She did it with someone else.

She was making
cocoa with someone else when she 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 had led to her becoming someone else's bride. And I could be so calm.

Actually, we'd broken up a year ago, but unlike some decisive people who would delete her phone number, QQ number, MSN, and so on, I hadn't.

Because I knew all her numbers by heart, they were etched into my mind. They were 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 butt. I used to finish a carton in two days, then glue the butts together to make a big heart and give 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 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, if she had shown me even a little bit of concern, I wouldn't hate her so much now.

Perhaps "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 can imagine that tone was 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 good 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. That's right, 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 buttocks, and some at their overall proportions. As for me, I like legs.

Clearly, Coco had that quality that attracted me; 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).

That night, unable to suppress my restless heart, I sent Coco a text message: "Be my girlfriend."

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

I replied: "Of course not."

She replied: "Okay."

Everything happened so naturally, it was almost unbelievable to me. Because I had originally prepared for a long haul.

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

the important thing wasn't the process, but the result. The result was that 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 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 will be good to you, to the best of my ability.

Actually, at that time, I wasn't in love with her. I had a good impression of her, I liked her, but I didn't love her.

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

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

She told me it was her first time, her first kiss. Her tongue was clumsy, and 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 couldn't help myself, but strangely, my hands remained unusually still, gently holding her, like a naive young boy.

Her eyes were clear, without any feigned allure.

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, "Hmm, Coco, why did you kiss me?" What would that make her? A slut? Someone who lets anyone kiss her?

She said she had to be home by 10 pm, like Cinderella, she had to go back 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 good girl, and we were actually dating openly? My initial intention was simply to satisfy my hormones, to have her long legs draped over my neck. That was all.

I was despicable .

Coco, she wasn't a bar girl!!! She wasn't the kind of bar girl who frequented bars, hotels, and mingled with men!!

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

At 2 a.m. that night, I texted her: I will treat you well, to do everything I can.

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, very much. 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, I couldn't just sleep with her casually. If it was just about releasing my lust, I could go to a bar, or even find a prostitute; that wouldn't involve any responsibility.

Since I've decided to commit, I can't act like 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 chuckled as I thought about her awkwardness during our kiss.

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 until very late.

I laid it all out to her. I told her that despite my presentable appearance, I was actually poor, and my family wasn't well-off either.

In all my past relationships, I'd always explained my family's financial situation. I don't try to impress others with money or try to appear wealthy; 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're dating, it's 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 a 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 years old, a freshman in college.

When I was her age, wasn't I pretty clean too?

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 another matter. All the past seems laughable now.

Forever? It's just a dead end.

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

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 say it boldly, I'm not ugly. If looks were on a scale of 100, I'd give myself a 75-85. I'm also self-aware enough that I'm still a bit far from being "super handsome". As for my physique, I'm very 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 is pursuing me, but I didn't accept. The reason is no different from any other ordinary guy: she's not my type; in other words, she's not pretty. Her legs aren't long either. Second, I want my friends to ask me questions, and then, after I get Coco's picture, I can proudly show it off and make my damn buddies envious. Vanity got the better of me.

My ex-girlfriend, we dated for three years, our relationship was great, almost to the point of marriage, but unfortunately, her parents disapproved. Her family is well-off and values a good match. In other words, they think my family isn't rich enough; marrying such a beautiful girl to me would be better than her becoming a rich man's mistress—she'd be well-off and could even contribute to the household expenses. Marrying me wouldn't only prevent her from contributing, but sometimes she'd even have to pay me.

A good "good match," indeed! I understand. I broke up with her. My friends said I was stupid, saying that if I married that girl, I could skip ten years of hard work, or at least five or six. I think they're the stupid ones. Could I even marry her? No way. Her parents made it very 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's break up.

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.

I texted her just three words: "Let's break up."

She texted back with three words: "I'm sorry."

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

A swift and decisive cut. People say that in ancient times, the faster an executioner's blade struck, the shorter the pain 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 along, meeting one wolves in sheep's clothing after another. They were either lonely and bored, or young and energetic, all with 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 was still in pain, and this was the only way I could indulge myself to forget.

Not all the bar girls were prostitutes; there were students, office ladies, all sorts of people. 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 things you can't say to friends, or even to acquaintances, and strangers become the best confidants. Sometimes they talked, sometimes I talked. I was happy with it.

They gossiped about all sorts of trivial things, like how her roommates had a problem with her, or how a certain teacher was a pervert. Or someone said a certain customer was weird and didn't follow the usual routes. Or someone said her boss was gay and harassed her, and she didn't want to lose her job.

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

That was fine. We'd be together when needed, and separate when not. We didn't interfere with each other, we didn't even know each other's real names, just English names, which were all made up. For example, sometimes I'd call myself Jack, sometimes Sky, or Blue, Yellow, or other color words.

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, for vanity, and secondly, to send a signal to those girls at school and the bar girls that we shouldn't contact each other anymore.

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

"You ass seller, 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 brothers, the other being Gang Zi.

When Mao Mao mentioned "partner," his tone was unmistakably lewd, practically swearing at it.

"Your dad's the one selling his ass. I'm in love, completely abandoned the bar. Bro, I've seen the light and decided to be a decent human being. 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, very excited.

"You're going to be a decent human being?? You've ruined countless women, you've got calluses all over your genitals, 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. Gang Zi is my college classmate. And Mao Mao is someone I met at the bar. The story of how I met Mao Mao is quite legendary.

That day, Gangzi and I came over. Gangzi had his eye on a girl, but after much hesitation, he couldn't win her over. Suddenly, Mao Mao appeared out of nowhere and snatched the girl Gangzi had chosen. Gangzi was furious and wanted to fight, but he had no reason to. He thought, "If a woman doesn't like you, it's your own fault, not someone else's." Besides, Gangzi was worried that Mao Mao wasn't alone and he might get hurt in a fight. So, Gangzi provoked me, saying that if I avenged him for stealing the girl, 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 was embracing a heavily made-up girl, swaying back and forth. This girl looked very friendly; I think I'd met her before.

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

Mao Mao got angry, and naturally, a fight broke out. There were three of them—Mao Mao, Gangzi, and me—who came to hang out.

After we dealt 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, and being a student, I didn't want to make a scene. I tossed a cigarette to Mao Mao and his friends, pointed to my left eye, and said, "Damn, which ass-seller kicked me like that? That was really hard.

" Mao Mao, being a straightforward guy, immediately offered Gangzi and me 1000 yuan, saying, "Your punches weren't light either."

I refused. 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 treated Gangzi and me to dinner. From then on, Mao Mao entered my life.

Me, Gangzi, and Mao Mao, from then on, called ourselves the Three Musketeers, the Invincible Three Musketeers.

The second person to ask me a question was Gangzi.

Gangzi wasn't online, but after hearing what Mao Mao said, he quickly called me. His words were quite earnest.

"Brother, I heard you got a rich woman's boyfriend? Tell me, what happened, how much does she pay you a month?"

"Get lost, Gangzi, I'm serious, I'm in love. Not one of those bar girls, but a very pure girl, 20 years old, in college." I said seriously.

"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, men going to bars is like dogs rummaging through trash cans, 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, like me, was a good-for-nothing. His dad was in construction, though I didn't know exactly what, kind of like a foreman. His family had some money; he drove his own car and was very extravagant. He always paid for everything when we went out, and he'd get angry if anyone tried to take it from him. He was very straightforward.

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

Gangzi and I chatted about some random topics, and realizing 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 that I'm avoiding you. You're a good girl, but you're 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 one was a member of the bar girls. If I remember correctly, she should be an office lady. Why "should"? Don't forget what I said earlier: we never inquire about each other's lives, including their professions. But you can guess from casual conversation.

"Sky, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes, I do."

Her cold tone was very different from before. She was sensible enough; she turned off her QQ avatar. No more pestering me.

After that, several other people, unwilling to give up, messaged me on QQ or called me. I told them all the truth. This womanizing playboy had finally found a safe haven.

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 yet.

Coco's QQ name was "keke," just Chinese characters spelled 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. It was surprisingly simple. 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'd applied for a report of loss, but for some reason couldn't get it back, so she created a new one, hence her low level and lack of a QQ space.

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

it dawned on me—she was on her period.

We video-chatted.

I tried my best to amuse Coco with my humor, making her smile. I loved seeing her laugh; when she laughed, a little tiger tooth on her left side pressed against her lip, making her 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 two little fists at me fiercely.

"Silly girl, two chickens."

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

Coco giggled incessantly.

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

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

"Can you help me find a road?"

"What road?"

"The road to your heart."

Coco blushed deeply. She giggled again. "You're so mushy, I can't handle you." "

Shall we go to a hotel for a while?" she said via text message.

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

But it's too fast, I feel it's too fast. If it 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's not like that, she's my girlfriend.

I don't consider myself noble, never have.

I want to have sex with her. From the beginning until now, it's always been like this.

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

For example, I found a really good movie, let's go to a hotel and watch it together? Or maybe we should go rest. Or, I could put on a calm and melancholy expression and tell her I'm in a bad mood and want to find a quiet place to talk alone.

But I've never said any of that. She's my girlfriend, not a bar girl, and certainly not someone I can just use for sexual gratification.

She's a seductive girl who ignites my desire. She's also a pure girl, and that purity can restrain my lustful ambitions.

I don't understand why she would make such a request. Of course, I'm not so arrogant as to think I'm the kind of extraordinary man who makes women fall head over heels for me at first sight.

I understand women have needs, I know they sometimes crave things even more intensely than men. 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 asked directly.

"Why?" I asked.

She replied, "My parents argued, I'm in a bad mood, 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 their number?"

She tapped my head. "Silly, I called and looked it up."

I suddenly realized what was happening and felt relieved, but a strange, inexplicable feeling lingered. However, this feeling was quickly washed away by her fair thighs.

For some reason, I felt like an innocent young virgin, lost in thought the whole way.

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

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

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

Her face was expressionless, lost in thought. Her eyes were clear, not 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 hadn't been to a bar or had sex with any other woman for a month. For the past, this was unbelievable. And now, I could only restrain myself. But I was afraid I wouldn't be able to resist.

I went to a hotel with a beautiful woman. It was summer, and she was 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 (a famous Chinese historian known for his shrewdness and integrity).

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

Actually, I really wanted to do that, but I had been restraining myself.

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

motel168.

Facing her, I finally couldn't control myself and succumbed to my hormones. I roughly kissed her, roughly tore off her clothes, and pounced on her like a dog.

Her eyes were staring at the ceiling, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, trembling slightly.

I noticed her eyes, an indescribable feeling. But it was definitely not passion, definitely not lust.

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

I was horrified. I was really horrified, her eyes were so strange, I couldn't even think of a word to describe them. It was that kind of emptiness, sadness, and mockery, but even those three words couldn't describe even a fraction of what she looked like.

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

I stopped, thankfully I hadn't gone any further, otherwise, I know she probably would never forgive me.

I got up and took a cold shower.

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

She gently stroked my face, her icy hand sending a chill down my spine. "It's alright, women, aren't they just for men to take advantage of?"

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

Her gaze was like looking at thin air. Worldly, sophisticated, calm.

I couldn't utter a word, stunned for a long time. My desire had long since disappeared. I was just ice-cold.

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

She took a taxi home.

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

"Goodbye" has three meanings. One possibility is a reunion after separation, another is a reunion followed by separation, and the third is never seeing each other again.

I fear it will be the last. But I didn't go up to her, because I didn't know what to say. Also, 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 swayed back and forth, a jumbled mess.

She sent me a text message, which I opened quickly. "

Honey, my stomach hurts. "

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

In just one month, I had fallen so deeply. "

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

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, slender beauty.

I'm not some naive young man; I've dated many women and slept with many times.

But with her, I couldn't bear it. She was a virgin, her first time.

My inability to bear it doesn't mean I could resist, but I never made or hinted at any inappropriate advances. I didn't dare.

I was afraid of her. First, I was afraid she would leave me. Second, I was afraid of her eyes; even thinking about that day sends chills down

my spine. If Gangzi and Mao Mao were around, they would definitely be winking and yelling, "Yuanbao, Yuanbao, you had a chance to have sex, but you didn't! Are you impotent?"

In the six months I've been dating Keke, I haven't introduced her to my friends. The reason is that we both study, and even on weekends, we want to be intimate and enjoy our time 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 affairs. So, my group of friends and brothers had only heard of this mysterious woman, never actually seen her.

However, I would always find an opportunity to formally introduce Coco to them. Looking to the future, I would put my arm around Coco's waist and proudly announce, "Look, this is my wife." At that moment, they would definitely be envious, jealous—I was sure of it. And I, on the contrary, liked that feeling of being envied.

After being with her, I stopped going to bars to "pick up girls," which made some of my brothers 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 was bad, and she had hearing problems.

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

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

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

Isn't she cute?

She would arouse me to the point of burning with desire, but always at the crucial moment, she would 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 incredibly happy—about all of this. Happiness came so quickly, leaving me intoxicated. I haven't felt this way in a long time.

February 14th, Valentine's Day.

Although I've had five or six girlfriends, I've never bought her flowers. I felt it was unnecessary, just a formality. Even with the woman I'd been dating for three years, who had moved abroad, I never gave her flowers.

But this time, I decided to buy her some. Even though 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?! You 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 shopkeeper, "I want this."

The shopkeeper glanced at me and asked, "Do you want it wrapped?"

I said, "Yes.

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

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

I obediently paid the shopkeeper, feeling utterly ashamed.

She, however, skipped around happily, looking at this flower and touching that flower while it was 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 get the roses instead, the most expensive ones, but she never did.

Coco took the flowers, pouted, and gave me a coquettish 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 joy numbing my clear head.

During this time, Mao Mao called me a few times, saying it had been a while since we'd all gotten together, 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 slap 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, spending two out of three days 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.

Several 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. They can contact me if needed. I even gave them my phone numbers.

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

I love Coco and don't want to give them any excuses that might cause trouble later. So, I'll keep my distance from them.

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

I smoked it all within two days. Even though it was a light cigarette, going through a whole carton in two days still made me feel nauseous.

I planned to use the cigarette butts to make a big heart and give it to her.

My dorm room became even more smoky, and even in winter, we had to keep the windows open to let the smoke dissipate. Gangzi was my roommate, and he got along fairly well with the other two. They and Gangzi all thought I was crazy to attempt this childish feat. They offered to smoke for me and leave the butts for me. Or they could just break off the cigarettes, leaving only the cigarette butts, and piece them together to make something that looked decent. I refused.

Before, when I heard people doing this or that for some bullshit love, I would scoff and utter two words: "Childish!" But now, when Gangzi and the others say I'm mentally ill, I laugh and say to them, "You idiot, do you understand? Love, do you understand?" It's kind of like Ah Q's self-deception.

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

She looked at me and said, "Hehe, my husband is so silly," her eyes sparkling 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. 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, I often feel that love is unequal. When the financial situation of both parties differs too much, love becomes ulterior motives. Like the marriage proposal—there might not be any money involved, and both parties might genuinely love each other, but if 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 did glean 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 myself.

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 a better life.

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 graduated, when I had a solid financial foundation, then we would get married, and then spend our lives together. Every time I told Gangzi my thoughts, he would laugh uncontrollably. 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 greedy, and that I should just play around and never get involved.

Actually, I agreed with Gangzi. The women I'd met and the things I'd heard all proved this.

Yes, I agreed. Women are all vain. 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.

"Honey, I don't have classes on Fridays now. I'll pick you up from your school from now on."

"No, no." Her tone was a little high, but it quickly turned into a smile. It wouldn't be good if someone saw us.

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

“No, think about it, everyone at my school wears heels, and you're so short. Besides, there's a fat girl in my class who always talks badly about me, and I don't want people talking 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 decided not to go; if she didn't want to, I wouldn't go.

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

"By the way, honey, it's my friend's birthday on Saturday, he's invited a lot of people, it's on Nanjing Road. I'll take you there and introduce you to a couple of his guys."

"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, and it always throbs intermittently after walking a short distance.

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

"The doctor's appointment is already set for next time, right?"

"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 take 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 was 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. 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, she slowly opened her eyes, looked at me, and smiled. It was stiff.

"AK, you have to remember, Coco, you were my first man. You have to remember that!!"

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 been crying 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 offered any 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.

This was the second time I felt that way.

"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 raced through my mind, 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 had only known each other for a little over a year, I loved her madly. I tried to use her virginity, this unsophisticated and outdated method, to lock her in. To bind this woman I loved so deeply.

In just one year, I had become so infatuated.

Love isn't measured by the length of time, is it?

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

I was her first man; a normal person would never break up with her the very 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 about all sorts of things, and she says no.

After my repeated interference, she gave me a reason: I don't respect her. She also said that we're incompatible, and so on. Her tone was flat, calm with a hint of weariness, no impulsiveness, no anger, just impatience.

I said I'd change.

She said forget it, no need, I don't like you anymore, what can I do to stop bothering me?

She's already said that much. Actually, I really want to cut ties cleanly, say some harsh words, and never contact her again. But I can't do it; I'm 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 went on, I gradually became numb.

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

From 4 PM, I sat there until 5 AM 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 smashed a cigarette butt in anger. 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 there, waiting all night.

I stiffly walked out of the 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 would say I should have persisted, that I should have waited day and night for three or four days, six or seven days.

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

I did none of those things.

When it comes to relationships, I'm weak.

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

If I saw her, I feared she would mercilessly corner my feelings. But now—it's good. At least, I can still wait peacefully, clinging to 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 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 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? Self-destructive?

Mao Mao and Gangzi 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 use that same indulgent, hedonistic state to forget. 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'd been wallowing in despair, waiting turning into despair.

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

That heartless woman, what's 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 passionately recounting the stories and legends of Tianya Haijiao (the End of the Earth). 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 2000 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 Tianya Haijiao can really make me forget.

But I'd rather believe it.

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

I want to bury this inexplicable love there.

Perhaps it's self-deception, but I can only accept my fate; at least I can temporarily escape this city that smells 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 Hainanese women were very enthusiastic, seemingly accustomed to greeting large groups of tourists with insincere smiles.

The famous Tianya Haijiao (End of the Earth) is actually two rocks, one tall and one short, far apart, symbolizing a destined but unfulfilled love.

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

mountain is easy, but descending is difficult. The place I stood on when I came up now seems to have vanished without a trace.

So, I accidentally fell off "Cape," but thankfully I'm 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 heading back, I boarded my flight at Haimeilan Airport. I brought a ton of local specialties, like tea and coffee. I only took two photos, one on "Tianya" (the end of the world) and one on "Cape."

I must say, the toilets at Haimeilan Airport were incredibly dirty, completely out of place with the surrounding scenery.

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

I'll start anew when I get back.

Before boarding, Gangzi called me.

"Ak, damn it, I think I'm in love too!"

"Damn it, get the hell out of here! You animal, all you know is mating, what do you know about love?

Don't give me that crap. I'm coming back today, you pick me up from the airport. I'm making my comeback at Muse (a bar) today." At that moment, I decided I would never believe in love again. Sometimes, sorrow doesn't stem from the event itself, but from self-righteousness.

I arrogantly believed Coco deeply loved me; I arrogantly believed that because I took 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.

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

He said he had some family matters to attend to.

This guy wasn't a liar, and besides, he'd been his brother for years; everyone knew he seemed to have a date.

He drove loudly, singing some old song from who-knows-where, wobbling all the way to the destination.

That night, I got completely drunk. I vaguely remember that Mao Mao carried me to a hotel and booked a room for me.

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

I sighed inwardly. It was Mao Mao again; that guy specializes in getting respectable women drunk and then dragging them to hotels. Of course, these 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?

Normally, I'd make up for what I didn't finish last night in the morning. But now, I had no motivation.

Perhaps this past year had taught me to be obedient?

Getting rid of all this, everything about her, was easier said than done. I sighed, got dressed, and went out.

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

Gangzi treating me was one thing, but the money I owed him was another; the two couldn't be confused.

I was bombarded with rejections with my resume, and I realized I was a bit late in my job search.

Four or five companies were unsatisfactory; they all completely disregarded someone as clueless as me.

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

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

She seemed to teach yoga and was rumored to be the manager of the personal training department.

She looked me over, chatted for a while, 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 yuan, plus commission from personal training sessions.

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

But since I started working there, I've never been scolded by her. Because I had the best performance in the personal training department and was also quite popular,

I almost never took a week off. My routine was simply selling personal training sessions – teaching personal training sessions – selling more – teaching more, repeating this cycle endlessly. Sometimes I would teach 10 hours of personal training sessions a day. I knew I was using this less-than-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 a little less, 4,000, and sometimes over 10,000.

My first paycheck was 5,000 yuan, which was extremely rare among newcomers. Even Nana, a strict person, was impressed.

I treated Gangzi, Mao Mao, and the other guys to dinner, paid back Gangzi's 2,000 yuan debt, and then booked a booth at a nightclub for everyone's entertainment. But 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 brand.

"Got it, you said it last time." I tossed the Zhonghua aside, pulled 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 his 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 it's just a feeling.

In the beginning, there were countless times I wanted to dial that number and ask, "Coco, how are you?" Countless times I wrote heart-wrenching text messages to send her; countless 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, it will only bring 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 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 seal it away. If left unchecked, it will run rampant in my heart.

That beautiful yet painful love, that lovely yet cruel woman. You, just stay put, don't wander off.

A lot has happened this year.

Gangzi originally said he was going to get married, but then he didn't.

I asked him why, but he wouldn't say. He just wanted me to go to bars with him, to "flirt" with him, and to drown my sorrows in alcohol.

How similar we are. We both fell in love with a woman, but it didn't work out.

I didn't ask him anything more, it would only add to his sadness.

Mao Mao is still the same shameless guy, except that he went to the United States of America once. When he came back, he brought back some cigars and a few strange shirts for Gangzi and me. Then he bragged to us about the red-light district there, saying how amazing the women were, how many tricks they had, and that if it were Gangzi and me, we would have been drained long ago.

I spend every day working hard, and my performance soars. I was finally promoted to personal training manager, while Sister Nana was promoted to store manager.

Nana isn't difficult to get along with; she may seem cold on the outside, but she's warm-hearted. Sometimes, after work, she'd give me a ride home, since it was on her way.

We went from being awkward at first to being able to talk about anything.

She told me privately that she's 35. She said it with a hint of self-deprecation. It's clear she was once a stunning beauty, and even now, many men at the gym still have their eyes lingering on her chest, and some younger guys even steal glances at her.

Her allure remains, but she possesses a mature woman's charm that's even more captivating than a young girl's.

Nana's husband died in a car accident five years ago, taking their three-year-old child and her love. The compensation was 300,000 yuan. 300,000 yuan? Less than the price of Gangzi's car. Human life is so cheap. She's been single ever since.

I asked Nana why she didn't find someone else; with her looks and qualifications, it shouldn't be difficult.

She told me that her love was over, and she wasn't short of money; she could manage on her own and was used to it.

I felt a pang of sadness; Nana's experience filled me with sympathy. So, without thinking, I told her about my relationship with Lingzi and Coco.

After listening, Nana smiled and said to me, "Ak, don't try to guess a woman's thoughts; you'll never figure them out."

"Hehe, I stopped trying a long time ago. It's just a memory. Besides, I can manage on my own; I seem to have gotten used to it."

We looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

If there are soulmates between men and women, we are one. It's a wonderful feeling.

Before, I firmly believed that there was no such thing as pure friendship between men and women. But I seem to have developed this so-called friendship with Nana.

We care about each other, sharing sorrows, joys, and so on that we've never told anyone else. Unlike romantic love, we like each other, even making lighthearted jokes. But we won't fall in love.

We've both had love. Her love died with her husband. My love died with Coco's passing.

I like this relationship, this feeling, with Nana. There are some things I'll tell her in detail. But I won't tell Gangzi and Mao Mao.

Is this what soulmates are? Maybe.

A relationship between a man and a woman without lust or love. That's fine.

My life had fallen into a fixed pattern for the past year. Busy work left me exhausted, and the money I earned, aside from the initial joy of the past few months, no longer brought any sense of accomplishment.

But that's life.

Coco suddenly texted me to say she was getting married.

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

I admire myself for being so indifferent. Our past intimacy had degenerated into her becoming someone else's bride. And I could be so indifferent.

Actually, we'd broken up a year ago, but unlike some decisive people, I hadn't acted swiftly. For example, deleting her phone number, QQ number, MSN, and so on. I hadn't deleted anything.

Because I knew all her numbers by heart, they were etched into my mind. They were 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 butt. I once finished a whole carton of cigarettes in two days, then stuck the butts together to form a giant heart and gave it to her. Little did I know I'd developed a habit of smoking women's cigarettes.

I called Gangzi.

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

He said, "Sure, 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 had once vowed to marry me, the woman who had 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, 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 the message, I regretted it immediately. I pressed the cancel button too late; the reply had already been received.

My phone vibrated quickly, and 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 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 profile picture, and typed five words: "Don't marry him." After typing, I noticed her QQ signature: "Getting married soon, happiness, husband, I love you."

My heart trembled.

I smoked two more cigarettes, silently staring at the computer screen, silently staring at her signature, but my finger wouldn't land on the "Enter" key.

I decided to get revenge.

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

She came online. I stared at her avatar, expecting her to say something, even if we had a huge fight and said some hurtful things.

But 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 come straight there." Then her avatar 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 had been a year since we broke up. I had imagined what it would be like when we met again, like at a hotel entrance, like on the subway, like at KFC, KTV, McDonald's, and so on. I even planned out the dialogue when we met again. But the one thing I never expected was that we would meet again at her wedding. How should I say that? How should I plan it?

Coco's tone in text messages and on QQ was so forceful and harsh, like a vicious old woman. Where was even a trace of her former gentleness?

Actually, if she had just said something to me with blessings, if she had shown me even a little bit of concern, I wouldn't hate her so much now.

Perhaps "hate" isn't the right word; I'm not even sure what my current state of mind is. Is it resentment? Reluctance to let go? Or unwillingness, loneliness, emptiness? Or maybe I'm just acting crazy? I don't know.

Last night I had a dream, 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.

Maybe in the dream 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 realized this tone of voice was something I'd never used before.

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

Now, I want to talk about Coco and me.

Coco and I met online. Online forums are great; unlike QQ, they require real names for registration and login. If you want to find handsome guys, beautiful girls, or chat buddies, go there. Yes, it's better than QQ, better than MSN. But it doesn't have the chaos of local forums, and the probability of encountering transvestites is much lower.

Like most lonely men and women, we quickly found 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.

So, I asked her to go swimming.

I think swimming pools are the best place to see a woman's figure, no matter what 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, I would never contact her again; otherwise, I could keep in touch properly.

Coco is very tall, around 177cm, almost the same height as me; if she wore heels, she would definitely be taller than me. She has a great figure, with a pair of straight, beautiful legs. She was wearing a tank top and hot pants, her face without makeup, a perfect blend of sexiness and innocence. I immediately decided to get to know her better.

That day, I deliberately wore a tank top and plaid shorts, showing off my muscular physique. I work out.

For women, some people look at their face, some at their breasts, some at their buttocks, and some at their overall proportions. As for me, I like legs.

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

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

a pleasant chat while swimming, and I treated her to Northwest Wolf.

That night, unable to suppress my restless heart, I sent Coco a text message: "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, to the best of my ability.

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 outside 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, innocent 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 don'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 flits between men!!

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

At 2 a.m. that night, I texted her: I'll 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 just anyone. If it were just about releasing pent-up desire, I could go to a bar, or even find a prostitute; that wouldn't carry any responsibility.

Since I've decided to commit, I can't act like 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 chuckled as I thought about her awkwardness during our kiss.

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 until very late.

I laid it all out to her. I told her that despite my presentable appearance, I was actually poor, and my family wasn't well-off either.

In all my past relationships, I'd always explained my family's financial situation. I don't try to impress others with money or try to appear wealthy; 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're dating, it's 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 a 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 years old, a freshman in college.

When I was her age, wasn't I pretty clean too?

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 another matter. All the past seems laughable now.

Forever? It's just a dead end.

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

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 say it boldly, I'm not ugly. If looks were on a scale of 100, I'd give myself a 75-85. I'm also self-aware enough that I'm not quite "handsome". As for my physique, I'm very 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 why I'm saying all this and changing my signature. First, it's because a girl at school was pursuing me, but I didn't accept. The reason, like any ordinary guy, is that she wasn't my type; in other words, she wasn't pretty. Her legs weren't long either. Second, I wanted my friends to ask me questions so I could get a picture of Coco and proudly show it off to my damn buddies, making them envious. Vanity got the better of me.

My ex-girlfriend, we dated for three years, our relationship was great, almost to the point of marriage, but unfortunately, her parents disapproved. Her family was well-off and valued matching social status. In other words, they thought my family wasn't rich enough, and 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 contribute to the household expenses. Marrying me wouldn't only prevent her from contributing, but sometimes she'd even have to pay me.

What a "matching social status"! I understand. I broke up with her. My buddies said I was stupid, saying that if I married that girl, I could avoid ten years of hard work, or at least five or six. I think they're the stupid ones. Could I even marry her? I couldn't marry her. Her parents made their meaning 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's break up.

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

I texted her just three words: Let's break up.

She texted back with three words: I'm sorry.

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

A swift and decisive cut. People say that in ancient times, the faster an executioner's blade struck, the shorter the pain 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 lived a life of debauchery, meeting one wolves in sheep's clothing after another. They were either lonely and bored, or young and energetic, and had a strong need for that kind of thing. A bar was just for fun; I could make vows of eternal love to the bar girls, and promises 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 talked, sometimes I talked. I was happy with it.

They talked about all sorts of trivial things, like how her roommates had a problem with her, or how a certain teacher was a pervert. Or someone might say that a certain customer was a weirdo, not following the usual path. For example, someone said her boss was gay and frequently harassed her, but she didn't want to lose her job.

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

This was fine. We were together when needed, and apart when not. We didn't interfere with each other, and we didn't even know each other's real names, only using English names, which were all made up. For example, sometimes I was called Jack, sometimes Sky, or Blue, Yellow, or other color words.

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, for vanity, and secondly, to send a signal to that little girl at school and the bar girls that we should stop contacting each other.

Everyone is particularly gossipy about me, just like they're keen on spying on the likes of Hilton and Gillian Chung. I signed my signature in the morning, and soon after, someone sent me a message asking,

"You, who sells your ass, finally have a steady 'partner'?" The first message was from Mao Mao. Mao Mao is nicknamed 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, almost as if he wanted to add an "X" before it.

"Your dad's a prostitute, I'm in love, I've completely abandoned bars, buddy, I've seen the light and decided to be a decent human being. 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 at this, very excited.

"You're going 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."

The story of my two buddies is quite long. Gangzi is my college classmate. I met Mao Mao at a bar. The way I met Mao Mao was also quite legendary.

That day, Gangzi and I came to hang out, and Gangzi took a fancy to a girl, but after dragging it out for a long time, he couldn't get her. Mao Mao suddenly appeared out of nowhere and snatched the "dish" that Gangzi had already chosen. Gangzi was furious and wanted to fight, but he had no reason to. If a woman doesn't like you, it's your own fault, 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 would do whatever he wanted. I didn't say anything and just gave him the middle finger.

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

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

Mao Mao got angry, and naturally, a fight broke out. There were three of us with Mao Mao, plus Gangzi and me.

After dealing with them, we all ended up in jail. 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 it, the police suggested he pay a fine and settle it privately.

I sobered up early; after all, I was still a student, and making a scene wouldn't save face for anyone. I tossed a cigarette to Mao Mao and his friends, pointed to my left eye, and said, "Damn, which ass-selling bastard kicked me? That was really hard."

Mao Mao, being a man of principle, immediately offered Gangzi and me 1000 yuan, saying, "You guys didn't hold back either."

I refused. 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 treated Gangzi and me to dinner. From then on, Mao Mao became a part of my life.

Me, Gangzi, and Mao Mao, from then on, 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 said, he quickly called me. His words were quite earnest.

"Brother, I heard you got a rich woman's boyfriend? Tell me, what happened, how much does she pay you a month?"

"Get lost, Gangzi, I'm serious, I'm in love. Not one of those bar girls, but a very pure girl, 20 years old, in college." I said seriously.

"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, men going to bars is like dogs rummaging through trash cans, 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, like me, is good-for-nothing. His dad is in construction, I don't know exactly what, kind of like a foreman. His family has some money, he drives a car, and he's very generous. He always pays when we go out, and if anyone tries to take it from him, he'll get angry. He's very straightforward.

We're kindred spirits, so naturally we became good friends. He always picked me up in his car when we went to bars, and then we'd hang out together. This guy has a foul mouth; he likes to insult people and say hurtful things. It's alright at school, but outside, it often leads to physical altercations. As for me, although I'm not a troublemaker, I'm obliged to help him, so when he got into trouble, I always stood up for him. Gangzi

and I chatted about some random topics, and realizing 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 I had a crush on in college.

I told her, "Really, it's not to avoid you. You're a good girl, but you're 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, and so on. I finally managed to avoid her.

The fourth one was a member of the bar girls; if I remember correctly, she should be an office lady. Why "should"? Don't forget what I said earlier—we never pry into each other's lives, including our professions. But you can guess from casual conversation.

"Sky, you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I do."

Her tone was cold, quite different from before. She was sensible enough to turn her QQ avatar dark. No more pestering me.

After that, several other people, unwilling to give up, messaged me on QQ or called me. I told them all the truth; this womanizing playboy had finally found a safe haven.

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 to me, as if she wasn't fully awake yet.

Coco's QQ name is "keke," just Chinese characters spelled with pinyin, unlike the fancy names young girls these days that use fancy names like "Moonlit Night," "Left Hand Holding Right Hand," "Sad Leaf," or other strange symbols. It was surprisingly simple. And her avatar level was a pitiful three little stars, utterly insignificant compared to my two suns.

She told me her QQ account was hacked, she applied for a lost card, but for some reason couldn't get it back, so she created a new one, hence her low level and lack of a QQ space.

I asked her to meet up, but she said she wasn't feeling well and it was so hot, so she wanted to stay home and chat. Then

it dawned on me—she was menstruating.

We video-chatted.

I tried my best to amuse Coco with my humor, making her smile. I love seeing her laugh; when she laughs, a little tiger tooth on her left side touches her lip, making her 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 two little fists at me fiercely.

"Idiot, two chickens."

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

Coco giggled incessantly.

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

Coco saw me suddenly become serious and immediately stopped laughing, asking 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 said to me via text message.

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

But it was too fast, I felt it was too fast. If it were a bar girl, let alone knowing each other 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's not. She's my girlfriend.

I don't consider myself noble, never have.

I want to have sex with her. From the beginning until now, it's always been that way.

I thought I was the one making this request, and I even came up with all sorts of 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 go and rest. 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's my girlfriend, not a bar girl, and certainly not someone

I can just use for sexual gratification. She's a seductive girl who ignites my desires. Yet, she's also an innocent girl, and that innocence can restrain my lustful ambitions.

I don't understand why she would make such a request. Of course, I'm not so arrogant as to think I'm some kind of extraordinary man who makes women fall head over heels for me at first sight.

I understand women's needs; I know they can be even more intense than men's desires sometimes. But I never expected her to be so direct. I don't even understand what she's thinking.

My phone was slightly sweaty in my hand.

I cared about her; she was my girlfriend, so I was nervous, I overthought 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, realizing what she meant. I had misinterpreted her words based on my own understanding—how utterly foolish.

She was 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 senses. "

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

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

She tapped my head. "Duh, I called and looked it up."

I understood, feeling relieved, but a strange feeling lingered. But quickly, that feeling was washed away by her fair legs.

For some reason, I felt like a naive young man, absent-minded the whole way there.

My thoughts were shifting. Left: I slept with her. Right: No matter what, I had to resist.

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

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

Her face was expressionless, lost in thought. Her eyes were clear, not 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 hadn't been to a bar or had sex with any other woman for a month. For the past, that was unbelievable. And 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 seemed to Gangzi and Mao Mao like watching Ultraman for the first time. They even thought I had contracted AIDS, or that I had overexerted myself and now had to retire.

Actually, I really wanted to do it, but I kept restraining myself.

I think I've fallen in love with her, it has nothing to do with lust. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to restrain myself. Facing her, I finally couldn't control myself 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, but even those three words couldn't capture even a fraction of what it looked like. I

felt as if a bucket of water had been poured over my head. All my pent-up desire vanished.

I stopped, thankfully I hadn't gone any further, otherwise, I know she probably would never forgive me.

I got up and took a cold shower.

Then I looked at her quietly and 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 take advantage of?"

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

Her gaze was like looking at thin air. Worldly, sophisticated, calm.

I couldn't utter a word, stunned for a long time. My desire had vanished completely. I was just ice-cold.

She silently put on her clothes, threw 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 was the last one. But I didn't go up to her, because I didn't know what to say. Also, 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 replied.

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 she timidly called me "honey"? Because of her first kiss? I don't know. Whatever, now, I only know I love her. I love this tall, lovely woman.

I'm not a naive young man; I've dated many. I've done it many times.

But with her, I couldn't bring myself to. It was her first time; she was a virgin.

My inability to bear it didn't mean I could resist, but I never made or hinted at any excessive demands. I didn't dare.

I was afraid of her. First, I was afraid she would leave me. Second, I was afraid of her gaze; even thinking about that day sent chills down

my spine. If Gangzi and Mao Mao were around, they would definitely be winking and yelling, "Yuanbao, Yuanbao, you had the chance to have sex, but you didn't!

Are you impotent?" In the six months I've been dating Keke, I haven't introduced her to my friends. 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 affairs. So, my friends and I have only heard of this mysterious woman, never actually met her.

However, I'll always find an opportunity to formally introduce Coco to them. Looking to the future, I'll put my arm around Coco's waist and proudly announce, "Look, this is my wife." At that moment, they'll definitely be envious, jealous—I'm sure of it. And I, on the contrary, 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 cute?

She'll 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.

Although I've had five or six girlfriends, I've never bought flowers before. I felt it was unnecessary, just a formality. Even with the woman I'd been dating for three years, who moved to another country, I never gave her flowers.

But this time, I decided to buy some. Even though 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 a few female friends to ask what baby's breath was. But it turns out it's just something to decorate delicate flowers, practically a weed, and it's cheap, costing no more than 20 yuan.

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

She replied: "Giving flowers is so tacky. There are flowers everywhere. Giving baby's breath makes it different, unique."

I was suddenly touched. She's 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?! You idiot!!

She poked my forehead with a smile. Then she bent down, looking at the colorful flowers all around.

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, "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.

She, however, skipped around happily, looking at this flower and touching that one while they were being wrapped.

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

So many times, I wanted to ask the owner to change to roses, to get the most expensive ones, but I never did.

Coco took the flowers and pouted, giving me a sweet smile. Seemingly oblivious to the blue, peculiar chicken in the woman's hand beside me,

I quickly pulled Coco out of the flower shop.

Coco, holding flowers in her left hand and a large cake she had bought beforehand in her right, skipped and hopped along the way, leading me 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 asked, resting her chin on her hands and blinking at me.

I shook my head, deeply moved.

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

I was speechless, a sharp pang piercing my heart.

I pulled her close.

We kissed passionately, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us.

Only when the waiter came to say that candles weren't allowed did we separate, panting heavily.

Sometimes,感动 (a feeling of being moved) happens in an instant, just for a glance, a gesture. I would do anything for you, no matter what. I've been dating Coco for over half a year now, and the sweetness and happiness have numbed my clear head.

During this time, Mao Mao called me a few times, saying it had been a while since we'd all gotten together, and the guys missed me, reminiscing about our days as the Three Musketeers, roaming the world together, brandishing our weapons and showing off our swagger. He even jokingly asked if I had anyone at school I wanted to slap but couldn't, saying they were itching for a fight and wanted to find someone to practice with.

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

He said okay.

Mao Mao always seems to have a lot of free time, spending two out of three days 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 ask him what he does, he just chuckles lewdly and brushes me off. After a few times, I stopped asking; I was too lazy to ask.

Several bar girls called me, mainly about sex, or saying they hadn't talked in a while and wanted to have dinner together. I politely declined all of them 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, helping the poor, and serving the people. They can contact me if I need anything. 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 have a transactional relationship, like unscrupulous businessmen chasing profits. The difference is, we chase thrills, and we relieve loneliness.

I love Coco and don't want to give them any excuses for future complications. So, I'll keep my distance from them.

I suddenly had a whim and bought a carton of 520 cigarettes.

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

I planned to use the cigarette butts I'd used to make a huge heart shape to give to her.

My actions made the dorm even more smoky, and even in winter, we had to keep the windows and doors open to let the smoke dissipate. Gangzi was my roommate, and he got along fairly well with the other two. They and Gangzi all agreed that I was out of my mind to undertake this childish feat. They offered to smoke for me and leave the cigarette butts for me. Or they could simply break off the cigarettes, leaving only the tips, and piece them together to make something that looked approximate. 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 understand? Love, do you understand?" It's a bit like Ah Q's self-deception.

When I gave Coco the huge heart made from 520 cigarette butts, she was very touched.

She looked at me and said, "Hehe, my husband is so silly." Her eyes sparkled with a captivating 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. If his family owns a television, then mine is just a radio.

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

Actually, I often feel that love is unequal. When the financial situation of both parties differs too much, love becomes ulterior motives. Like the case of the couple, even if they genuinely love each other, the disparity in their circumstances will inevitably lead to gossip. Or like me, Lingzi (my ex-girlfriend's name) didn't come from 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 a bicycle can never outrun an Audi or Mercedes, and a radio can never generate high ratings.

Coco's family is well-off, but I never dared to ask too many questions. But I still gleaned from snippets of conversation that her family owned a car, they had a nanny, and they 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 did she drive? How many square meters was her house? etc.

I was carefully nurturing this relationship.

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

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 my job after graduation, work hard to earn money, and 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 graduated, when I had solid financial security, then we would get married, and then spend our lives together. Every time I shared my thoughts with Gangzi, he would laugh uncontrollably. He said I probably never experienced love in my past life, and that in this life, love makes me like a dog in heat. Then he would lecture me, basically saying that all women are vain and materialistic, and that I should just have fun with them and never get involved.

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

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

But I still fell for her, trapped in Coco's carefully woven web of love. I couldn't pull myself out.

"Honey, 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 to a smile. It wouldn't be good if people saw us.

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

"Nothing, just think about it, everyone at my school wears heels, and you're so short. Also, there's a fat girl in my class who always talks badly about me, I don't want people talking about me," Coco blinked at me.

I smiled bitterly.

Coco was afraid of gossip.

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

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

I still wouldn't go. If she didn't want to, I wouldn't go.

Sometimes I really wonder, am I 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, by the way, honey, it's my friend'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 buddies."

"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.

"The doctor's appointment is already set for next time,

right?" "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 was 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. 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, she slowly opened her eyes, looked at me, and smiled. It was stiff.

"AK, you have to remember, Coco, you were my first man. You have to remember that!!"

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 been crying 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 offered any 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.

This was the second time I felt that way.

"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 raced through my mind, 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 had only known each other for a little over a year, I loved her madly. I tried to use her virginity, this unsophisticated and outdated method, to lock her in. To bind this woman I loved so deeply.

In just one year, I had become so infatuated.

Love isn't measured by the length of time, is it?

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

I was her first man; a normal person would never break up with her the very 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 about all sorts of things, and she says no.

After my repeated questioning, she gave me a reason: I don't respect her. She also said that we're incompatible, and so on. Her tone was flat, calm with a hint of weariness, no impulsiveness, no anger, just impatience.

I said I'd change.

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

She'd already said all that. 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 went 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 4 PM, I sat there until 5 AM the next morning.

I went to the bathroom 5 times.

I smoked 4 packs of cigarettes.

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

I smashed a cigarette butt in frustration. 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 gave me a professional smile, revealing a row of yellowed teeth, a smile that held an indescribable strangeness—perhaps he was laughing at my pathetic state.

I fled the complex and quickly hailed a taxi.

I needed 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 would say I should have persisted, that I should have waited through the night for three or four days, six or seven days.

Some would say I should have rushed to her house, 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 was afraid she would mercilessly drive my feelings into a corner. And now—it's good. At least, I could still wait patiently, clinging to 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 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, she was all I could think about. But remembering her words, "How can you stop bothering me?", my heart ached. Finally, I held back and didn't contact her again.

I 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.

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

But now, what am I? Giving up on myself?

Mao Mao and Gangzi have visited me a few times, saying that my behavior isn't because I love her, but because the contrast between my past as a seasoned lover 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 that they would take me to show off and reclaim the glory of the old 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 front of her, all my so-called maturity crumbled.

I was also very sad when Lingzi left, but I was never as decadent as I am now. I just used excessive nightlife to forget my feelings for her.

But after breaking up with Keke, I can no longer forget her with that kind of indulgent, hedonistic state. I just want to lie down, eat when I'm supposed to eat, and pee when I'm supposed to pee.

That's all I want.

I don't know how many days I've been decadent, and waiting has turned into despair.

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

That heartless woman, what has become of her?

I smoked heavily until I felt nauseous.

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

The screen froze.

The TV was showing the scenery of Hainan, and the host was passionately recounting the stories and legends of Tianya Haijiao (the End of the Earth). 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 2000 yuan I borrowed from Gangzi, joined a tour group, and flew directly to Sanya.

I didn't know if what I was doing would work, I didn't know if going to Tianya Haijiao could really make me forget.

But I wanted to believe it.

I chose that place as an end, an end to 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 leave this city that smelled of cocoa.

I had a great five-day trip to Hainan, diving, swimming, and visiting the botanical garden. I sampled betel nuts, coconuts, and various other fruits. The "young ladies" of Hainan were very enthusiastic, seemingly accustomed to greeting large groups of tourists with insincere smiles.

The famous Tianya Haijiao (End of the Earth) is actually two rocks, one tall and one short, far apart, symbolizing separation.

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 was easy, but descending was difficult. When I came down, the place I had stood on seemed to have vanished.

So, I accidentally fell off the "cape." Luckily, I was agile, and with the help of the soft sand and the guide, I was unharmed, only slightly twisting my ankle.

The guide gave me a good scolding.

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

When I was about to return, I boarded a plane at Haimeilan Airport, carrying a large amount of local specialties, such as tea and coffee. I only took two photos, one on "Tianya" and one on "Haijiao".

I must say, 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 that filthy toilet, symbolizing that I was leaving my past, that damned love, in the toilets of Haimeilan.

I'll turn over

a new leaf when I get back. Before boarding, Gangzi called me.

"AK, damn it, I think I'm in love too!"

"Damn it, 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. I'm making my comeback at Muse (a bar) today."

At this point, I decided I would never believe in love again. Sometimes, sorrow doesn't stem from the event itself, but from self-righteousness.

I arrogantly believed Coco deeply loved me; I arrogantly believed that by taking her virginity, she would do anything for me; I even arrogantly believed in love.

All of this was wrong.

That day, Gangzi and Mao Mao picked me up.

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

He said he had some family matters to attend to.

This guy isn't a liar, and besides, he's been my brother for years; how could I not know he had a date?

He was yelling and singing some old song, "Forward, Forward," 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 she was still dressed.

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

Normally, I'd make up for what I didn't finish last night in the morning. But now, I wasn't in the mood.

Maybe this past year had taught me to be obedient?

Getting rid of all this, everything about her, was easier said than done. I sighed, got dressed, and went out.

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

Gangzi treating me was one thing, but the money I owed him was another; the two couldn't be confused.

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

I applied to four or five companies, but none of them were satisfactory. They all looked down on someone as clueless as 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 great figure, though her face showed the marks of time.

She seemed to teach yoga and was rumored to be the manager of the personal training department.

She looked me over, chatted for a while, 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 from personal training sessions.

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

But since starting work, I've never been scolded by her. Because I have the best performance in the personal training department and am quite popular.

I worked almost every week without a break, just selling private lessons – teaching private lessons – selling more – teaching more, repeating this cycle endlessly. Sometimes I'd teach 10 hours of private lessons a day. I knew I was using this less-than-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 a little less, 4,000, sometimes over 10,000.

My first paycheck was 5,000 yuan, absolutely exceptional among newcomers, even impressing the strict Nana.

I treated Gangzi, Mao Mao, and the other guys to dinner, paid back Gangzi's 2,000 yuan debt, and then booked a booth at a nightclub for everyone's entertainment. But 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 brand.

"Got it, you said it last time." I tossed the Zhonghua aside, pulled 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 his 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 it's just a feeling.

In the beginning, there were countless times I wanted to dial that number and ask, "Coco, how are you?" Countless times I wrote heart-wrenching text messages to send her; countless 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, it will only bring 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 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 seal it away. If left unchecked, it will run rampant in my heart.

That beautiful yet painful love, that lovely yet cruel woman. You, just stay put, don't wander off.

A lot has happened this year.

Gangzi originally said he was going to get married, but then he didn't.

I asked him why, but he wouldn't say. He just wanted me to go to bars with him, to "flirt" with him, and to drown my sorrows in alcohol.

How similar we are. We both fell in love with a woman, but it didn't work out.

I didn't ask him anything more, it would only add to his sadness.

Mao Mao is still the same shameless guy, except that he went to the United States of America once. When he came back, he brought back some cigars and a few strange shirts for Gangzi and me. Then he bragged to us about the red-light district there, saying how amazing the women were, how many tricks they had, and that if it were Gangzi and me, we would have been drained long ago.

I spend every day working hard, and my performance soars. I was finally promoted to personal training manager, while Sister Nana was promoted to store manager.

Nana isn't difficult to get along with; she may seem cold on the outside, but she's warm-hearted. Sometimes, after we get off work together, she'll drive me home, since it's on her way.

We went from being awkward at first to being able to talk about anything.

She told me privately that she was 35 years old. She said it with a hint of self-deprecation. It was clear she was once a stunning beauty, and even now, many men at the gym would linger on her chest, and some younger men would even steal glances at her.

Her allure remained, but she possessed a mature woman's charm that was even more captivating than a young girl's. This charm was even more alluring.

Nana's husband died in a car accident five years ago, taking their three-year-old child and her love. The compensation was 300,000 yuan. 300,000 yuan? Less than the price of Gangzi's car. Human life is so cheap. She has been single ever since.

I asked Nana why she didn't find someone else; with her qualities, it shouldn't be difficult.

She replied that her love was gone, she didn't lack money, and she could manage alone; she was used to it.

I felt a pang of sadness; Nana's experience filled me with sympathy. So, I unconsciously told her about my relationship with Lingzi and Coco.

After listening, Nana smiled and said to me, "Ak, don't try to guess a woman's thoughts; you'll never figure them out."

"Hehe, I stopped trying a long time ago. It's just a memory. Besides, I can manage on my own; I seem to have gotten used to it."

We looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

If there are soulmates between men and women, we are one. It's a wonderful feeling.

Before, I firmly believed that there was no such thing as pure friendship between men and women. But I seem to have developed this so-called friendship with Nana.

We care about each other, sharing sorrows, joys, and so on that we've never told anyone else. Unlike romantic love, we like each other, even making lighthearted jokes. But we won't fall in love.

We've both had love. Her love died with her husband. My love died with Coco's passing.

I like this relationship, this feeling, with Nana. There are some things I'll tell her in detail. But I won't tell Gangzi and Mao Mao.

Is this what soulmates are? Maybe.

A relationship between a man and a woman devoid of passion and love. That's fine.

My life has fallen into a fixed pattern throughout the year. The hectic work leaves me exhausted, and the money I earn, aside from the initial joy of the past few months, now brings no sense of accomplishment.

But that's life.

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She did it with someone else.

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