She finished with someone else.

Coco suddenly texted me to say she was getting married.

I replied with eight words: "Hehe, when? I'll come."

I admire myself for being so indifferent. Our past intimacy has led to her becoming someone else's bride. And I can be so indifferent.

Actually, we've been broken up for a year, but I'm not as decisive as some people. For example, deleting her phone number, QQ number, MSN, and so on. I didn't.

Because I know all her numbers by heart, they're etched in my mind. They're like tattoos in my brain. Deleting them would be pointless, just self-deception.

She texted me again, one word: "Okay."

That day was Friday.

I lit a cigarette, a 520, with a heart on the back. I once finished a carton in two days, then glued the cigarettes together to make a big heart and gave it to her. But I never expected to develop the habit of smoking women's cigarettes.

I called Gangzi.

I said, "Gangzi, wanna go to a bar and 'pick up girls'?"

He said, "I'm free. The girls on *** Road don't need to be too pretty, a few hundred will do. He has rooms, so it'll save you money."

I laughed and scolded him, then hung up.

Without realizing it, the cigarette burned my finger, burned out, and went out.

I fiddled with my phone, thinking about how to send her some sarcastic words to provoke her, the woman who once vowed to marry me, the woman who once said she'd run away with me even if I killed someone.

I typed a text: "Coco, did you sleep with that man? ...Did you also tell him you were a virgin, and then tell him you lost it riding a bicycle? Or, did you get a hymen repaired? It doesn't cost much these days."

I struggled with the text for a long time before finally pressing send.

After sending it, I regretted it; I pressed the cancel button too late, and the reply had already been received.

The phone vibrated quickly; she replied with four words: "He doesn't care."

My hand trembled. She already knew I was provoking her. She already knew! Yet she replied to my text so calmly. I could even guess her tone—utterly emotionless, yet carrying a sense of pride and protectiveness.

She no longer loved me.

Only because she no longer loved me could she be so calm.

Only because she no longer loved me could she carry that kind of protectiveness and belief—about that man.

Perhaps right now, she had just finished making love with that man. Or perhaps, she was about to go to that man's house.

I opened QQ, clicked on her grayed-out avatar, and typed five words: Don't marry him. After typing, I noticed her QQ signature: Getting married, happiness, husband, I love you.

My heart trembled.

I smoked two more cigarettes, quietly staring at the computer screen, quietly staring at her signature, but my finger couldn't bring itself to press "enter."

I decided to take revenge.

I changed my signature to: A lying woman is like a semen container.

She came online. I stared at her avatar, hoping she would say something, even if we had a big fight and said some hurtful things.

She didn't say a word to me for two hours, only sending a QQ message at the end: "Next Saturday, 6 PM, BD Hotel, just show up." Then her profile picture turned gray.

I decided to go to the wedding. I wanted to see what kind of face that man had, I... wanted to see her.

It's been a year since we broke up. I'd imagined what it would be like when we met again—at a hotel entrance, on the subway, at KFC, a karaoke bar, McDonald's, and so on. I even planned out our conversation. But I never expected it to be at her wedding. How could I say that? How could I plan it? Coco

's tone in her texts and on QQ was so strong, so harsh, like a vicious old woman. Where was all the gentleness she used to have?

Actually, if she had just said something to congratulate me, something that made me think she still cared about me even a little, I wouldn't hate her so much now.

Maybe "hate" isn't the right word. I don't even know what my current state of mind is. Is it resentment? Is it reluctance to let go? Is it unwillingness, loneliness, emptiness? Or perhaps a fit of madness? I don't know.

I had a dream last night, but I forgot what it was about. I vaguely remember taking revenge.

Some people say that if you don't wake up and recall a dream within 20 seconds, you'll quickly forget it.

In the dream, maybe I stabbed that cheating couple to death? Maybe I threw our old photos in that man's face? Or maybe I went on a drunken rampage?

Is that revenge? I don't know.

But remembering her words, "He doesn't care," I felt a chill run down my spine. All my malicious thoughts vanished.

She trusted a man so much! I could imagine that tone; it was something she'd never used on me.

It turns out I still can't let her go. I suddenly realized.

Now, I want to talk about Coco and me.

Coco and I met on the internet. The internet is a great thing; unlike QQ, it allows registration and login with your real name. If you want to find handsome guys, beautiful girls, or chat buddies, go there. Yes, it's better than QQ, better than MSN. There was none of the chaos of local forums, and the chances of encountering transvestites were much lower.

Like most lonely men and women, we hit it off and found we shared a common loneliness and boredom.

That year, I was 23, and she was 20. I was a senior in college, and she was a freshman.

Oh, right, it was a summer day.

So, I asked her to go swimming.

I think swimming pools are the best place to see a woman's figure, no matter what kind of messy makeup she has on her face or where there's grease on her body. You'll be exposed in the pool.

My original plan was that if Coco was a dinosaur, okay, after swimming, we'd never contact each other again; otherwise, we could keep in touch.

Coco was very tall, around 177cm, almost the same height as me, and definitely taller than me if she wore heels. She had a great figure, with a pair of straight, beautiful legs. She was wearing a tank top and hot pants, with no makeup on her face, a perfect blend of sexiness and innocence. I decided on the spot that I would keep in touch.

That day, I deliberately wore a tank top and plaid shorts, showing off my well-defined muscles. I work out.

When it comes to women, some people look at their face, some at their breasts, some at their overall proportions. As for me, I like legs.

Clearly, Coco had that quality; her legs were not only beautiful but also long.

Of course, heaven doesn't bestow all advantages on one woman. Coco's looks were average, except for a small tiger tooth, which gave her a slight resemblance to Li Xiaolu when she smiled. We had

a pleasant chat while swimming, and I treated her to Northwest Wolf (a type of Chinese restaurant chain).

That night, unable to suppress my restless heart, I texted Coco: "Be my girlfriend."

She replied quickly: "If you just want to play around, forget it."

I replied: "Of course not."

She replied: "Okay.

" ...

Everything unfolded so naturally, it was almost unbelievable to me. I had been prepared for a long haul.

Honestly, I didn't take it seriously. I liked her beauty, her height, her long legs. What did she like about me? I didn't know. Anyway, I was in love again. I use "again" because I'd had several relationships before. As for her, why did she agree so readily? ...Maybe she'd just gone through a failed relationship? Maybe she needed a bed partner, but that didn't seem likely. Or maybe she was infatuated with my well-defined muscles?

Whatever, the point wasn't the process, but the result: I was in love, that's all. Perhaps calling it love isn't quite right. Because I didn't intend to cherish, protect, or understand her. I was just infatuated with her figure, her long legs. I just needed a woman I could show to my friends without losing face, and she was perfect.

The relationship started off intensely. That's how it usually is.

She texted me saying she'd had a boyfriend who went to Australia. To put it nicely, it was a peaceful breakup; to put it bluntly, he dumped her.

She said she was deeply hurt.

I texted her: I'll be good to you, do everything I can.

Actually, at that time, I wasn't in love with her. I had a crush on her, I liked her, but not love.

I wanted to sleep with her. And so it went.

The second time we met, that night, we kissed. In the small garden in front of her building.

She told me it was her first time, her first kiss. Her tongue was clumsy, her teeth would bite me. I believed her.

I didn't do anything else with my hands, just gently held her. Even I was surprised. Her snow-white skin, her long legs, such intense sensual stimulation, I really couldn't resist, but strangely, my hands were unusually obedient, gently holding her, like an innocent young boy.

Her eyes were clear, without any feigned coquetry.

Now I'm a little curious, curious why she agreed to be my girlfriend, why she could give me her first kiss so readily on our second meeting.

I didn't ask. I couldn't bring myself to ask. How could I ask? Should I ask her, "Um, Coco, why did you kiss me?" ...Asking like that, what do you take her for? A slut? Someone anyone can kiss?

She said she had to be home by 10 pm, like Cinderella, she had to go home on time, otherwise her mother would scold her and come looking for her.

I chuckled; she was a good girl.

I walked her home.

Before she went upstairs, she waved to me, giving me a sweet, pure smile.

In that instant, my heart fluttered. I'm not the type to fall in love at first sight. I wouldn't be captivated by her looks or figure and fall madly in love with her. That's a plot from a third-rate soap opera. And I won't.

I believe love has nothing to do with beauty, figure, or long legs; it's a feeling, an emotion. And this feeling and emotion can only be built through long-term contact.

Time breeds affection; I don't believe in love at first sight.

Her smile made me feel a little guilty. I didn't quite understand why myself.

She had a good upbringing; she was beautiful, considerate, and most importantly, she didn't have the worldliness that most people born in the 80s and 90s have. Such a wonderful girl, and I'm officially dating her? And my initial intention was simply to satisfy my hormones, to have her long legs draped over my neck. That's all.

...I'm despicable.

Coco, she's not a bar girl!!! She's not the kind of bar girl who frequents bars, hotels, and moves among men!!!

...

I suddenly made a decision. I decided to nurture this relationship, regardless of my motives. Whether it's self-reflection, sleeping with her, or whatever, I decided to treat her well, to truly consider her my girlfriend, not just a tool for sexual gratification.

At 2 a.m. that night, I texted her: I will treat you well, to the best of my ability.

Just like the text I sent the night before. But I had changed.

It wasn't that I didn't want to sleep with her; frankly, I wanted to, really wanted to. But she was my girlfriend, not just a casual sex partner. I started to have a little sense of responsibility towards her, and with responsibility comes the inability to sleep with her casually. If it's just about venting lust, you can go to a bar, or even a prostitute; there's no responsibility involved.

But since I've decided to commit, I can't do that. I can think about it, but I can't, at least not now. That's my principle.

Actually, I'm not that noble. Once we know each other better, and she agrees, I'll devour her like a wolf.

I took a couple of puffs of my cigarette, holding my phone, texting her, and thinking about her awkwardness during our kiss. I laughed out loud.

No man in this world doesn't want his woman to be a virgin; no man doesn't want a woman to give him her first time, including a kiss.

Maybe some men will say, "I don't care."

Then please remember, caring and hoping are two different things. Not caring doesn't mean you don't want it.

Like an exam, you don't care about getting a zero, but you still hope for a good result, even if it's just a small fantasy.

Like beauty, you don't care about your appearance, but you still hope to be beautiful, even if others' compliments are lies.

That's why her awkwardness boosted my vanity several notches.

That night, we texted each other late into the night.

I laid my back on everything, telling her that despite my well-dressed appearance, I was actually poor, and my family wasn't wealthy either.

In all my past relationships, I'd always explained my family's financial situation. I wouldn't try to impress someone rich or overweight; that's childish stuff, something I did when I was younger—it's pointless and only leads to losing both money and love. Since we were dating, it was good to be open about our family circumstances to avoid unhappiness. I don't agree with the concept of "marrying someone of equal social standing," but it's an objective reality.

She said it didn't matter, as long as I was ambitious. Money can be earned, but character can't be earned; I'm a good person.

She actually called me a good person?! I initially just wanted to sleep with her, that was all! Is that what she calls a good person?

I was surprised and felt guilty.

After a long while, I asked her why. Why did she say I was a good person?

She replied: "You're sincere and honest. Since we're dating, there shouldn't be any secrets."

I suddenly understood.

I suddenly remembered she was only 20, a freshman in college.

When I was her age, wasn't I just as innocent?

I lit another cigarette and sent a text: Sleep well, it's late. Goodnight~ She replied: Okay. Goodnight~.

That night, I slept soundly.

Some things must be remembered, and how to forget them is also important. All the past seems laughable now.

Forever? It's just a dead end.

...When I woke up that night, I looked at the clock; it was already 8:30. Unless I've stayed up all night, I usually get up around this time.

After getting up, I changed my QQ signature. It used to be: Single, your name is "Better to be single than settle for less." Now it's: I have a girlfriend.

I'll be bold and say it: I'm not ugly. If looks were on a scale of 100, I'd give myself a 75-85. I'm also aware that I'm far from being "stunningly handsome." As for my physique, I'm quite confident. I've been working out for many years; my build isn't huge, but it's not small either, and my lines are well-defined.

There are two main reasons I'm saying all this and changing my signature. First, a girl at school was pursuing me, but I didn't accept her. The reason is no different from any other ordinary guy: she's not my type—in other words, she's not good-looking. Her legs aren't long either. Second, I want my friends to ask me questions so I can get a picture of Coco (my girlfriend), and then I can proudly show it off to my damn buddies and make them envious. It's vanity at play.

My ex-girlfriend, we dated for three years, our relationship was great, almost to the point of marriage, but unfortunately, her parents didn't approve of me. Her family was well-off and valued a good match. In other words, they thought my family wasn't wealthy enough. They felt that marrying such a beautiful girl to me would be worse than her becoming a rich man's mistress—she'd be well-off and could even help support the family. Marrying me wouldn't only prevent her from contributing, but she might even have to pay me out of pocket sometimes.

What a perfect match! I understand. I broke up with her. My friends said I was stupid, saying that marrying her would save me at least five or six years of hard work, if not ten. I think they're the stupid ones. Could I even marry her? No. Her parents made it clear: I'm not stupid, there's no chance between us, it's impossible. She's not the kind of person who would do anything for love; in the face of reality, everyone has to bow their heads. Why force it? Let it go.

I remember when I said goodbye, I was direct and manly, as if I were the one rejecting her, not her parents looking down on me.

My text message was just three words: "Let's break up."

Her text reply was also just three words: "I'm sorry."

Not long after, I heard from a friend that she went to study in some other country.

A swift stroke of the sword is often said to cut through the mess. It's said that in ancient times, the faster an executioner's blade struck, the shorter

the pain lasted for the victim. My blade struck quickly, but back then, it hurt!! It hurt terribly.

Afterwards, I numbed myself with alcohol, frequenting bars and hotels. I drifted through life, meeting one after another wolves in sheep's clothing disguised as ladies. They were either lonely and bored, or young and energetic, and all had a strong need for sex. Bars were just for fun; I could make vows of eternal love to the bar girls, promising to be more handsome than a handsome man in bed. But I still felt pain, and I could only indulge myself like this to forget.

Not all bar girls were prostitutes; there were students, office ladies, all sorts of people. And my relationship with them was limited to sex; I didn't think anything more.

Some bar girls would contact me, sometimes not for sex, just to have a meal as friends and chat about random things. In life, there are some things you can't say to friends, or even to acquaintances, and strangers become the best confidants. Sometimes they talk, sometimes I talk. I'm happy with it.

They talk about all sorts of trivial things, like how someone in her dorm has a problem with her, or which teacher is a pervert. Or someone says a customer is weird, doesn't follow the usual path. Or someone says her boss is gay and harasses her, and she doesn't want to lose her job.

They seem to trust me so much, but we've already made it clear to each other not to ask about each other's affairs or disturb each other's lives.

It's good this way. We're together when we need to, and apart when we don't. We don't interfere with each other, we don't even know each other's real names, just English names, which are all made up. For example, sometimes I'm called Jack, sometimes Sky, or Blue, Yellow, or other color words.

But I've only ever had one QQ account, the one with two suns on it. Everyone I know is on it, including the bar girls.

So, I changed my QQ signature. Of course, firstly, it was for vanity; secondly, it was to send a signal to those young girls at school and the bar girls that they should stop contacting each other.

Everyone was incredibly gossipy about my situation, just like they were obsessed with spying on the likes of Hilton and Gillian Chung. I signed my name in the morning, and soon after, someone sent me a message asking about it.

"You bastard, finally have a stable 'partner'?" The first message was from Mao Mao. Mao Mao is called Mao Mao because of his long, thick leg hair. He's one of my two best buddies, the other being Gangzi.

When Mao Mao mentioned the word 'partner,' his tone was unmistakably lewd, practically adding an "X" before it.

"Your dad's the one selling himself! I'm in love, I've completely abandoned the bar, buddy, I've seen the light and decided to be a decent person. From now on, I'll leave the historical responsibility of satisfying the bar girls to you. I know you're suffering, I'll get you a couple of bottles of Viagra sometime." I laughed and scolded.

Mao Mao seemed to jump up upon hearing this, very excited.

"You want to be a decent human being?? You've ruined countless women... You've got calluses all over your body, and you still call yourself human?? You should be arrested and studied!! You're just a walking xxx."

Speaking of my two brothers, that's a long story. Gangzi is my college classmate. Mao Mao is someone I met at a bar. The way I met Mao Mao was quite legendary.

That day, Gangzi and I came to hang out. Gangzi had his eye on a girl, but after arguing for ages, he couldn't get her. Mao Mao suddenly appeared out of nowhere and snatched the "dish" Gangzi had chosen. Gangzi was furious and wanted to fight, but he had no reason to. If a woman doesn't like you, it's your fault for not being good enough, not someone else's. Besides, Gangzi was worried that Mao Mao wasn't alone and might get hurt in a fight. So Gangzi provoked me, saying that if I avenged him for stealing the "dish," he'd do whatever he wanted. I didn't say anything, just gave him the middle finger.

Fueled by alcohol, I went over to Mao Mao. That guy Mao Mao was wriggling around with a heavily made-up "dish." This girl looked very friendly; I think I'd met her before.

Sure enough, she winked at me and gave me a flirty look. And so, this scene unfolded: Mao Mao was dancing with the girl, tightly embracing her, while I was kissing her behind him.

Mao Mao got angry, and naturally, a fight broke out. There were three of them—Mao Mao and his friends—plus Gangzi and me.

After dealing with them, we all ended up in the police station. Although Gangzi and I won, we were both badly injured. Gangzi's head was smashed open with a bottle, and my left eye was swollen like an egg; the doctor said I almost went blind. Mao Mao lost the fight, but his injuries weren't serious, and since he started the fight, the police suggested he pay a fine and settle it privately.

I was already sober; after all, I was still a student, and making a scene wouldn't look good for anyone. I tossed a cigarette to Mao Mao and his friends, pointed to my left eye, and said, "Damn, who kicked me? That was a really hard kick."

Mao Mao, being a straightforward person, immediately handed 1000 yuan to Gangzi and me, saying, "You guys weren't exactly gentle either."

I refused outright. What kind of logic is it to mess with someone's woman, get into a fight, and then expect them to pay you? In the end, 　　the three of them (Mao Mao, Gangzi, and Mao Mao)

treated Gangzi and me to dinner to settle the matter. From then on, Mao Mao became a part of my life. Me, Gangzi, and Mao Mao, we called ourselves the Three Musketeers, the Invincible Three Scoundrels. 　　The second person to ask me a question was Gangzi. 　　Gangzi wasn't online, but after hearing what Mao Mao had said, he quickly called me. His words were quite earnest. 　　"Brother, I heard you've been kept by a rich woman? Tell me, what happened, how much does she pay you a month?" 　　"Get lost, Gangzi, I'm serious, I'm in love. Not the bar girl type, but a very pure girl, 20 years old, in college," I said earnestly.

"Then you'll have to sneak off to bars from now on."

"I've decided not to go to bars anymore, Gangzi. Brother, let me tell you, a man going to a bar is like a dog rummaging through a trash can. Brother, I don't want to rummage through trash cans anymore."

"You son of a bitch, when you're starving, you'll still be rummaging through trash cans." Gangzi cursed.

Gangzi and I were both good-for-nothings. His dad was in construction, I don't know exactly what, kind of like a foreman. His family had some money, he drove his own car, and he was very generous. He always paid for our outings, and if anyone tried to take it from him, he'd get angry. He was very straightforward.

We were birds of a feather, so we naturally became good friends. He would always pick me up in his car when we went to bars, and then we'd go together. This guy had a foul mouth and liked to insult people, saying things that offended others. It was alright at school, but outside, he was bound to get into fights. As for me, although I wasn't a troublemaker, I felt obligated to help him when he got into trouble.

Gangzi and I chatted about some random topics, and knowing I was serious, he finally gave up on trying to persuade me to change my ways.

The third person who asked me what was going on was the girl who had a crush on me in college.

I told her, "Really, it's not to avoid you. You're a good girl, but you're too young… too young. Due to personality differences, I don't think we're compatible. I believe you can find someone more suitable for you."

Although I sounded insincere, it was sincere. She then asked about my current girlfriend. I had to continue the story; she's a year older than me, already working, and we love each other, etc. Finally, I managed to avoid her.

The fourth person was a bar girl; if I remember correctly, she should be an office lady. Why "should"? Don't forget what I said earlier—we never ask about each other's lives, including their professions. But you can guess from casual conversation.

"Sky, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes, I do."

My tone was cold, quite different from before. She was sensible enough; her QQ avatar went dark. No more entanglement.

Afterwards, several other unwilling people contacted me via QQ or phone. I told them all the truth; this sentimental wanderer had finally found a safe harbor.

...Coco didn't get up until after midnight and called me, asking why I hadn't called her. I said I was afraid of waking her.

I asked Coco for her QQ number, and she slowly recited a string of numbers, as if she wasn't fully awake.

Coco's QQ name was keke, just Chinese characters replaced with pinyin, unlike the names of young girls these days, which might have names like "Moonlit Night," "Left Hand Holding Right Hand," "Sad Leaf," or other strange symbols. Its simplicity surprised me. And her avatar level was a pitiful three little stars, utterly insignificant compared to my two suns.

She told me her QQ account had been hacked, she had applied for a report of loss, but for some reason couldn't get it back, so she created a new one, hence the low level, and she didn't even have a QQ space.

I asked her to come out, but she said she wasn't feeling well and it was so hot, so she wanted to stay home and just chat with me. Then

it dawned on me—she was on her period.

We video-chatted.

I tried my best to make Coco laugh, to get her smiling. I love seeing her laugh; when she laughs, a little tiger tooth on her left side sticks out from under her lip, it's incredibly cute.

"A rooster and a hen, what's five characters?"

"I don't know. Tell me, hurry up... Did you hear me? Tell me!" Coco waved her little fists at me fiercely.

"Silly, two chickens."

"A rooster and a hen, what's seven characters?... Can't guess, right?...Silly, still two chickens."

Coco giggled incessantly.

"Coco, can you do me a favor?" I said seriously.

Seeing my sudden seriousness, Coco immediately stopped laughing and asked nervously, "What favor?"

"Can you help me find a path?"

"What path?"

"The path to your heart."

Coco blushed deeply. She giggled for a while longer. "You're so mushy, I can't handle you." "

Shall we go to a hotel for a while?" she texted me.

We'd only known each other for a month, yet we were already exchanging sweet nothings and were inseparable.

But it was too fast, I felt it was too fast. If she were a bar girl, let alone knowing her for a month, even if we only spent a few minutes together, if it was consensual, we'd go to a hotel.

But Coco, she wasn't like that; she was my girlfriend.

I didn't consider myself noble, never.

I wanted to have sex with her. From the beginning until now, I've always felt that way.

I thought I was the one making this request, and I even came up with countless reasons for it.

For example, I'd found a really good movie, and we could go to a hotel and watch it together? Or maybe we could just relax. Or, I could put on a nonchalant, melancholic expression and tell her I was feeling down and wanted to find a quiet place to talk alone.

But I never said any of that. She was my girlfriend, not a bar girl, and certainly not someone I could use for sexual gratification.

She was a seductive girl who ignited my desires. Yet, she was also an innocent girl, and that innocence could restrain my lustful ambitions.

I didn't understand why she would make such a request. Of course, I wasn't arrogant enough to think I was some kind of extraordinary man who would make women fall head over heels for me at first sight.

I understand women's needs; I know they can be stronger than men's sometimes. But I never expected her to be so direct. I didn't even understand what she was thinking.

My hand, holding the phone, was slightly sweaty.

I care about her; she's my girlfriend, so I'm nervous, I overthink things.

Instead of guessing, I decided to ask directly.

"Why?" I asked.

She replied, "My parents argued, I'm in a bad mood, and I want to be with you quietly."

I breathed a sigh of relief, relieved. So that's it. I had been interpreting her meaning based on my own understanding—how utterly foolish.

She's a smart girl; she must have something important to tell me.

I hailed a taxi and rushed over. She was waiting for me at the entrance of the apartment complex. It was summer, and her smooth legs were on full display, making my eyes water and arousing my desire. "

I've already booked a room at Motel 168," she said.

I was startled and asked, "How did you get that phone number?"

She tapped my head. "Silly, I called 114 to find it, didn't I?"

I suddenly understood, relieved, but had a strange, inexplicable feeling. But quickly, that feeling was washed away by her fair thighs.

For some reason, I felt like an innocent young virgin, absent-minded the whole way.

My thoughts drifted left and right. Left: I'll sleep with her. Right: No matter what, I have to resist.

My heart was pounding. Coco wasn't some clueless elementary school student. Was she implying that I could?

I looked at her thighs. She looked out the window.

She was expressionless, lost in thought. Her eyes were clear, not at all like someone ready to give herself to me.

My desire gradually subsided. She wasn't moved. She didn't want to.

I suddenly felt terrified. Afraid that if I lost control and did it, she would blame me and leave me.

After we started dating, I didn't go to a bar or have sex with any other woman for a month. For the past, that was unbelievable. Now, I could only restrain myself. But I was afraid I wouldn't be able to resist. Imagine

going to a hotel with a beautiful woman in the summer, wearing hot pants and a tank top. If it were you, could you resist doing nothing? ...Could you resist? Okay, you're either a saint or Sima Qian.

My current state of restraint is like watching Ultraman for the first time in Gangzi and Mao Mao's eyes. They even thought I had contracted AIDS, or that I had overexerted myself and now had to retire.

Actually, I really want to do it, but I've been holding back.

I think I've fallen in love with her, and it has nothing to do with lust. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to control myself.

motel168.

...Faced with her, I finally couldn't resist and succumbed to my hormones. I roughly kissed her, violently ripped off her clothes, and pounced on her like a dog.

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, trembling slightly.

I noticed her eyes, an indescribable feeling. But it wasn't passion, it wasn't lust.

She noticed me looking at her, her empty eyes meeting mine.

I was horrified. I was truly horrified; her gaze was strange, I couldn't even think of a word to describe it. It was an emptiness, a sorrowful yet mocking quality, and even those three words couldn't capture a fraction of what it held.

I felt as if a bucket of water had been poured over my head. All my passion vanished.

I stopped, thankfully not going any further, otherwise, I know, she probably would never forgive me?

I got up and took a cold shower.

Then, quietly looking at her, I said, "I'm sorry."

She gently stroked my face with her hand; the coldness of her hand sent a chill down my spine. "It's alright, women, aren't they just for men to abuse?"

she said. Her tone wasn't mournful, nor resentful, but rather flat, like a monk or nun chanting scriptures in a temple.

Her gaze was fixed on me as if I were looking at thin air. Worldly, sophisticated, and serene.

I couldn't utter a word, stunned for a long time. All my desire had vanished. Only a chill ran through me.

She silently put on her clothes, tossed her torn bra into the trash can, and said, "Let's go."

...I took a taxi to send her home.

As she went upstairs, she said goodbye, expressionless, as if speaking to a stranger. "

Goodbye" has three meanings: a reunion, a reunion followed by a parting, or never seeing each other again.

I feared it would be the last. But I didn't reach out to stop her, because I didn't know what to say. And I was afraid of her eyes; I couldn't bear that empty, cold gaze.

I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. I could only watch her go upstairs, the motion-sensor lights flickering on and off.

On the way back, my thoughts swirled and churned, a jumbled mess.

She texted me, and I opened it quickly.

"Honey, my stomach hurts. "

I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful, she was still by my side. She hadn't left me.

In just one month, I was already so deeply in love. "

Wife, drink some milk, it's good for your stomach," I texted back.

Yes, I love her, now, I'm certain. Even though it's only been a month.

Heh, yes, I'm already in love.

Whatever the reason, is it because of her beautiful thighs, her tall figure? Because of her timidly calling me "honey"? Because of her first kiss? I don't know. Whatever, now, I only know I love her. I love this tall, lovely girl.

I'm not a naive young man, I've dated many. I've been intimate many times.

But with her, I can't bear it, she's a virgin, it's her first time.

My reluctance doesn't mean I can tolerate it, but I've never made or hinted at any excessive demands again; I didn't dare.

I'm afraid of her. First, I'm afraid she'll leave me. Second, I'm afraid of her gaze; even thinking about that day sends chills down

my spine. If Gangzi and Mao Mao were around, they'd definitely be winking and yelling, "Yuanbao, Yuanbao, you had a chance to be with me, but you didn't take it!

Are you impotent?" In the six months I've been dating Keke, I haven't introduced her to my buddies. The reason is that we both study, and even on weekends, we crave intimacy and time alone together. We don't want strangers disturbing our romantic life. Besides, I'm afraid those two idiots, Mao Mao and Gangzi, will blurt out all my past romantic escapades. So, my friends and I have only heard of this mysterious woman, never actually seen her.

However, I'll find an opportunity to formally introduce Keke to them eventually. Looking to the future, I'll put my arm around Coco's waist and proudly announce, "Look, this is my wife." They'll definitely be envious, jealous—I'm sure of it. And I, in particular, enjoy that feeling of being envied.

After being with her, I stopped going to bars to "pick up girls," which made some of my buddies start to doubt whether I still had my former virility.

After being with her, I got used to standing to her right because her left ear wasn't good, and she had hearing problems.

After being with her, I interacted with my buddies less.

Her catchphrases are: "Okay." "Oh, I see." "Alright." "Whatever." "I'm full, I don't want to eat anymore."

Sometimes, she'll even say sweetly, "Honey, your saliva is so salty."

...Isn't she adorable?

She can arouse me to the point of burning with desire, but always at the crucial moment, she'll nudge me with her knee, smiling slightly, and say, "No, not until we're married."

Every night, as I light a cigarette and think about it, I feel so happy—all of this. Happiness came so quickly, I'm intoxicated by it. I haven't felt this way in a long time.

February 14th, Valentine's Day.

Despite having dated five or six girlfriends, I've never bought her flowers before. I felt it was unnecessary, just a formality. Even with the woman I dated for three years who moved abroad, I never gave her flowers.

But this time, I decided to buy her some. Although I think it's cliché, I'm willing to change for her.

I asked her, "Honey, what flowers do you want for Valentine's Day? I'll get them for you.

" She answered, "Baby's breath."

I have absolutely no idea about flowers. Blue roses, ice and fire roses—I've never even heard of them. Someone like me only knows about extremes, like an old man pushing a cart.

I called several female friends, asking what baby's breath was. But it turns out it's just something to decorate delicate flowers, practically a weed, and it's so cheap it wouldn't cost more than 20 yuan.

I called her and asked her why she wanted that plant.

She replied, "Sending flowers is so tacky. Flowers are everywhere. Giving baby's breath is different; it's unique."

I was suddenly touched. She was saving me money.

...After we met, I dragged her to the flower shop.

"Honey, pick a bouquet."

Who takes their girlfriend to a flower shop like this?! Idiot...!

She smiled and poked my forehead. Then she bent down, looking at the colorful flowers all over the place.

Finally, she picked up a bunch of grass-like things with tiny white flowers on them and said to the owner, "I want these."

The owner glanced at me and asked, "Do you want them wrapped?"

I said, "Yes."

The owner said, "Pay up, thirty yuan."

Another couple nearby looked me up and down, their eyes making me feel embarrassed.

I obediently paid the owner, feeling utterly ashamed.

...But she skipped around happily, looking at this flower and touching that flower while they were being wrapped.

She loved flowers, loved that damned blue harlot, loved those blood-red roses.

So many times, I wanted to ask the shopkeeper to change to the most expensive roses, but I never got any.

Coco took the flowers, pouted, and gave me a sweet smile. She seemed completely unconcerned, unconcerned about the blue harlot in the woman's hand.

I pulled Coco quickly out of the flower shop.

...Coco held the flowers in her left hand and the large cake she had bought beforehand in her right, skipping and hopping all the way to a tea room. Oblivious to everyone else, she unwrapped the cake, lit six candles, and lit them.

The cake read: AK, I love you—your dearest Coco.

"Honey, do you know why there are six candles?" Coco rested her chin on her hands, blinking at me.

I shook my head, deeply moved.

"Silly, to celebrate our six months of dating." Coco tapped my head, clearly dissatisfied with my answer.

I was speechless, a sharp pain piercing my heart.

I pulled her close.

We kissed passionately. It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us.

We only separated when the waiter came over and said candles weren't allowed.

Sometimes,感动 (a feeling of being moved) happens in an instant, just for a glance, a gesture. I would do anything for you, with all my might… I've been dating Coco for over half a year now, the sweetness and happiness numbing my clear head.

During this time, Mao Mao called me a few times, saying it had been a while since we'd met up, and the guys missed me, reminiscing about our days as the Three Musketeers, roaming the world together, brandishing our weapons. He jokingly asked if I knew anyone at school I wanted to spar with but couldn't, saying they were itching for a fight.

I laughed and scolded him, saying I was busy with my thesis, and the final semester would be busy for a while. I said I'd bring a girl to meet him soon.

He agreed.

Mao Mao always seems to have so much free time; two out of three days he's indulging in nightlife. I still don't know what he does for a living; his time and energy seem to be wasted without a care. Every time I asked him what he did for a living, he would just chuckle lewdly and brush it off. After a few times, I stopped asking; I couldn't be bothered.

...A few bar girls called during this time, mainly about sex, or saying they hadn't talked in a while and wanted to have dinner together, but I politely declined and hinted that they shouldn't call me again. I've been retired from the world of martial arts for many years; I've entrusted my fellow disciples Mao Mao and Gang Zi with the task of helping others, alleviating poverty, and serving the people. If you need anything, you can contact them. I even gave them my phone number.

I don't look down on bar girls at all. But we're definitely not good friends or partners. We just have a transactional relationship, like unscrupulous businessmen chasing profits. The difference is, we chase thrills, and we alleviate loneliness.

...I love Coco and don't want to give them any reason to cause trouble later. So, I'll keep my distance from them in the future.

…On a whim, I bought a carton of 520 cigarettes.

I finished it all in two days. Even though it's a women's cigarette, very mild, finishing a carton in two days still made me feel nauseous.

I planned to use the empty cigarettes to make a big heart shape and give it to her.

My dorm room became even more smoky, and even in winter, we had to keep the windows and doors open to let the smoke dissipate. Gangzi is my roommate, and he gets along fairly well with the other two. They and Gangzi all agreed that I'd lost my mind to undertake this childish feat. They offered to smoke for me and leave the cigarettes for me. Or they could simply break off the cigarettes, leaving only the cigarette butts, and piece them together to make a passable heart. I refused.

Before, when I heard people do things for some ridiculous love, I would scoff and utter two words: "Childish!" But now, when Gangzi and the others say I'm crazy, I just laugh and say to them, "You idiot, do you even understand?" Love, do you understand? It has a touch of Ah Q's self-deception.

When I gave Coco the giant chicken heart made from 520 cigarettes, she was deeply moved.

She looked at me and said, "Hehe, my husband is so silly." Her eyes sparkled with a touching light.

For her, I felt it was worth it, but I knew I hadn't done nearly enough. Without material security, she couldn't be happy. I'm not like Gangzi; his family is rich and can squander money as they please. If his family owns Audis and Mercedes, then mine is just bicycles and scooters. If his family owns a television, then mine is just a radio.

That woman who went abroad last time taught me a lesson—marry someone of equal social standing!

Actually, many times, I feel that love is unequal. When the financial situation of both parties differs too much, love becomes ulterior motives. Like the "ranking of the list" (a metaphor for a relationship where both parties are truly in love, but their circumstances are too disparate), they will inevitably face gossip. Or like me, Lingzi (my ex-girlfriend's name) didn't have a wealthy family that made her unattainable for me, yet we still broke up.

Love exists, but it can't withstand reality.

Times are changing, but bicycles can never outrun Audis and Mercedes, and radios can never generate viewership. Coco

's family is well-off, but I never dared to ask too much. However, I gleaned from snippets of conversation that they owned a car, had a nanny, and lived in a bustling downtown area.

I didn't want her to think I was only trying to please her because of her family's wealth. So, I never inquired about her family's circumstances. For example, what kind of car do you drive? How many square meters is your house?

I was carefully nurturing this relationship.

Coco never asked about my family's situation either, unless I brought it up.

In my senior year of college, I found love, and I seemed to cherish it all the more. I even decided to immediately focus on working hard after graduation, earning money to provide her with better conditions.

Coco was just over 20, only a freshman. I was already 23. So I had time; I had time to work hard.

Sometimes, before going to sleep at night, I would happily fantasize about three years from now, after she graduates, when I have a solid financial foundation, then we'll get married, and then spend our lives together. Whenever I told Gangzi about my thoughts, he would laugh endlessly. He said I probably never experienced love in my past life, and in this life, I'm like a dog in heat when I see love. Then he'd lecture me, basically saying that all women are vain and materialistic, and that I should just have fun and never get involved.

Actually, I agree with Gangzi. The women I've met and the things I've heard all prove this.

...Yes, I agree. Women are all materialistic. If they weren't vain, why would Lingzi have left me for abroad?

But...I still fell in, trapped in Coco's carefully woven web of love. I couldn't extricate myself.

...“Wife, I don't have classes on Fridays now, I'll pick you up from your school from now on.”

“No, no.” Her voice was a little high-pitched, but quickly turned into a smile. It wouldn't be good if someone saw us.

"What's wrong with that?" My heart skipped a beat.

"No, think about it, everyone at school wears heels, and you're so short. Also, there's this fat girl in my class who always talks badly about me, and I don't want people to talk about me..." Coco blinked at me.

I smiled wryly.

Coco was afraid of what others would say.

Seeing that I didn't speak, she shook my arm, "Come on, come on, if you want to come, come on, can I stop you?"

"Who wants to come? I'm not free on Friday." I joked with a smile, but I was very disappointed inside.

...I still won't go. If she doesn't want to, I won't go.

Sometimes I really wonder if I'm spoiling her too much? I can't help it, I love her, I'm willing to spoil her like this, and I'm willing to give everything.

"...Oh, right, honey, it's my brother's birthday on Saturday. He's having a lot of guests on Nanjing Road. I'll take you there and introduce you to a couple of his friends."

"Saturday??...I have something to do on Saturday. I need to see a doctor about my back."

Coco's back is bad, a chronic problem, a herniated disc or something. Whenever she walks a short distance, her back starts to throb intermittently.

"Can't we do it another day?" I asked.

"I already have an appointment with the doctor...maybe next time?"

"Okay," I said sullenly.

"Don't be sad. As compensation, I'll kiss you." Coco looked around and quickly dotted my lips.

I was overjoyed.

She's so adorable.

Writing this, I couldn't help but pull out a 520 cigarette and light it.

But I've never told her that 520 means "I love you."

We eventually had sex.

It started with a kiss, everything natural, consensual.

She stopped looking at me with that cold gaze, because she hadn't even opened her eyes; the entire process had been done with her eyes tightly shut, like a puppet, completely at my mercy.

Her brows were slightly furrowed, her eyelashes trembling, which I interpreted as shyness and pain. This, I thought, was a reaction unique to virgins.

I had no experience with virgins.

But, unlike in novels, her hands didn't scratch or claw at my back—she didn't! She just gripped the sheets tightly, her fingers turning red.

Afterwards, there was no bleeding.

I felt a slight unease, but it didn't matter. I knew women often had these kinds of surprises, for example, during exercise.

Coco opened her eyes, her face pale, seemingly exhausted.

She saw me searching for something, stiffened slightly, her lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but didn't.

A tear struggled to fall from her eye.

Coco turned her head, biting her lip, refusing to look at me.

I felt incredibly ashamed. I admit, I was bothered. Because I love her, and only when you love someone do you want more.

I held her tightly, speechless.

I cursed myself inwardly, calling myself a bastard. Shouldn't lovers trust each other?

Didn't I trust her? ...I did. But if I trusted her, why did I care about her virginity? Why did I care so much about those damn things!

Even if she wasn't a virgin, even if she slept with someone else, even if she lied, even if she lied to me, so what? Should I stop loving her because of these things? ...Even if she lied to me, it was because she loved me, she cared about me. The past is the past; I love the girl curled up in my arms now. It has nothing to do with the past.

My thoughts were a jumble, I just held her tightly.

She cried, from a single tear at first, to biting her lip and sobbing, to finally crying out loud. Her voice was hoarse.

She let me hold her, let me kiss her forehead, but she didn't hug me back.

She curled up like a wounded kitten, naked.

The crying finally stopped, but she kept her eyes closed, refusing to open them, no matter how sweet my words were. She ignored me, just kept her eyes tightly shut.

...After a long while, finally, she slowly opened her eyes, looked at me, and smiled. It was stiff.

"Ak, you have to remember, I, Coco, was your first man. You have to remember!!"

When Coco said this, it wasn't a coquettish remark, nor was it a reproach. It was just a statement, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her.

She continued, "I didn't bleed... I don't know, maybe it's because of riding a bicycle before." Perhaps because she had cried for too long, her voice was a little hoarse.

After saying that, she looked at me, her eyes like a knife piercing my heart.

She didn't give me any face, telling me directly that she knew I cared about that red mark.

At this moment, if I were to offer any further explanation, it would be too hypocritical and pretentious.

I hugged her tightly and whispered "I love you" in her ear.

Her stiff body finally softened, and she wrapped her arms around me, her nails digging deep into my flesh.

I endured the pain, not daring to resist.

Slowly, a smile began to appear in her eyes.

Strangely, this smile sent chills down my spine.

Chills down my spine? Yes, chills down my spine.

I felt that way for the second time.

"Let's break up?

" she said to me the day after we had sex, the first year and twelve days since we met.

I was astonished.

How could there be such a woman? If it were you, would you give your virginity to a man and then break up with him the next day? I believe no one would.

...The more time I spent with Coco, the more thoughts I had, the more afraid I became.

I had never been so afraid of a woman leaving me, and having sex with her was one of my methods.

Although we've only been together for a little over a year, I'm madly in love with her. I'm trying to use her virginity, this clumsy and outdated method, to lock her in, to bind this woman I love so deeply.

Just one year... and I'm so lost.

Love isn't measured by time, is it?

I truly love her. She loves me too, maybe not as deeply as I do, but I can feel it. Besides, if she didn't love me, would she have given me her virginity?

I'm her first man; a normal person would never break up with her the next day, absolutely not!!

I'm guessing, guessing what happened to her.

Is she sick? Like in those third-rate Korean dramas, with some kind of cancer? Is that why she's leaving me?

Is there some kind of trouble in her family? Is that why...? I've asked her all sorts of questions, and she says no.

After my repeated interference, she gave me a reason: I don't respect her. She also said we're incompatible, and so on. Her tone was flat, calm with a hint of weariness, devoid of impulsiveness or anger, only impatience.

I said I would change.

She said, "Forget it, it's alright. I don't like you anymore. What can I do to stop bothering you?"

She'd said it all. Actually, I really wanted to cut ties cleanly, say some harsh words, and never contact her again. But I couldn't. I was worried about her. I kept wondering, what could have happened to this woman to make her so fickle?

I couldn't figure it out.

So, I couldn't help but send another message: "I'm waiting for you downstairs."

She didn't reply.

I waited all night, sitting on the cold concrete floor—all night.

For the first few hours, I comforted myself, fantasizing that she would rush down the stairs, grab me, and we would kiss passionately.

Then, as time dragged on, I gradually became numb.

I didn't text her again. She already knew I was downstairs; if she wanted to, she would come down.

From four in the afternoon, I sat there until five the next morning.

I went to the bathroom five times.

I smoked four packs of cigarettes.

Several times I considered rushing to her apartment building without hesitation, but I didn't. Don't ask me why; I can't explain it, I don't know.

...I fiercely smashed a cigarette butt. She no longer loved me. I was certain.

If she still had even a shred of love for me, she wouldn't have let me sit here, waiting all night.

I stiffly walked out of the apartment complex. The security guard smiled at me professionally, revealing a row of yellowed teeth, a strange smile indescribable, perhaps mocking my pathetic state.

I fled the complex and quickly hailed a taxi.

I wanted to go home, to go home and sleep.

...From that moment on, Coco and I never contacted each other again. Even though I hadn't deleted her phone, QQ, or MSN, I had no further contact with her.

I had no desire to investigate what had happened.

Perhaps...some people said I should have persisted, that I should have waited all night for three or four days, six or seven days.

Some people said I should have rushed to her apartment, dragged her out, and demanded an explanation.

...I did none of those things.

...When it comes to love, I'm a weakling.

I longed to see her, yet I was also afraid to see her.

If I saw her, I feared she would mercilessly drive my feelings into a corner. But now—it's good. At least, I can still wait peacefully, holding onto a sliver of hope.

After returning, I fell seriously ill.

...We met during the summer vacation, and we broke up during the summer vacation too.

Oh, no, I don't have summer vacations anymore, I've graduated.

While others were busy looking for jobs, I was drifting aimlessly, staying home all day, holed up in bed. Like a dying old dog.

I knew I couldn't continue like this. But I couldn't help it, I missed her, I loved her, my mind was filled with her. But remembering her words, "How can you stop bothering me?", my heart ached. Finally, I held back and didn't contact her again.

I've always thought I was mature, at least after breaking up with Lingzi (my ex-girlfriend, the one who went abroad). I thought I was mature, no longer chasing after love so eagerly.

Facing bar girls, I was invincible, smug, and considered myself a seasoned veteran, far more experienced than my peers.

But now, what am I? ...Give up?

Mao Mao and Gang Zi have visited me a few times, saying my behavior isn't because I love her, but because the contrast between my past as a seasoned player and being dumped by a college freshman three years younger than me is too great, and they say my pride can't accept it. Then they boasted they'd take me to show off, to reclaim the glory of the Musketeers.

...I refused.

Now, I just want to lie in bed and do nothing.

I've finally realized one thing: love has nothing to do with maturity. In her presence, all my so-called maturity crumbled.

...I was also heartbroken when Lingzi left, but I wasn't this颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it implies a state of being listless, dispirited, or decadent) I am now. I just used excessive nightlife to forget my feelings for her.

But with Coco, I can no longer forget her through that indulgent, hedonistic lifestyle. All I wanted to do was lie down, eat when it was time to eat, and pee when it was time to pee.

That was all I wanted.

...I don't know how many days I spent in despair, waiting turning into despair.

Several times, I couldn't hold back my longing anymore and wanted to call her. But I held back...what else could I do? Go and humiliate myself again?

That heartless woman, what is she like now?

...I smoked heavily until I felt nauseous.

...The TV was on, and I kept changing channels, then I smashed the remote against the wall.

The screen froze.

The TV was showing the scenery of Hainan, and the host was telling stories and legends about Tianya Haijiao (the End of the Earth) with great emotion. He said it was a place lovers shouldn't go. ...Hearing that, my eyes widened, I got up, turned on the computer, went online, and checked flight tickets.

That night, I took the 2,000 yuan I borrowed from Gangzi, joined a tour group, and flew directly to Sanya.

I don't know if what I did will work, I don't know if going to that Tianya Haijiao can really make me forget.

But I'd rather believe it.

I chose that place as a place to end things, to end everything that happened between her and me.

I wanted to bury this inexplicable love there.

Maybe it was self-deception, but I could only accept my fate; at least I could temporarily escape this city that smelled of cocoa.

My five-day trip to Hainan was wonderful—diving, swimming, visiting the botanical garden, tasting betel nuts, coconuts, and all sorts of fruits. The "girls" in Hainan were very enthusiastic, seemingly used to greeting large groups of tourists with insincere smiles.

The famous "End of the Earth" is actually two rocks, one tall and one short, separated by a great distance, symbolizing a destined but unfulfilled connection.

Ignoring the guide's warnings, I climbed to the top of the "cape," shouting words I couldn't even understand myself. The sea breeze made me feel much better. Climbing the mountain

was easy, but descending was difficult. On the way down, the foothold I'd climbed seemed to have vanished.

Then, I slipped and fell from the "cape." Luckily, I was agile, and thanks to the soft sand and the guide's help, I wasn't seriously injured, just a slight twist in my ankle.

The guide gave me a good scolding.

I patted him on the shoulder, "Brother, that fall was worth it. Thanks."

...When I was about to return, I boarded my flight at Haimeilan Airport. I brought a lot of local specialties, like tea and coffee. I only took two photos, one from "End of the Earth" and one from the "cape."

It has to be said that the toilets at Haimeilan Airport were incredibly dirty, completely out of place with the surrounding scenery.

I asked the tour guide to take another picture of me in front of this filthy toilet, symbolizing that I was leaving my past, that damned love, in the toilets of Haimeilan.

I would turn over a new leaf when I got back.

…Before boarding, Gangzi called me.

“AK, damn it, I think I’m in love too!”

“***, get the hell out of here! You animal, all you know is mating, you don’t know what love is! Don’t give me that crap. I’m coming back today, you pick me up from the airport, to Muse (a bar)… I’m making a comeback.”

From that moment on, I decided I would never believe in love again. Sometimes, the pain doesn’t stem from the event itself, but from self-righteousness.

I arrogantly believed that Coco loved me deeply; I arrogantly believed that because I had taken her virginity, she would do this and that for me; I even arrogantly believed in love.

All of this was wrong.

…That day, Gangzi and Mao Mao came to pick me up together.

Gangzi drove me and Mao Mao to Muse, but he didn't go himself.

He said he had some family matters to attend to.

This guy isn't one to lie, and besides, we've been brothers for years; he seems to have a date with a girl.

While driving, he was yelling and singing some old song from who-knows-where, wobbling all the way to the destination.

That night, I got completely drunk. I vaguely remember Mao Mao carrying me to a hotel and getting me a room.

When I woke up, I found a woman next to me. Lifting her clothes, I saw they were disheveled but still dressed.

I sighed inwardly; it was Mao Mao again. This guy specializes in getting respectable women drunk and then dragging them to hotels. Of course, these respectable women weren't exactly innocent either. What decent woman would succumb to temptation and get drunk? Who would stay out until 1 or 2 AM, lingering in bars?

As usual, I'd make up for the work I didn't finish last night in the morning. But now, I've lost the will.

Perhaps this past year has taught me to be obedient?

How easy is it to throw all of this away, everything about her? ... I sighed, got dressed, and went out.

... Back home, I printed out a resume and started looking for a job. I have to live, I have to pay back my debts, and I still owe Gangzi 2000 yuan!!

Gangzi treating me is one thing, owing him money is another; the two cannot be confused.

... I went around hitting walls with my resume, and I realized I was a little late in looking for a job.

Four or five companies were unsatisfactory; they completely disregarded a clueless guy like me.

But life never stops. A friend recommended I interview for a personal trainer position at a gym. I went; at least my muscles could impress people.

The interviewer was a woman around 30 years old, dressed in sportswear, with a well-maintained figure, though her face showed the marks of time.

She seemed to teach yoga. Rumor had it she was the manager of the personal training department.

She sized me up for a while, chatted for a bit, and seemed basically satisfied. She shook my hand and told me to start work the next day, with a one-month trial period, a base salary of 1200, plus commission for personal training sessions.

Later I learned that everyone here called her Sister Nana, a ruthless character who had lost her husband. She was ruthless towards those personal trainers who didn't meet their targets, scolding and berating them relentlessly.

…And I, since starting work, had never been scolded by her. Because I had the best performance in the personal training department, and I was also quite popular.

I almost never rested for a week, just selling personal training sessions—teaching personal training sessions—selling again—teaching again, in a never-ending cycle. Sometimes I taught 10 hours of personal training sessions a day. I knew I was using this not-so-clever method to escape, to forget something.

This earned me the nickname "Desperate Wolves," and at that time, my monthly income, including base salary and commission, was around 8,000 yuan, sometimes as low as 4,000, and sometimes over 10,000.

My first paycheck was 5,000 yuan, which was extremely rare among newcomers, and even the strict Nana sister was impressed.

I treated Gangzi, Mao Mao, and the other guys to a meal, paid back Gangzi's 2,000 yuan debt, and then booked a booth at a nightclub for everyone's entertainment. As for me, I went home early.

Gangzi, for some reason, didn't stay at the nightclub; instead, he drove me home.

"AK, I'm in love." Gangzi lit a cigarette for himself and tossed one to me—a Zhonghua.

"Got it, you said it last time." I put the Zhonghua aside, took out a 520, and lit it. "So, bro, are you serious?"

"Yeah, she's great, she's great to me... If possible, we'll get married in the next few months."

Gangzi's words spurred me on.

I patted him on the shoulder, intending to say something like, "Love isn't reliable, don't tie yourself down too early. "

But the words stuck in my throat.

"So, Gangzi, are you serious about her?"

"Yeah."

"Gangzi, seize the opportunity. Good women are rare these days. If you think she's good, don't overthink it. If you get married, I'll be your best man. But tell your wife to find me a pretty bridesmaid, with long legs, haha." I joked.

I could tell he truly loved that woman.

Gangzi and I chatted for a while longer. He seemed much more mature; his former roguishness seemed to have subsided considerably.

After Gangzi left, I sat alone on the sofa, lost in thought, the 520 cigarette on my lips tasting bitter.

Coco, is she alright?

A year has passed by in the blink of an eye, and I'm still working like crazy as a coach.

I seem to be starting to forget, but, only seemingly.

In the early days, several times I wanted to dial that number and ask, "Coco, how are you?"; several times I wrote heartfelt messages that even moved myself to tears, wanting to send them to her; several times I wanted to say something to that eternally gray QQ avatar.

But I never did.

...Whether I miss her or love her, I won't contact her again!! Otherwise, all I'll get is embarrassment.

I'm like Xu Xian, thinking of the snake demon, yet still muttering to myself while fiddling with my prayer beads, "Don't think about it, don't think about it."

It seems that the trip to Hainan didn't completely extinguish my desire for her.

...Love is like a stubborn child; the more you suppress it, the more it rebels.

But I have no choice but to...

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She finished with someone else.

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