movie."

A lack of imagination—that's a common problem for us.

I'm not criticizing them, because I don't have the right. I'm the one lacking imagination; they aren't. Just listen carefully to their conversation, their phone calls, and you'll know their imaginations are extraordinary.

There was a young couple at the door. The man was holding a pink phone with sparkling rhinestones, berating his girlfriend. Listening closely, it seemed to be about a text message. He said she cheated on him. She said how could a "goodnight" text prove she cheated? They argued fiercely, as if they were the only two people there.

In the end, through imagination, he proved she cheated. And through imagination, she proved he was mentally ill.

Later, he said he would get treatment, and she said she would be faithful. Then they made up, hand in hand, disappearing into the crowd.

Their world consisted only of the two of them. Imagination.

After saying goodbye to the young couple, I went to the bus stop. Among the people waiting for the bus, a middle-aged man was on the phone, speaking in a thick dialect mixed with profanity about an everyday office matter. The conclusion was that the woman was insidious. The reasoning process was incredibly exaggerated, like the dialogue from those palace dramas. At the climax, the language became intense, the emotions destructive. You'd think he was talking about a war. Indeed, he concluded that this wasn't an office, but a battlefield.

And the reason he made this conclusion about the woman was simply because she smiled at him.

After hanging up, he happily played a watermelon-slicing mobile game, muttering to himself. He probably imagined the woman as the watermelon, wanting to slice her to pieces.

His world was a battlefield. Imagination.

Everyone else used up their imagination after the movie ended, and I couldn't use mine at all. It's truly pathetic. I can't say she cheated, nor can I say she's cunning. First, I'm single, and second, I don't have a job.

The movie ticket wasn't bought; it was a gift from Amu. He said the movie was profound and meaningful, and he figured I'd like it. That's just how he is—eloquent, easily giving me the ticket. Completely helpless, I had to go see the movie in slippers. Thankfully, wearing slippers has become fashionable, otherwise I would have been turned away.

Before going, I checked movie reviews online. Most said the movie was quite excellent, and a small number said it was very profound. After watching the movie, I didn't know if I belonged to the majority or the minority. My identity was unclear, and I was very confused.

Later, I realized that I was not qualified to comment; I didn't belong to either group. The two audience members in the theater who said they didn't understand the movie were like me—not qualified to comment. Gradually, I realized that the majority were the ones who weren't qualified to comment. My identity became clear, and I suddenly understood.

Amu, who gave me the ticket, is a returnee from overseas, graduated two years ago, and works as a civil servant. We've known each other for over three months.

The night before I left my university dormitory, my roommate pointed enthusiastically at a picture on the computer screen. He was probably talking about living in a villa like that in the future. I went closer to look; half of the picture was of high-rise buildings, and the other half was of dilapidated houses, separated by a wall. I didn't see the villa I remembered.

He grabbed me, pulled me to the computer, and pressed my head only millimeters away from the screen. He told me to look carefully. I said it was too close, I could only see a beautiful woman by the pool. He said that was the villa.

I think I understood what a villa meant.

Later, he told me to remember this picture and encouraged us to work hard to live in a villa like that. Besides agreeing, I really didn't know what else to do. Because I knew he didn't like villas like that, but that his villa belonged to someone else.

Yesterday, a car pulled up in front of him, and his girlfriend was inside, hugging a man and breaking up with him. He hugged me and said, "Okay, that's what I was thinking too." I said, "We will definitely be happy." Then we watched a car with a sign that said four circles drive away.

I asked what brand four circles meant. He grabbed me tightly and said, "Make her regret it." I advised him not to do anything foolish. He said it's only natural to make a lot of money and then date other people's girlfriends.

I know he said that to comfort himself, to make himself feel better. Only natural.

I still don't understand what brand four circles means.

After moving out of the dormitory, I followed his girlfriend's directions and went to a village to find a rental house.

A month ago, his girlfriend found this village and said it was suitable for recent graduates like us to live in. She told me she didn't want to live there and was determined to do something about it. Later I found out what she did.

Looking at this village, I felt she had done what she was supposed to do. At that moment, I even wanted to find a rich woman to keep me, or a man would do too.

I walked to the ground floor of a building, and a woman at the door asked if I was renting a room. I nodded and followed her upstairs. If you looked at me from a distance, you'd think I was going to a prostitute.

The woman was young, swaying her hips as she went upstairs. I followed behind her and saw what was under her short skirt. I thought she was doing it on purpose.

The woman was very talkative, saying that all the houses here belonged to her husband. After she married into the family, she was in charge of collecting rent, while her husband was in charge of cheating on her with his mistress. She was so open-minded.

The woman led me to a single room.

The room was very dark. I could vaguely see a bed and a wardrobe. After turning on the light, I could see the toilet immediately. The toilet had no door, nor did it need one. With the light off, I couldn't see anything.

After agreeing on a price, the light was turned off. I couldn't see her anymore. I only knew that she skillfully pulled me onto the bed. Then we took off our clothes. Sometimes she was on top of me, sometimes I was on top of her.

Anyway, no one saw, I comforted myself with that thought afterward.

Through my imagination, things turned out like this: I dropped my money, she slept with me, and I had a place to stay.

My mood instantly improved.

I heard a sound. She went to the bathroom. She said she'd take me to the rooftop, where there was a view. I turned on the light. She quickly got dressed—underwear, a dress, and mismatched slippers.

On the rooftop, I saw the picture my classmate had shown me the night before: a tall building, a swimming pool, and a beautiful woman. Just a wall away.

I thought the picture was fake. It turns out such a world really exists. Imagination.

I stood in our world looking at theirs. Their world was like this: a swimming pool filled with water, a tennis court with a net. A man and a woman, a beach chair, laughter and chatter.

The man looked at me, put his arm around the woman, and loudly invited me over. Not to be outdone, I put my arm around the woman and loudly agreed.

That man was Amu.

Three months later, when he learned of my hardship, he gave me a movie ticket. Providing timely help.

After I moved into that room, the woman frequently came to see me. Since I hadn't found a job, I was happy to oblige. Now I no longer needed to comfort myself with my imagination to be happy, because I hadn't paid her since.

I boldly thought this wasn't a transaction. I naively thought this was affection.

That day, we lay in bed, listening to a vulgar song. The entire lyric was profanity, the content quite obscene, yet the combination was surprisingly pleasant.

I asked her why she listened to such a song. She actually told me a story.

She would put on a condom for him as usual, and climb on top of him eagerly as usual. Afterwards, she would diligently clean his genitals. For a week, she provided this service every night. Then she said she was pregnant.

She stopped her story and happily told me that she had tampered with the condom. She would only tell him after giving birth. Her breasts swayed with her laughter.

Seeing this, I couldn't concentrate on her story. I grabbed her breasts. I said they were disturbing my listening to the story, and also to keep them from swaying around.

She proudly puffed out her chest, boasting of their immense power.

Under the powerful influence of her breasts, my imagination became richer, and the story became fuller.

On stage, he danced around her, his dance moves handsome and captivating, his expression utterly charming. At first, she shyly looked down at the ground, standing motionless. Slowly, she began to dance with confidence, her eyes alluring as she looked at him, slowly backing away. He followed her steps, taking quick strides.

The stage lights suddenly went out, then slowly came back on. The two were tightly embracing, their hands entwined with desire.

Their breathing was rapid.

When they were naked and holding each other, she cleverly turned around, her smooth back facing him. Carefully and skillfully, she tampered with the condom, then turned back, revealing a blissful smile.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the stage, and a baby appeared from under her legs. She happily hugged the baby and walked towards his parents. The dance steps were warm and relaxed.

He watched from afar in the shadows of a corner of the stage. His steps were hesitant and uneasy, filled with the anger of being deceived.

His parents, while playing with the baby, watched him with disappointment. They stood there, hoping for his return.

Finally, she, still holding the baby, danced awkwardly into his parents' house. In the corner, he was drunk and embracing his lover, passed out by the roadside.

I felt the breasts in my hands change from tender and firm to slightly soft and sagging.

This was the story I felt from her breasts.

Then she explained that she wasn't used to life here at first. Communication was filled with coarse language. She wanted to use this song to get used to the sounds here and to imbue them with a pleasant melody.

I admired her wisdom.

I asked her how her husband was doing. She said he was at his lover's house. He only came back when he needed money or during the Spring Festival.

I said, "He seems to really like the Spring Festival." She said it was because his lover went back to her hometown for the holiday.

I admired his shamelessness.

Finally, I asked, "Is this the life you want?"

She said, "This isn't what I want, it's what I can do."

I was speechless. I didn't know what I wanted, nor what I could do. "

How's the job search going?" she asked.

"I'm thinking of going to see Amu tomorrow and asking him for help," I said. "

I want to go check out the swimming pool," she said.

"Okay. I'll go at 11 a.m. tomorrow." "Dress nicely," I said.

A while later, she went to pick up her child from school. I strolled around the street.

Her child, a boy, 7 years old. I had met him once before; he was chubby.

The street was unusually crowded. Before coming here, I had thought that such a dilapidated village would be quiet at night, but I was wrong. The street was very lively, with street vendors on both sides. Each "stall" was clearly marked on the ground. I had heard that street vending was not allowed, and that city administrators would drive people away. Of course, this was just hearsay. If you saw what I saw below, you would understand.

City administrators were driving the vendors behind them, making way for them. Then they took pictures of the newly cleared spaces. Afterward, they let the vendors go back to their stalls. They said this way they could both fulfill their obligations and collect "management fees" from the vendors. Only those unwilling to pay the "management fees" would be driven away.

Residents nearby didn't complain about the illegal street vending because you didn't know who to complain to. Moreover, with a large migrant population, cheap street vendor goods still had a considerable market. As a migrant myself, I quickly accepted this unique scene, occasionally even watching the spectacle of people taking photos to fulfill their obligations.

Then, on both sides of the street were many alleys, formed by gaps between buildings. These alleys were so narrow that only two people could barely pass through. Yet, there were still many shops on both sides, especially brothels.

Whenever a man passed by a brothel, the women inside would tease him. You can imagine walking through a narrow, long alley, with bouncing breasts standing on both sides. A pleasant sight.

I often passed by a brothel. There were very few women inside, or rather, they were all very busy. But one woman inside left a particularly deep impression on me. It wasn't that she was exceptionally beautiful, but rather that she never flirted with men. She would just sit there, lost in thought, staring blankly at one spot. Even if a man chose her, she wouldn't show the slightest smile. Yet, she was a top-tier woman.

Every time I passed by, I would look for her, and if I saw her, I would glance at her a few more times. Once, I saw her sitting by the roadside eating. Because the alley was too narrow, someone pushed a bicycle in front of me, so I stepped aside. She also stood up. I stood next to her, and then our eyes met. I stared intently at her. She stared intently at me too. The bicycle passed by, she smiled, and I nodded. Finally, she returned the nod and walked back into the hair salon. Looking at her back, I realized I had fallen for her.

Coming back to my senses, I happened to walk up to the hair salon. I looked inside and saw her watching TV. She noticed me, smiled, and nodded at me. I smiled and waved back. A woman next to me laughed and said, "Handsome, just come in and find her, don't be shy." After she finished speaking, the woman beside her joined in the commotion.

I waved goodbye and left. Finally, as usual, I went to that noodle shop, sat in the same spot, ordered the same noodles, looked at the same street corner, and ate my inexpensive dinner.

After finishing my noodles, I walked contentedly down the street. The streets were quiet and deserted tonight; none of the vendors were there. I guessed their superiors—the city management—had given them new instructions. The news seemed to be about a city-wide hygiene competition. Honestly, I didn't care. Unless it's a daily competition, it doesn't really improve hygiene.

A car with a four-ring license plate was parked in the middle of the road; it looked quite luxurious. Suddenly, a man appeared on the roof, illuminated by the streetlights.

He was dressed in tattered clothes.

The man stood on the roof, playing the violin with obvious enjoyment. The sparse passersby didn't pay any attention; they certainly didn't seem like the type to idly watch. What could I say? After all, it was tonight they were evaluating a city for hygiene. Idling isn't hygienic.

However, the man paid no heed to his surroundings, completely absorbed in his superior skill. He was a master violinist, yet still dressed in rags, transcending material possessions.

I walked up to him, looking up at him with envy.

Noticing my gaze, he stopped, looked at me, and spat out bundles of banknotes, laughing heartily.

I started running towards the rented room. The man stood on the car, playing his violin. The car, crammed with banknotes, chased after me.

I was terrified, afraid of becoming the man. At the same time, I envied him.

The road ahead blurred, turning pitch black. I closed my eyes and ran as fast as I could. Finally, I reached the door of the rented room.

Two prostitutes stood blocking my way. I swung my knife and killed them. Suddenly, the rented room transformed into a prison, containing the woman from the hair salon.

She sat blankly on the bed, staring out the window.

I pounded on the cell door, shouting for her, desperate to rescue her. But the cell door didn't break, and she didn't hear my shouts.

I looked back, and the man had transformed into a woman, a pretty, voluptuous woman. The woman began to undress and pounce on me. I struggled to break free, but my lower body was already inside her.

Fear and pleasure surged within me simultaneously.

Suddenly, I woke up, drenched in sweat, my underwear soaked. I

sat on the bed, dazed.

After that time I went to see Amu with the woman, I became his follower, accompanying him to nightclubs, bars, and other entertainment venues every day. He covered all my expenses, including the cost of sleeping with those women. My job was simply to accompany him. He said, "The more the merrier."

Of course, I wasn't the only one with him. But those weren't followers; they were drinking buddies, both men and women.

When the woman returned, she said she quite liked that kind of life.

I said, "Then why don't you come along too?" I figured he wouldn't object.

The woman said she couldn't be away from the house at night.

I said, "Since your man can, so can you."

She said that no matter what, the man was always the master here, and his name had value. She only had value through giving.

Her analysis was spot on.

Later, I would bring back some alcohol for her to taste, and after we made love, I would describe to her what nightclubs and bars were like.

However, after that month, due to the enactment of strict drunk driving regulations, I became the driver. Every night, I could only sit in the car and wait for him to come out with a woman. Sometimes he would bring another one for me, saying it was a reward. I was happy, licking the woman like a dog to show my affection.

Some of these women were a little disappointed when they found out that I was the one licking them all night. And I was a little angry about that. Whenever I encountered such a woman, I would just have sex with her in the car. Then, before she had even tidied herself up, I would kick her out of the car and go home to sleep.

Once, Amu brought out a reward and threw it to me. Just as I was about to wag my tail to express my joy, I realized that I had slept with this woman not long ago, and that I had kicked her out of the car.

As soon as she saw me, she greeted my mother without saying a word—very politely, and even blushing—very enthusiastically.

I was speechless, feeling both guilty and helpless. I wanted to explain to her that anger often makes people lose their minds.

At that moment, Amu grabbed her hair, slammed her to the ground, and kicked her twice in the stomach. Then he forced another woman into the car.

I was stunned by this sudden turn of events. I mentally explained that anger had made them both lose their minds. Then we got into the car.

The woman in the car kept laughing and joking to ease the tense atmosphere. I saw her expression; she was terrified. She was afraid of everything she had just witnessed, and also afraid of how Amu would treat her next. But at this point, she couldn't cancel the deal.

People who sell their bodies have no autonomy. So did I.

As I drove them to the hotel, I gradually felt that I should take full responsibility for the woman being beaten. Therefore, after dropping them off, I went back to the nightclub to see if she was still there.

Just as I reached the nightclub, I saw my reward sitting on the ground, her hair disheveled, surrounded by several men who were jeering and groping her. I immediately got out of the car, carried her inside, and drove away.

She didn't resist, sitting motionless in the car, her eyes glazed over. At that moment, I really hoped she would come and hit me, to vent her anger.

I found a place to stop and said, "If hitting me can vent your anger, then go ahead. It's all my fault."

After saying that, she glared at me fiercely, wildly hitting and scratching me, then hugged me and burst into tears. After crying for a while, she suddenly bit my arm hard. I endured it for a moment, but couldn't take it anymore, and pushed her away. I stared straight at her. She stared at me fiercely.

I said, "You can hit me however you want. It's all my fault."

Then she slapped me across the face.

I said, "I'll take you home."

Then she pounced on me and started pulling down my pants.

I didn't know how to react, but my genitals knew.

She sat on me, crying, and shook violently.

At her climax, my genitals reacted correctly. Then, without a word, she grabbed her underwear and got out of the car. I immediately pulled up my pants, ready to follow her. She slammed the car door shut.

I understood what she meant.

I watched her walk down the street with her underwear. I drove after her at a distance, escorting her home. All the way, I still felt guilty, but thinking about everything she had just done, a slight smile crept onto my face. That adorable stubbornness.

Her name was Duan Qing, 24 years old, from Shaoyang, Hunan. The first time I slept with her, she had just graduated from university a year prior. She had studied food safety. Incidentally, I studied biopharmaceutical engineering.

Amu hadn't contacted me for several days. He said he had to spend time with his parents; things were very busy at home.

The woman hadn't contacted me for days either. She said she had to spend time with her son because he was on holiday, and they needed to buy a lot of things for the New Year. The only time she stood at the door was when she handed me a small plate of kumquats, saying it symbolized a year of wealth and prosperity. I, with my stubble-covered face, said thank you. Then she left.

I understood why her man could be so shameless as to come home at this time.

I found a corner to put the kumquats away, lay back down on the bed, and fell asleep.

I ate instant noodles after waking up, then went back to sleep; this had been my routine for four days. I had no intention of changing this routine because I didn't want to go out and encounter the bustling atmosphere. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned; the instant noodles were gone. I had originally planned to eat the kumquats I had just brought back, but thinking about the abundance of wealth to come in the coming year, I decided against it.

The streets were crowded and lively. I had assumed that most people were home for the New Year, but seeing this, I realized that many people had already started families here.

After eating noodles, I passed by the hair salon on my way back and looked inside, but didn't see her. I guessed she'd gone home too. Just as I was about to walk past, a woman inside said she was working a shift and would be out soon. "Why don't you sit here for a while?"

I hesitated for a moment, then went in. I didn't want to go back to sleep; that feeling was like being dead.

The woman kept showing off her body, eagerly trying to sell herself. I politely refused. I said I had no money.

Then she sat down next to me, smoked, and watched TV, ignoring me.

I wanted to ask her how long she'd be out, but I was afraid she'd scold my family, so I gave up.

About half an hour later, she came out. She didn't react at first when she saw me sitting there.

I said I'd come to chat and asked if she had time.

She readily took me home.

Her rented room was about the same size as mine, but much cleaner and tidier.

I said, "Sorry for interrupting your work."

She said, "It's okay, business isn't good anyway."

I knew she was trying to comfort me. During the half hour I waited, I saw three customers leave and four come in. The women in the hair salon were all dressed up—those with small breasts squeezed them, those with dark skin painted white, those with narrow eyes made up to look bigger—all to attract customers. I didn't intend to tell the truth about those four customers, because I wanted to pass by again.

Then a customer asked me who I was waiting for. I said my legs were weak and I couldn't stand up. He excitedly asked who it was. I pointed to the woman sitting next to me, enthusiastically promoting herself.

She happily took the customer's hand and went inside, then came out to get some supplies, telling me she'd be out soon.

Good deeds are rewarded.

But then I thought, what if she didn't provide good service? The customer would think I was a bad person. So I still didn't know who I was. At that moment, I really wanted to go in and cheer her on, hoping she would provide better service.

Then I realized, who I am isn't up to me.

She found a pair of slippers under the bed for me and told me to wash them.

I said, "I came to chat, not to have sex. I don't have any money."

She said that wasn't what she meant. Even if we did have sex, she wouldn't charge me. It's just that you smell a bit strong.

I then realized that I hadn't showered or changed my clothes for four days.

While I was showering, she came in and helped me scrub my back.

I said, "I didn't know scrubbing my back felt so good. It's my first time trying it."

She said, "Back in my hometown, it's very common."

I said, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

She said, "Because you thought of me at this moment. I haven't seen you pass by the hair salon for a month. I thought you went home. Even if you just smiled at me as you passed by today, I would be very happy."

I turned around and looked at her, saying, "I'm happy to see you too."

I gently smoothed the hair behind her ear and gently pushed her down onto the bed. Unexpectedly, I ejaculated quickly.

I could only marvel at her excellent technique.

She said, "It's okay. We'll do it again later."

Her name was Le Mei, 26 years old, from Gansu. She was an orphan from birth and grew up in an orphanage. She left her hometown at 16 to work here. She started as a waitress in a restaurant, but found it difficult to interact with people and didn't really enjoy it. She changed jobs several times, during which time she met her only boyfriend. He later went back to his hometown to get married, and they broke up. Then, as she put it, she became a prostitute, quite naturally.

I didn't understand her use of "naturally."

She said she wanted to torture herself to ease the pain in her heart, so she became a prostitute. Naturally.

I said, "You really like that idiom."

She said, "Here, I found my life goal—writing novels." I said, "I've always done what I wanted, so it's natural for me."

I said, "I suddenly remembered a book someone wrote called 'Going with the Flow.' Will you write a book called 'Naturally' someday?"

She said she was serious.

I asked what book she had written.

She said it was about her experiences as a prostitute, about the prostitutes themselves. She's currently writing her second book, about her clients.

I praised it as a great subject.

Then she said she was preparing to go abroad. "Wandering the world while writing a novel.

You're so brave."

She said it had nothing to do with bravery, but rather that one feels uncomfortable if they don't live like this.

I said I feel uncomfortable living now, but I still keep going.

She said, "You'll find yourself, both in your work and in your personal life."

I thanked her for her encouragement and hoped we could stay in touch even after she traveled the world.

Then she asked me to write down my email address and my physical address. She said she would write to me.

I asked why I needed an address.

She said she didn't like emails, but just in case I changed my address. Then she continued, "As for why I prefer letters, you'll understand when you read them later."

We exchanged contact information. Then we did it again. This time I was able to unleash my full potential. She lay panting on the bed. I knelt between her legs and we became one.

Afterwards, I asked if it was really okay not to use a condom, as morning-after pills are harmful to the body.

She said she wouldn't get pregnant because she didn't have a uterus.

Then I learned why her boyfriend broke up with her, and I also learned the origin of the scar on her lower abdomen.

I asked if she wouldn't have her period anymore.

She said yes.

I said, "You have an advantage over other girls; you can work a few more days."

She said, "You're really smart." I thought so too.

I somewhat understood what "natural" meant. She had to do this to survive, and I had to do this to find myself. Natural.

Happy New Year.

Happy New Year.

I hugged her. The blanket hugged us. We sat naked on the bed, watching the Spring Festival Gala on TV. When the countdown started, I said, "Happy New Year." She replied.

We had been in this room for a full 28 hours. So fulfilling. We ate when we were hungry, slept when we were tired, chatted when we woke up, and did things when we were energetic. 28 hours was shorter than I had imagined.

She turned around, looked at me, and said this was the warmest day she had had in 27 years.

I said, "Me too." And it was also the first time in 25 years that I had watched the Spring Festival Gala countdown.

She said she had watched it almost every year since she could remember. Every time I watch it, I fantasize about all of China counting down together, hoping to create a little warmth.

Does it succeed?

Every time, this day becomes the coldest day.

The lyrics to "The Coldest Day" popped into my head—"In the vast sea of people, we find warmth to get through the coldest day." I really wanted to tell her about the song, but unfortunately, it wasn't in Mandarin, and she wouldn't understand.

She told me she was leaving next Sunday; she'd already bought her ticket for a 4 PM flight.

I took her hand, my lips brushing her forehead, and said, "Have a safe trip."

She pushed me away, her naked body turning off the TV and lights, saying not to be too gentle with her, that it would be off-putting.

I wondered why she would be off-putting.

She said that to explain, she would have to start from her childhood.

I would listen carefully.

She said she would tell the story in the third person. That would make it easier to explain. Of course, it might still not be clear.

I said, "You're a novelist; you decide."

She returned to my embrace and began to tell "her" story.

After she finished, I felt that what she said wasn't clear enough. So, in the darkness, I changed the story like this:

In a pitch-black world, she was all alone, lying on the ground. Slowly, the lights came on, and passersby walked past her. Her cries landed her in an orphanage.

The orphanage was filled with people just like her. She felt everyone's face resembled hers. You can imagine her lying in every bed in the orphanage. That's what she thought, and she felt safe.

As time went on, she gradually realized that people were becoming distant from her. Later, she measured this distance precisely with a ruler, calling it avoidance. She couldn't understand it, only slowly feeling that all the others who looked like her had disappeared, leaving her alone in the world. She felt uneasy.

In the spring of her 14th year, a man approached her to chat. She was happy, but didn't understand why men liked to touch her body. She felt uneasy and disgusted by this behavior, yet didn't want to lose someone to talk to. This continued until winter, when others discovered it. The man left, but she stayed.

Then, the following year, those who looked like her accused her of being unclean. That year, she moved into the toilet. They said it was where she was born.

She arrived there at the age of 16. She said the toilets were unbearable in winter, so she had to move south to where it was warmer.

While working there, she met her boyfriend. He was very gentle, caring, and attentive. She was content. Later, she fell seriously ill and needed surgery. Her boyfriend paid for it. He stayed by her side throughout the surgery. He said he wanted to marry someone who could have children.

She was speechless, feeling both love and resentment towards this man. Gradually, she felt she would always be alone.

Finally, she developed a strange aversion to gentleness.

She continued, "I'm so glad I met you at this time, but this time, it's me leaving."

I said, "Leaving isn't a physical displacement, but an inner world. You know I have you in my heart, and you have me in yours, so there's no real departure."

She said, "Actually, you have a real talent for language; if you use it well, you'll definitely achieve something."

I said, "Want to write novels like you?"

She said, "I'm different from you. I only write what I've seen with my own eyes, without any imagination. But you can reconstruct the world through language; that is, you can create something." As for whether or not to write a novel, that's for you to answer.

I said, "I really want to write, but I haven't found anything I want to write about yet." She said, "Give it a try. 　　Write about anything, no matter how boring or mundane,

write seriously, and you'll find a reason to keep writing." I said, "Live through any day, no matter how boring or mundane, live it seriously, and you'll find a reason to keep living." 　　She kissed me. I held her close. 　　This time, I was very serious about making love. I remembered every detail, the whole process. 　　She had her back to me. I held her, kissing her neck, all the way to her earlobe. A milky scent wafted from her ear, and I followed the scent to her chin, sucking on it wantonly. 　　She grabbed my hands and placed them on her breasts. Her breasts stood erect like bamboo shoots, nipples protruding. 　　She arched her back to meet my hands. Her breasts were warm and soft, and I grasped them tightly, one in each hand. She sighed softly, her legs unconsciously clamping together. 　　We changed positions. She sat between my legs, her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands around my head. I stroked her back with my hands, and I could feel a small, raised mole under her right shoulder blade. I whispered in her ear that it was a mosquito bite. She smiled slightly, pinched one of my nipples, and said, "This is it." 　　I slapped her bottom, the sound crisp and melodious. Then I buried my head between her breasts, took a deep breath, and the fragrance intoxicated me. 　　She lifted my head forcefully, pressed her lips to mine, and used her gentle tongue to open the window to my heart. We were tightly intertwined. 　　Her waist twisted incessantly, her lower body rubbing against my penis. I felt the warmth and wetness, and I felt her impatience, and I lifted her buttocks. She grasped my penis and aimed it at her vulva, then gently sat down. My penis was completely swallowed by her. Her mouth left my lips, and she let out a cry. 　　She moved rhythmically, her breath hitting my shoulder. I could clearly feel the tension and relaxation, the contraction and expansion of her vagina. Moisture and warmth enveloped me. 　　She writhed passionately, burying my head in her breasts. My tongue found her nipple and swirled it in my mouth. Then she held me tightly, her nails digging into my back, her lower abdomen taut, her vagina contracting rhythmically. My penis was squeezed painfully, and I felt her approaching orgasm. 　　I stared intently at a point on the wall, clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. A large amount of fluid flowed from her vagina, running down my penis, onto my scrotum, and onto the bed. She had orgasmed, and I was still erect. 　　She lay down, her legs wrapped around my waist, one hand gripping my back, the other my buttocks. I continued my labor, one hand around her neck, the other on her breast. 　　With friction, the temperature of my penis rose higher and higher. I thrust deeper and faster. She pulled in her stomach, arched her back, and clenched her vagina tightly, her hands pressing against my buttocks in rhythm with my movements. 　　Suddenly, my body tensed, my arms wrapped tightly around her, and I thrust my penis deep into her vagina with all my might. My penis trembled a dozen times, ejaculating all my semen 　　inside her. I pressed myself against her, panting, memorizing the shape of her breasts, the texture of her skin, the temperature of her vagina, the sound of her moans, and her reaction to her orgasm. Everything, it was as if I was deliberately differentiating this lovemaking from all the others. 　　I knew what this was—an emotion I had never felt before. 　　I felt I had found a reason to live, one of them. 　　I knew from this moment on, I was seriously living. 　　The woman came downstairs as I opened the door to enter the house. 　　She asked where I had been these past few days. 　　I said, "Did you miss me?" 　　She said her son was missing.

"Did you call the police?"

she said. "He took her away."

I said, "Just let him bring her back."

She said, "He said he'd give him 200,000.

" "Call the police!"

she said. "His parents won't allow it."

I said, "Then let his parents give him 200,000.

" She said, "Are you an idiot?

You can't insult pigs like that."

Later I found out that his mistress was forcing him to divorce her; she said if he didn't divorce her, he'd give her 200,000, otherwise they'd break up. I really had the urge to find him a mistress, 50,000 each, or even four, exactly 200,000.

The woman said, "This woman is worth at most 50,000."

I said, "Great minds think alike."

She rolled her eyes at me and said, "But no matter what, you can't give it to him. I want you to break them up, and then help him find another mistress, preferably one you can control."

I said, "You overestimate me."

She put 50,000 on my bed and said, "You can do it."

Turns out I'm only worth 50,000.

She said, "Why has your phone been off these past few days?"

I said, "I had some things to do, I wanted to be alone."

She said, "I thought you left with that woman."

She took off her coat as she spoke.

I said, "Just seeing you off at the airport." Then, I quickly pulled down my pants.

Actually, I didn't go to see her off. I woke up at her house that day and found she was gone. Nothing was missing, except for a letter. This was the first letter I received from her.

"Erwen:

It's been a pleasure meeting you, and I've had a very enjoyable time with you these past few days. But I really don't want to see you off at the airport, so please don't come to see me off. Please forgive my selfishness. I want to use these few hours to have a long talk and farewell with this land. I also want to take this opportunity to summarize my life so far. Of course, a few hours isn't enough to summarize anything. I just want to make a beginning here, to use this journey to clear my mind. Perhaps in the future, when I return, you will see a new me. I also hope that by then I will see you with a happy family.

I've already paid the rent for this month's apartment; you can still stay. The key is in the envelope." While packing, I kept thinking about whether to bring anything, but in the end, I decided to leave everything in the house behind. The only thing I took was my phone, which contained pictures of you sleeping, including nude photos. But don't worry, I won't make it public. Only I will ever enjoy it. I also hope you meet your girlfriend soon and enjoy your body.

As for everything in the house, it's up to you to decide whether to keep it or throw it away. Please cherish what you keep, and don't regret throwing it away.

I'll write to you again after I've settled in.

Le Mei.

After reading this, I felt a huge void in my heart, a sense of loss flooding in like a burst dam. I tried to reread the letter repeatedly, hoping the contents could fill that void, but it still didn't feel enough, so I started to fill it in with my imagination. As I read, I imagined her lying next to me, writing the letter with a book under the paper. I also imagined her lifting the covers and taking nude photos of me halfway through writing. I kept replaying every detail of making love with her and the times we chatted while holding each other. Unfortunately, the emptiness only grew, and a flood of loss overwhelmed me. I looked up and around, realizing I was experiencing an emotion I'd never felt before.

Just then, a sudden sense of satisfaction washed over me.

I remembered the rights and tasks she'd given me. I took the key from the envelope and began to consider what to do with everything in the house. Only then did I realize I'd never made a decision about anything important. Even my university major was chosen by rolling dice.

I walked from left to right in the room, back and forth, key in hand. When I reached the far left, I decided to keep everything; when I turned back to the middle, I decided to keep some things; but when I reached the far right, I decided to discard everything. My mind struggled with each movement. Finally, I stopped in the middle. But it wasn't that I'd made a decision; it was that I couldn't make one.

I threw the key on the bed, sat on the floor, and recalled how I used to make decisions. And all those decisions were like rolling dice, euphemistically called: leaving it to fate. But I realized then that I was unwilling to take responsibility. In this way, I found an excuse for my failure in advance.

Now I'm even comforting myself: I'm really successful at failing.

But in this matter, I can't leave it to fate; after all, it's not my own thing. So I did as she said, keeping what I thought I could cherish and discarding what I couldn't. I felt that since I couldn't cherish it, I wouldn't regret discarding it. And if I didn't discard what I couldn't cherish, it would be the same as never having had it, I thought. So I started a spree, putting all the items on the bed, putting each one in my mind, and discerning whether I could cherish it.

The first thing I picked up was one of her bras. I remember she wore it today; she must have taken it off before she left. Holding it in my hand, I could still feel its warmth. I knew she intentionally left it for me, but should I keep it? Finally, after sorting through them one by one, I kept these: a set of underwear she wore today, a white sundress, a copy of Raymond Carver's *Cathedral*, an original English version of *What We Talk About When We Talk About Love*, and the last one was her book, *An Insignificant Day*.

I hoped that one insignificant day in the future, she could wear this dress in the cathedral and talk about our love. I was overthinking it.

Then I stayed in the room reading her novel.

It was a collection of short stories, and "An Insignificant Day" was one of them. This short story tells of a day in the life of a sex worker.

The story begins with simple and precise descriptions of her waking up, washing, dressing, and putting on makeup. It seems like the routine of an ordinary office worker's day. Then her roommate wakes up and chats with her, using many vulgar terms. It's only when they talk about work that the reader learns their profession.

Next, the girl goes downstairs to buy a meat bun. During the process, the shop owner is very friendly and enthusiastic, praising her beauty and elegant manners. The shop owner, however, lowers his head shyly when he sees her. Seeing this, the shop owner scolds the owner, saying he doesn't even greet a regular customer properly, and what's he looking for with his head down? Then she turns to the girl and says that her husband gets shy when he sees a beautiful woman.

The girl, holding a steamed bun, glanced at them, recalling the boss's arrogant demeanor when he came to the hair salon to see her. She thought of the term "regular customer" and smiled slightly.

Then, the girl took a taxi to a large shopping mall and started browsing clothes. The sales clerks in the shops were all very enthusiastic towards her. The article then describes in detail her conversation with a sales clerk while trying on lingerie in a lingerie store. The clerk praised her figure and temperament, even saying that she wanted to be a woman like the girl if she could.

Soon it was 2 PM, and the girl took a taxi back to the hair salon to work. Not long after, the owner of the handbag shop arrived, with his head held high and chest puffed out. As soon as he entered, he put his arm around a girl beside him and began to fondle her breasts. He looked at the girl, then smiled at her, as if nothing had happened that morning. The girl he was holding led him into a room.

When the hair salon quieted down, a sudden commotion broke out. It was later learned that the handbag shop owner had suffered a sudden heart attack and died.

The rest of the story is simple. The girl notified the shop owner. The shop owner called the police and cried to the onlookers, saying that this vixen had killed her husband and that she was a beast. When the police arrived, they arrested them. A voice from the dispersing crowd murmured, "She's worse than an animal."

The girl's colleague paid to bail her out, and then they happily ate spicy hot pot at a roadside stall.

The colleague asked, "Are you alright? Did the police do anything to you? Why was that old woman like that? Everyone always said you were very elegant."

The girl probably said something like, "That's just human nature. "

I concluded, "Very interesting." Then I read a few more stories, all quite amusing, with a unique sense of humor.

I lay on the bed. Duan Qing sat on me. She swayed her hips passionately, her hands kneading her breasts. I stared blankly at the window beside me, lying limply on the bed, not quite hard enough, my mind scattered.

After she finished, she lay on top of me, panting, and said, "What's wrong with you today?"

I held her, subconsciously stroking her back lightly, and said softly, "Nothing."

She sat up on me, her hands on my chest, looking directly into my eyes. I could clearly feel part of my body still inside her. This feeling warmed me, but it lacked the usual passion. It was as if something lingering in my heart was blocking the path to passion, preventing me from reaching it. My body reacted naturally, but it couldn't touch my heart. Body and soul were separated.

I sat up, holding her as she sat on me, feeling the warmth of her body.

"Is something on your mind? Tell me, I'll help you share it."

"It's a bit complicated, complicated enough to affect our relationship."

"Then you should tell me even more. Because our relationship is complicated to begin with, maybe it will turn out to be a double negative."

"I'm afraid it will turn out to be a double negative."

"We've never been together. Physically, we each get what we need, emotionally, we're independent." She said with a smile.

"I can't do that."

"You have to do it." She said firmly.

I felt a crack in the corner of my heart, but thankfully, not enough to cause it to collapse. I held her tightly and said, "I need your help with something. My landlady, that woman, wants to find a lover for her husband and wants me to help her find one. I'd like you to do it. 8,000 yuan a month." After saying that, I kept holding her, afraid to see her reaction.

For a moment, the room was so quiet it was almost suffocating.

After a while, she pushed me away and said, "Okay, I'll do it."

"Okay, I'll contact you later."

As she left, she asked me, "Why does that woman want your help?"

I said, because I'm her lover. I really wanted to ask what I was to her, but I didn't dare.

After leaving her place, I called the woman and told her everything went smoothly.

My heart felt like it had another crack.

(Second paragraph:

I just arrived in Paris, France, and am temporarily staying in a youth hostel. Before leaving, the editor from the publishing house said she would have a friend come to pick me up. This friend is also an editor, but unfortunately, she had an urgent business trip these past few days.) I ended up staying in a youth hostel for a few days and met a backpacker from Taiwan, a lively and adorable little girl. When I first saw her, all I could see was her backpack and two thin legs; her body was completely hidden by it. When she turned around and saw me, she greeted me warmly and asked if I was traveling alone. I nodded, about to say something, when she immediately introduced herself and enthusiastically told me about her experiences in Paris.

Later, I discovered that the lady who had hosted her and offered her couchsurfing was the editor who was supposed to host me. I told her that she had left us nowhere to stay and that we should punish her properly when she returned.

We chatted and laughed, and that's how we became friends. By the time you receive this letter, we should all be able to stay at that editor's house without any problems. There will be three Chinese women living in a house in the suburbs of Paris.

The world is sometimes surprisingly small; it almost made me lose the feeling of being abroad. Especially when flying to the other side of the world, where the streets are still full of Chinese people.

So far, everything has gone smoothly. Life abroad hasn't been difficult to adapt to. I'd heard colleagues say that foreign food was terrible, but I thought they just had bad chefs.

Actually, I haven't gone sightseeing in Paris yet because I want to settle in first. So I've just been reading in the hostel, chatting with the staff, and occasionally going to a movie. There's a pretty handsome and gentle staff member at the hostel; I guess I'll be going on a date with him in a few days. Honestly, I'm really curious about how foreigners behave in bed. I wonder if there are any cultural differences. Do they say "Oh my god!" or something when they're about to climax? Just thinking about it makes me laugh.

Okay, that's all for my recent situation. Tell me about your life lately too. Looking forward to your reply.

PS: What did you do with my things in my room? Just asking out of curiosity, did you keep my underwear?

Le Mei

I lay in bed reading her letter, gently placing the letter against my chest. The content wasn't as novel as I'd imagined, but it had a gentle warmth that entered my heart without any hindrance. I closed my eyes, searching my mind for the image of my last time making love with Le Mei, and my body slowly began to react. My hand instinctively reached into my pants, rubbing my penis inside. My body began to heat up.

Just then, there was a knock on the door and a woman's voice. I immediately stood up, took off my clothes, and went to open the door forcefully. The woman outside was surprised to see me standing there, motionless, her face contorted with anger. I pulled her inside, closed the door, and pressed her against the wall with my body, starting to pull down her panties under her skirt.

The woman was startled by this sudden turn of events and didn't react. By the time she came to her senses, her panties were already off. She twisted her body wildly in terror, trying to push me away. I pressed her against the wall even harder and quickly pulled down my own pants, pressing my body tightly against hers, and my penis slid in smoothly. It was dry inside, and it hurt a little when I moved in and out.

The woman instinctively braced herself against my waist, trying to stop me from thrusting, her eyes fixed on me. I grabbed her arms and slammed them against the wall, thrusting wildly, still staring intently at her.

The only sound in the room was the slapping of our bodies colliding. Soon, I ejaculated, completely inside her.

I panted, looking at her, my inexplicable anger subsiding. The woman stared at me, then slapped me, anger welling in her eyes.

I pulled away, my semen falling to the floor. The woman sat against the wall, still staring at me.

I didn't know whether to apologize or slap her back, standing there dumbfounded. My penis slowly went soft, shrinking between my legs. The anger dissipated. Just as I was about to ponder why I had been so angry, why I had acted this way, she coldly said, "Get out, get out of here."

I don't know why I've become like this, nor do I know how to face her. I started packing my clothes and stuffing everything I needed into my suitcase. My penis swayed in the air, without any attempt to cover itself. The feeling of being naked gave me a sense of relief, liberation, and freedom.

The woman slowly put on her underwear, her movements careful, as if afraid of hurting her swollen vagina. She curled up, hugging her legs, tears streaming down her face, but she held them back, not uttering a sound.

I put on my clothes, took my suitcase, and left. As I left, I slowly and carefully closed the door. The moment it closed, a sob escaped my lips.

I thought I could control most things in my life, but it turns out I can't control anything. I can only act on my instincts haphazardly, without any real ability. I hate myself for doing something so absurd.

After leaving the village, I stood by the roadside with my suitcase. I really wanted to call Duan Qing to see if I could stay at her old place, but after much hesitation, I didn't call her.

Thinking about how she's now living with that man, I guessed she probably didn't rent the place she used to live in anymore. Images of her having sex with that man kept flashing through my mind. I sighed, shook my head, and reflected on everything I'd done lately.

I met a woman, slept with her in exchange for free accommodation.

I met Amu, went out with him, and earned some money and opportunities to sleep with different women.

I met Duan Qing, and afterwards, every time Amu and I went to a nightclub, I'd choose her, and every time we went to a hotel, it was her.

Later, the woman asked me to help find a woman to be her man's mistress. I found Duan Qing.

The woman asked who Duan Qing was to me, and I said she was my mistress. The woman asked again, "And who is she to me?" I said, "The landlady." The woman's eyes welled up with tears, she gritted her teeth, and gave me 50,000 yuan. After that, she rarely came to see me anymore. Every time she came, she just indulged her sexual desires and left without a word afterward. I had nothing to say about it. Sex workers don't complain about clients not engaging in emotional exchange. On the contrary, they dislike it. It turns out that as a sex worker, I initially sold not only my body but also my feelings. I wasn't professional enough and tarnished the reputation of sex workers. I was deeply ashamed.

After I told Duan Qing about becoming my lover, she readily agreed. With Amu's arrangements, everything went smoothly, making it seem like everything was accidental to the man. Later, we would still occasionally meet for sex. Once, she told me that our friendship was built by me using Amu's money to hire her for prostitution. In short, it was built on money. And now she'd been introduced to a good job, so our sex was now a reward for that job. Then she said she wasn't my lover. I asked what it would take for her to be my lover. She said, when I'm very rich. She also said that a woman liked me and wanted me to be her lover, offering me 8,000 yuan a month. I didn't agree. This was the last time we met. The woman never came looking for me again until today.

I'll stay at the hotel tonight and find somewhere else to stay tomorrow.

After settling in, I took out the two letters Le Mei had written to me again and read them over and over. My heart was filled with various feelings, but my mind was completely blank. No matter how hard I tried to capture those feelings, it was all in vain. It wasn't that I couldn't grasp them, but rather that I grasped too many to recognize. I felt disgusted and extremely uncomfortable because my mind is most afraid of being completely blank. I started trying to imagine a feeling for myself, but still came up empty-handed. The imagined things were too thin because of my lack of imagination.

I turned off the light and masturbated in bed. My body and mind calmed down after the orgasm. Something came to mind: writing back to Le Mei. I decided to write her everything that had happened recently, from beginning to end.

The day after sending that letter, I decided to write another one.

Le Mei:

I thought about it all day, but really, it was just for a fleeting moment. Suddenly, I really want to see the place where you grew up. If you allow, I'd also like to visit that children's welfare home.

I don't know what this has to do with my job search, but I have a gut feeling that I'll figure out some things in my mind through this, and maybe even discover what I want to do.

Finally, I'd like to ask for the name and address of that welfare home.

During

these days of waiting for a reply, I was incredibly bored. Sometimes I'd read a book written by Le Mei, sometimes I'd masturbate, and sometimes I'd fall asleep.

You could say I was extravagantly squandering my youth.

I looked in the mirror at a man with messy hair, a stubble-covered face, and a slightly thin body. I realized that I hadn't looked in the mirror in a long time, hadn't paid attention to my body.

I looked at the young man with thick eyebrows and big eyes in the mirror and sighed. I carefully examined my body in the mirror. The thick pubic hair had grown all the way to my lower abdomen, covering my navel, and would probably soon reach my chest. Because of my thinness, my muscles were somewhat loose. Especially my abdominal muscles, which had gone from a six-pack to a single mass. I felt I should really start exercising. It's not about becoming a bodybuilder, but about radiating an upward vitality from your muscles.

Perhaps, embarking on your life's journey, or rather, finding your dreams, should begin with these small things. What needs changing isn't material conditions, but mindset. I started thinking too far ahead.

I told myself to be grounded and start with push-ups. For the next few days, I did 100 push-ups, 200 sit-ups, and 300 squats every day. I stopped holding my penis, except when I went to the toilet. Every afternoon, I spent time in the library reading Marx's *Capital*. I wasn't trying to learn anything from it, because I didn't understand many parts. What I needed was a calm mind and patience. I always felt too restless, too eager to achieve instant success, too wanting to have everything at once.

Grounded.

About half a month later, I received a letter from Le Mei.

Er Wen:

Perhaps it's because of my profession, but after reading your experience, the first thing that came to mind was that this could be turned into an interesting story. Please forgive my use of the word "interesting."

The landlady in the story was attracted to your beauty and body, seduced you into bed, and gradually developed a possessive desire for you. She mistakenly believed this possessiveness was genuine affection. To put it simply, she gained money through marriage and then used that money to find someone to invest her emotions in. Her husband gained a family through marriage and then used that money to find someone to invest his emotions in. You could say she and her husband are the same type of people. They want both money and people. Later, you refused to develop feelings for her. Her "love" turned to "hate," and she saw you as a tool to release her sexual desires. Initially, you probably enjoyed this, but gradually you developed disgust, hating her and hating yourself. The reason lies with the next female protagonist, Duan Qing.

Your acquaintance with Duan Qing occurred during a financial transaction. At their first meeting, she looked down on you, a rich man's lackey, while you resented her looking down on you. Both of you were plagued by feelings of inferiority. During this meeting, you hurt her with rough sex and objectifying behavior. This caused her to harbor hatred. In the next meeting, she expressed her hatred to you but was beaten. You felt guilty and developed pity for her. In the car, after venting her anger, she also developed a complex love for you. This love contained gratitude, hatred, and a degree of projecting her own image onto you. Similarly, you felt the same way.

When she learned you liked her, she became afraid and backed away. Then you immediately told her you wanted her to be someone else's mistress. Hatred instantly took over. She agreed to become that man's mistress as revenge. At the same time, she could continue liking you without fear. Why she was afraid is unclear, and I dare not speculate. Perhaps you know the answer best.

Finally, there's Amu. In short, he's the person you want to be, and the person you despise. The entire letter contains absolutely no interaction between you and him, no description of his character; he simply appears. But he's far more than just appearing. Because you're his lackey. In short, you gained women and money from him, but lost your self-respect. This is probably your perception of the real world. To successfully obtain money and women, you must abandon your self-respect.

I have no intention of commenting or offering opinions. You must choose your own path. And the same goes for your perspective on the world. Perhaps the reality you perceive exists, but it's not the whole world. There are many things that can be defined as success, not just possessiveness and lust. Also, getting money and women doesn't necessarily mean sacrificing your self-respect; there's no such equal relationship. You must give to receive, but you must understand that what you give is your down-to-earth effort. Only if you want to get things without effort do you need to sacrifice your self-respect. Do you understand?

Finally, I can only apologize and tell you that I don't know the name of the orphanage I used to live in; I think it was a city orphanage in Jiuquan City. I don't know the exact address either. However, I can introduce you to my friend. She lives in Jiuquan and also studied in Guangzhou, so communicating with you shouldn't be a problem. I met her when I was working in a factory; she was interning there. I've already told her, and she said she'd be happy to help. You don't need to rent a place; she has a room for you.

After you receive this letter, send me a text message. I'll send you her phone number. Her name is Qiao Jiaqi, and she should be 23 years old this year. She's very beautiful, with big eyes and fair skin. She was a little shy when we first met, but became very lively once we got to know each other, and even a bit crazy when excited. Overall, she's a very attractive girl. You should try to get along well with her.

—Le Mei

After reading the letter, my blood seemed to flow smoothly all over my body, every inch of my skin felt cared for, and warmth filled my entire being. It was also the first time I felt how wonderful it was to be understood, a feeling that soothed both body and mind.

In some corner of my heart, I understood the world and myself to some extent. I wasn't as pure as I had thought, nor as dirty as I had thought.

If you could live your life again, what would you choose?

This was the first question Jiaqi asked me after we met. She explained that she had just been reading a magazine that asked this question and was collecting answers from readers. She continued, saying that she would choose to be born in Paris, France, because life there is very romantic.

I asked her how she knew Paris was romantic. She replied that it was written in a magazine.

I said, "The magazine has had a very significant and profound influence on your life."

She said, "This is my own choice."

I admired her democratic and free spirit.

Then she continued to talk about how romantic Paris was.

After a while, I asked, "If you were born in Paris and saw this question in this magazine, what would you choose? Would you choose to come to China?"

She said, "Of course not. What's so great about China? What

if the magazine portrays China very well?

I wouldn't read such a magazine. Do I

have a grudge against China?

It's more like I'm disappointed in its lack of progress."

After chatting for a while, she asked me to answer the question as well.

I said, "Even if I chose a hundred times over, I would still become the same person. Many things can't be changed by living life again. I'll still make the same mistakes, and I'll still suffer the same losses, because I am still me.

Boring," she said.

I wanted to say something funny to change the mood, but I gave up after seeing the look in her eyes. Because I saw in her eyes that I had a note with the word "boring" stuck to my forehead. I could only comfort her by saying, "At least it's just a note; there's still a chance to tear it off."

During the conversation, I learned that she lived with her grandmother. There was a spare room in the house that I could stay in. The condition was that I would take on all the housework she was supposed to do. I thought this was perfectly reasonable and said, "I will never forget your great kindness."

Then, wanting to continue flattering her, I tried to tear off the "Boring" note stuck to my forehead, when she, in the back seat of the taxi next to me, brazenly pulled down her tight jeans. I was startled by this sudden benefit, unsure how to look at her thighs to repay her "great kindness."

Then she slowly said, "You can look at my thighs as you please, no need to be so surprised."

Provoked by her attitude, I made an exaggerated drooling gesture, staring intently at her legs. Only then did I realize she was also wearing shorts. I asked, "Why didn't you just wear shorts?"

She said, "My grandma doesn't like me wearing shorts."

I praised her for being filial.

She said, "That's only right."

I asked again, "Aren't we going to your grandma's house? She'll see you wearing shorts."

She said, "Grandma went to the park, you idiot."

In that short journey, I had become a boring idiot. And I firmly believed the situation was already decided; I couldn't tear off the note. Instead, the note was deeply imprinted on my forehead, becoming a part of me. I didn't know what other notes would be stuck on me in the days to come, or how many, but I was absolutely certain that I couldn't tear off the ones stuck to me myself. Moreover, I vaguely felt that I wasn't facing a person, but a world, a world I couldn't understand.

Then she said that "Pig Head" would be my nickname from now on.

I wondered why Le Mei said she seemed a little shy when I first met her. Were there two Qiao Jiaqis in Jiuquan City who looked exactly alike?

Just as I was still wondering, we arrived at her grandmother's building. It seemed I had no room for doubt anymore and was about to face a brand new world. "

Where is the Jiuquan City Children's Welfare Institute?" I asked. "

I don't know." "Why?" she said. "

That's why I came." "Le Mei didn't tell you?" "

She said you came to look for a job," she said, looking at her phone. "

That's certainly one way to understand it," I explained. "

You mean you're going to the children's welfare institute to look for a job?" she said, looking at me with her big eyes. "

Not entirely." "I want to go there first to find out some things.

My grandma used to work there. You can go ask her first," she said, looking at her phone.

"You don't know where the welfare home is?

Do you know the exact address of your grandparents' workplace?" she countered. "

I don't know either." Speechless.

She said, "That's why you're such a fool."

I wanted to say something, but in the end, I just nodded and sighed.

She gently patted my head and said, "Don't be so upset. Pigs are optimists."

I looked at her and said, "Le Mei said you were very shy when she first met you. Where did your shyness go?"

She said, "People grow up. Their skin has to thicken too. I will change."

I nodded repeatedly in agreement.

She said, "You have to change too. You can't keep pitying yourself like this. To grow, you have to be tough on yourself."

I was amazed that she saw right through me in just one hour.

I said, "How did you see these things in me?"

She said, "I see my former self in you."

I said, "Do you mean I'll become like you someday?"

She said, "A pighead can only be a pighead."

She continued, playing on her phone, "Today you'll start taking charge of all the housework. Starting tonight, washing the dishes."

I nodded.

Actually, I already knew the answer to this question. If I could do it all over again, I'd want to be an orphan.

Because if I wanted different parents, I wouldn't be who I am. So I chose to be an orphan, unaffected by these parents. But I didn't say it aloud. I felt that by now, I should be able to remain unaffected, even positively influencing myself.

It seems I'm still risking my life to fight against something.

Growing up requires being tough on yourself.

Le Mei:

I've lived in Jiuquan for a while now. Jiaqi is indeed a good girl, just a little different from what you described—she has no shyness at all. According to her, she's grown up, and her skin has thickened. I quite admire her.

I found the children's welfare home you used to live in. Jiaqi's grandmother used to work there, so she must have taken care of you. I plan to work at the welfare home soon; I really want to see firsthand how the children there grow up. I've read

your letter repeatedly. Your perspective has given me great inspiration. Back then, I truly lacked self-respect—it was my own fault; at first, I even enjoyed it.

But now I'm still very confused, unable to summarize anything, only knowing that certain things must be done. You said, "If you don't live like this, you won't feel comfortable," and now I've truly experienced that firsthand.

Now I can only take it one step at a time; perhaps after I've done it, I'll understand.

Finally, I want to ask for your opinion. Because I still want to know about your past through Jiaqi's grandmother, and also to find out why your parents abandoned you. If you allow it, I'll proceed with this. If you don't allow it, I'll stop.

Erwen

:

First, I think even if I say no, you'll still investigate. You just won't tell me the results. So, do what you want.

Secondly, I also want to know the truth, but I don't really want to investigate; I have a strange resistance to it. If you can find out the results, whatever they may be, tell me everything truthfully. I might not be able to face it, but I'll be mentally prepared for everything I can.

Finally, don't try to draw any conclusions. Living well is the best conclusion. Indeed, every problem has an answer. But you don't need to find answers every time you encounter a problem. Living well in the present is much more important than finding answers.

Le Mei:

What are you daydreaming about?

Suddenly I feel like I've left my hometown, I miss that city.

I felt the same way when I visited you. Everything felt familiar yet strange. Every scene was new, full of freshness, but without any resonance, naturally intensifying my longing for home.

So you can speak seriously after all.

What do you mean? Do you like me scolding you? So pathetic.

No. I quite like your seriousness, it's very attractive. I smiled slightly at her.

Are you trying to pick me up? Get lost, you haven't even started working and you're already thinking about picking up girls.

I looked at her, smiled, nodded, and looked back at the scenery outside the window, longing for my hometown.

Longing for my hometown is a new feeling for me. I used to think I didn't have a real home, no hometown to miss. However, the seeds of a hometown had already been planted in my heart, it's just that I hadn't left home yet. Once I left home, the seed began to grow, becoming a tree of memories full of people and things, lingering in my heart. Even some people I've never liked appeared in it, and the memories they evoked became warm. Maybe it's because I'm so far from home that I especially need warmth. Maybe the purpose of home is warmth.

We sat there, each lost in thought.

By the way, have you always gotten along this well with your grandma?

More or less. I was quite naughty when I was little, and my parents were always angry, but my grandma always protected me. Back then, I thought my grandma was wonderful, like a savior. As I grew up, I somehow made her angrier and angrier, and eventually I ran away from home. But later I realized that no matter how much they scolded me or how angry they were, they still loved me.

She paused, then continued, "Maybe it's because my grandma was too protective of me before. I thought that if someone always went along with me, that meant they loved me. Later I realized that love isn't like that." "

Then what is love?" "

For me, being able to live with family and feel warmth is love. It's simple. Of course, there's a major prerequisite: you have to respect each other. Otherwise, there will be class antagonism in the relationship, and struggle will naturally keep arising." "

Well said. Class antagonism." Going to sell jewelry is a waste of your talent.

Selling jewelry also requires talent. Don't look down on selling jewelry. There is no noble or lowly job. You're talking about class antagonism.

Yes, my mind is full of antagonism, full of struggle, just like my parents. I think. If

I didn't have class antagonism, I wouldn't know what to do for a while. Should I discard it?

Not entirely. With this, you can easily distinguish between respect and class antagonism. And you can also understand the ins and outs of class antagonism. As the saying goes, "Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will win every battle." Why discard it? You just don't know how to use it yet.

It's nice to meet you,

you idiot .

On April 26th of that year, Le Mei was secretly taken in by the then dean. The dean personally handed her over to me to take care of, and instructed me not to let anyone know whose child she was, nor to let her know whose child she was.

Therefore, she could no longer be called by her original name, and was renamed Le Mei. In fact, the dean said that he didn't even know what the child's original name was, only that her father's name was Yang Zhenguo, a university teacher. The mother's name was He Yong, and she was her husband's teaching assistant.

Le Mei was only a few months old at the time, very thin, and had caught a severe cold after being left on the street for a long time. It took more than a month of treatment to recover. Later, when she was over two years old, she still couldn't speak, and we were really afraid that the fever had damaged her brain. "

I want to ask a question," Jiaqi said.

"

What happened to her parents?"

"Dead.

How did they die?" she continued to ask.

"Suicide." "

Why!" I asked. "

Back then, there was a group of people whose leaders said they had nothing, so they organized themselves, picked up guns, and arrested those who thought they had everything but were ideologically incorrect. After arresting them, they were subjected to a campaign called 're-education.' Some were forced to write confessions and made to do the dirtiest and hardest work—confessing why they were so rich, why they secretly kept a pig, and so on. Some were taken to a room that had previously been used to deal with spies for strict ideological re-education. Later, some people, knowing they had been labeled as ideologically incorrect, committed suicide. Some out of fear, some to maintain their dignity. That's how it was back then. But it seems that current history textbooks don't write about it, so you wouldn't have any idea what it was about. But when these people who had nothing wrote about foreign history, they wrote about German fascism. You can refer to that. If the people in the story were our people, then..." "

So that means her parents were labeled as ideologically incorrect?" Jiaqi asked. "

Keeping a pig means being ideologically incorrect?" I asked.

"Yes, they became enemies. As for her parents, they were probably labeled as 'wrong' because they were intellectually minded and educated," Grandma said. "

Then what kind of support can make them allies?" I asked.

"What kind of question is that? Are you afraid no one will support you?" Jiaqi paused and continued, "What kind of thinking is correct?"

Grandma looked at me and said, "To reform is to help them raise pigs. So, to become allies, you still have to raise pigs." Then Grandma looked at Jiaqi and said, "As for correctness, it never exists. Nothing is correct, including thoughts."

Jiaqi and I were silent.

Later, Le Mei was able to speak again. Just when I thought everything would be alright, the director was also arrested. Soon after, the director died in prison—a knife wound to the abdomen, a knife wound to the chest, and a knife wound to the neck. They told everyone that the director committed suicide out of guilt. Everyone nodded in agreement. Afterwards, Le Mei's background was revealed, and fortunately, that's when the atmosphere began to ease, and she was able to survive. However, everyone was used to keeping their distance from her to avoid a sudden change in the atmosphere.

I wanted to ask another question. "Were there laws back then?" Jiaqi said.

"What a joke." "Which country doesn't have laws? It's just that someone said that if there are laws, then the country should be governed by

law," I said. Back then, people with nothing could execute a thief who stole clothes on the spot. Laws do exist, but they only exist in books, Grandma said. "Grandma

, please continue," she rolled her eyes at me.

When she was about ten years old, a male caregiver started seeing her frequently. Later, it was discovered that the male caregiver was molesting her. When we questioned Le Mei, she said she was happy when someone talked to her, and didn't understand much else, except that she felt uncomfortable when being touched. Finally, the male caregiver ran away, leaving her alone. Everyone started to isolate her even more, and occasionally bullied her. At that time, I had to take care of Jia Qi and didn't want to get involved, so I could only help her secretly. About six months later, she left on her way to school. We couldn't find her anywhere. What happened to her?

According to her, she went to the south. As for how she got there, I didn't ask. After arriving in the south, she did odd jobs everywhere, and gradually started working in a factory, where she met a boyfriend. Later, she developed a uterine disease and had to have it removed. Her boyfriend left her. After that, she continued working, got promoted quickly, and now she's abroad. "

So it seems she's doing alright," I said. "Can you still have children after a hysterectomy?" Grandma asked.

"No. She doesn't even have menstruation anymore," Jiaqi said.

"What about marriage? What about life?" Grandma said. "

Besides not being able to have children, a hysterectomy won't affect anything else. Now, Sister Lemei is very beautiful and voluptuous," Jiaqi said. "

And she has a great presence too," I said.

"That's good, that's good." Grandma said, her eyes glistening with tears. "This is a way of giving an explanation to her parents and the hospital director. Those years really did a lot of harm. You young people must remember not to repeat their mistakes. Those seemingly ignorant people are the most dangerous. They dare to do anything, not out of courage, but out of ignorance.

If there weren't such dictators, I guess the ignorant wouldn't be so dangerous," I said. "

It's precisely because there are so many ignorant people that dictators can exploit them," Jiaqi said.

"If that's the case, even if the ignorant are gone, dictators can still exploit other things," I said.

"How are dictators born?" Jiaqi said. "

When there are many ignorant people." I said. "

The answer is obvious, you idiot." Jiaqi said.

"Hey, Qing," I said to the other end of the phone.

"I thought you didn't remember me."

"I've always remembered you, but I didn't have the courage to contact you."

"Contacting me requires courage?"

"Perhaps I shouldn't use the word courage. It's hard to explain in a short time."

"Where are you living now?"

"Jiuquan, Gansu."

"How did you end up so far away?"

"It's hard to explain in a few words."

"Why can't you explain your own situation?"

I was silent.

"Will you come back?"

"I'm sorry, I'm still not sure."

"Then let me be the one to say for sure. I'm not that man's mistress anymore. I'm back in school now, studying interior design. I'll stay in this city."

"Good, very good. Do what you want to do, and work hard."

"Thank you. Call me if you come back. I'll wait for you. Goodbye."

I wanted to reply, to say something more. However, before I could figure out what to say, she hung up. I understood what she wanted to convey.

Suddenly, I remembered a conversation I had with her.

"What would you do if I fell in love with you?" she asked, lying beside me.

"Then I would fall in love with you too," I said, turning to look at her.

"What if I stopped loving you?" she asked, looking at me.

"I would still love you."

"Lie. I can see through that look."

"Okay. I did lie about that, I admit it."

"You can't lie anymore, at most you can only say you don't know. So I understand, but you can try not to hurt me."

"Okay. I understand. So what would you do if I fell in love with you?"

"Pretend I don't know."

"What if I confessed to you?"

"I would refuse."

"I can see through that look."

"That's good. I will definitely lie, I won't tell the truth."

"To protect myself," I said, lying flat on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

"I have many things I need to protect. And some things, once lost, can never be regained."

"I understand," I said, looking at her.

I snapped out of my daze and called Jiaqi.

"What would you do if I told you I've fallen in love with you?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Tell me, what would you do?"

"Who uses 'if' to confess their love? Who confesses over the phone? You idiot! I'm at home, come back right now!" She hung up immediately.

I rushed into the elevator and quickly pressed the 13th floor button.

"How did you get here so fast?"

"I was just downstairs."

"Idiot!"

"I love you."

"I'll think about it."

I pulled her close and said, "You have one second."

"I..."

I kissed her before she could answer.

(53364 words

) [The End]

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