My junior sister from back then

Since having my son, my wife and I have been sleeping in separate beds for almost two years. I used to believe that "a great love will outlast time, endure hardship, overcome distance, and withstand longing." Now that I'm this age, I finally understand. The difference between love and marriage is just one word. "If you sleep with her tonight and want to sleep with her again tomorrow, that's love; if you sleep with her tonight and have to sleep with her again tomorrow night, that's marriage." After 30, I rarely have the desire to go to brothels or engage in sexual activity. I genuinely dislike those quick fixes. Even my ex-girlfriend, when she occasionally came to my apartment for comfort, advised me that this was abnormal and that I should have a normal married life. Almost half a year has passed, and there's still no improvement. What does a prostitute taste like? I've forgotten. Ten years of masturbation, tears streaming down my face, I don't think about it, my right hand is busy. Why laugh? Nowhere to confide my sorrows. Even if the handsome and rich are as ruthless as wolves, their faces gleaming, their temples white as frost. They wipe away their grime with tissues, their heavy makeup stained, glancing at their neighbor's house, panicking. A goddess bathes, while a loser sheds a thousand tears. Knowing that being a father is difficult these days, they envy the handsome and tall, busy raising children. They have no topics to discuss with everyone. They increasingly feel: the light clouds and gentle breeze, the dim stars and waning moon, comfort my lifelong heartache; the pale paper, the sharp pen tip, soothe my lifelong wandering. Singing as I walk, a faint smile on my face, a cloud, a breeze, a star, a moon, a piece of paper, a pen, a person, a world. Facing the bustling world, when I wake from my dream, only sadness remains, speechless for a long time. Who will accompany whom through life? Who will unlock whose sorrowful heart? Does one become more nostalgic as one gets older? The more nostalgic one becomes, the more weathered one's emotions become? Otherwise, why do I always love to repeatedly, complexly, and progressively flip through those old photo albums and read those old diaries from my youth? The cold moon casts a lonely shadow, the golden wind brushes the curtains of the tall paulownia tree. The sea of knowledge is vast and the lamplight dim; in the Drunken Jade Pavilion, old dreams are shattered. Twice we were entwined

, fulfilling our long-cherished desires; one night of love sealed our fate. Every time I see her photo, she's still so fresh, as if I can still touch her skin, kiss the seven star-shaped moles on her chest, and smell the faint fragrance of her virginity. Rape is easy to avoid, but lust is hard to guard against. I can't help but endlessly reminisce, endlessly yearn for her. She was a junior classmate two years my junior, now teaching art at an elementary school in Xinxiang. Nearly ten years have passed since we last met? She's long since become a wife and mother, devoted to her husband and children, finding joy in simple pleasures. Is she alright? Is she still happy? The passion of my youth has extinguished the flames of marriage within me. The ordinariness of marriage has ignited my endless longing for love. The way I flirted back then seems completely different from how I pursue women now. Back then, Gillian Chung was still a virgin, Edison Chen didn't have a camera, Tokyo wasn't hot yet, Chris Lee wasn't a real man, Jia Junpeng hadn't come home for dinner, chrysanthemums were for looking at and for making tea, love wasn't for sale, Li Gang wasn't your father yet, and the girl I secretly admired was still in the next class, looking innocent... The scattered petals weep with dew, the west wind is fierce, and heaven is jealous of beauty. Hate has ruined this life, the dream of the sandalwood box is shattered, and the soul lingers around the acacia tree. What is true love, what is illusion? I gaze at the starry sky at dawn. A row of bungalows, push open a black door, and you enter an ambiguous world. The sunlight outside the wall is nice, but there's also a wind, compressed, invisible, and sharp, coming from the tall buildings next door; the door is always tightly closed, and everything sinks back into darkness. The 7-square-meter humble room is wonderful because it has a double bed, neither too loose nor too tight. Don't let love taint such a simple thing as going to bed. We undressed together, embraced and groped, licked, sucked and squeezed, a rod and a hole, a pair of waves; one leaning back, one kneeling, one aiming, one thrusting and one pounding, a numbness and a tingling sensation, a cry, a thrust and an ejaculation, a shudder. No need for hourly rooms, no need for hot showers, no need for condoms... Everything was so simple, unpretentious, and frank. What was meant to happen would happen, and what was meant to be done would continue to the end. I only remember the spider web in the southeast corner, as large as a rain hat, with superb warp and weft, shrouded in dust and smoke, its silk as thick as rope—a work of art beyond human reach!

The leader likes to grow flowers, but always manages to kill them. Slowly killing lush plants seems to be an innate instinct for her. This afternoon, I moved a pot of my thriving schefflera cuttings to her. Her joy was evident, like a celestial maiden scattering flowers. I just got back to the office and received a text message from her: next Monday, she wants me to go to a meeting in Huixian, Xinxiang. Suddenly, I remembered her, the one I'd fought so fiercely with in Xinxiang last night. Had she changed her phone number? Was it appropriate to invite her to Huixian? Could she even go? Did she still have the same passionate heart and youthful appearance we once shared...? Ten years ago, we were separated by vast distances, our fates unknown. Could the sporadic text messages we exchanged during that time sustain the feelings we'd missed for over a decade? Ever since I sent her a text before leaving, my life had been on a tense countdown. Would she reply?

On the second day in Huixian, she texted. Asking where I was. I felt a sudden oxygen deprivation. I told her I was staying at the Baiquan Hotel. I asked where she was. She replied that she was in Huixian and asked me to meet her at the front desk in 20 minutes. At that moment, I was experiencing extreme oxygen deprivation...

When I saw her, it was 5:15 PM. She was still so tall and slender, but her face was noticeably aged. She was no longer the delicate sixteen or seventeen-year-old she once was; she was now the image of a typical woman in her thirties. Her beauty had faded, her appearance lost its spark, and I sighed, lamenting that my youth had been wasted. Tears streamed down her face, her heart was ashen, her fragrance gone, loneliness returned day and night. She wore black underwear and a half-length trench coat, her short hair from years ago now flowing freely. We stared at each other for a long time. I realized my eyes held surprise, while hers held resentment and bitterness. Was she blaming me for not contacting her for so many years? Love arises without warning, and deepens with time, but alas, even the most beautiful woman cannot withstand the passage of time. I had to believe that time is a cruel mistress, turning black the fungus and softening the banana. I still believed in the truth that young girls are pleasing to the eye, while mature women are pleasing to the heart. We went hiking, strolled side by side on the stone steps. Near a scenic spot called Anlewo, I saw our shadows elongated by the setting sun. The silhouettes were chaotic, chaotic, a dance of silhouettes reminiscent of yesteryear. Longing and resentment, longing and resentment, endless longing lingered in vain. What we talked about is now blurred, just incoherent, my mind wandering as I uttered these disjointed words. I had planned to ask her out for dinner and drinks that evening. But it didn't work out. One of her classmates from school invited her to stay at her house. That night, while sleeping in a hotel, I dreamt of us making love on a single bed, with my younger brother, who is two years younger than me, pretending to be asleep and secretly watching from under the bed.

The number of text messages increased significantly on the second day. I almost dared not put my phone on vibrate, otherwise it would surely shatter into pieces. Perhaps I simply didn't feel like calling anymore, and was just hoping the night would come quickly. That evening, I hurriedly drank a bottle of Yanghe beer and ate some stew with a friend from Yichang, Hubei. Then the phone rang again. She had already booked a room at a budget hotel across from the Yaocheng Hotel, next to the Li Shizhen statue, and asked me to come over. After dropping my friend off at Baiquan, I quickly took a taxi to her hotel and we agreed to meet in a room on the first floor. The environment was quite nice, the lighting was warm, and the bathroom was a semi-transparent glass partition, with various aphrodisiacs and condoms on the counter. She had already showered and was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me, wearing an outer garment. She had just removed her makeup, her robe half-undone. She was charming and alluring, the phoenix pillow fragrant. Like carp leaping on brocade waves, butterflies trembling in lotus pods. Behold the white pear blossoms, the vibrant plum blossoms, and the yellow chrysanthemums. A secret rendezvous in Huixian, a secret tryst in the guest room. Picking the heart of a flower, intoxicated by the fairyland. Exploring the jade-like depths of the sky, seeking fragrance in the secluded orifices. Stroking her soft, downy skin, smooth as snow, her rosy cheeks glowing. I no longer cared about bathing, and without uttering a word, I lifted her up and pressed her beneath me, passionately kissing her countless sweet kisses. Before me, spring's beauty, a dreamlike figure, her face flushed like apricot blossoms in spring. She sat proudly before me, a thousand tender moments shared. Like a harmonious phoenix, her charm and talent were unique. In our pleasure, who cared for us? In our infatuation, reality and illusion blurred. She urged me to bathe first, but I slipped my hand inside her clothes; she wore nothing underneath. I looked up at her in surprise; her eyes were closed, her breath soft as silk. Slightly tipsy, her face flushed with allure. Her half-closed eyes met my languid gaze. A perfect moment, a time for passionate love and joyous union. Her beauty surpassed even the finest snow, like fresh lotus petals. Her fragrant hair cascaded down her back. Mandarin ducks intertwined, riding the east wind; delicate flowers, glistening with dew, opened their pearly stamens. Both sides of the bed were covered in eroticism, but only the beautiful younger sister, lustful as ever, could be seen. Her flower stem had never been touched by her brother's erection, but now her humble gate was opened for him. Wasn't it impolite to have my junior sister perform oral sex on me before even bathing? And after loosening her vagina, wouldn't it be unhygienic for her to lick up all the fluids from my penis? I frantically grabbed her neck, thrusting into her from the bed until her head was against the floor, her brow furrowed, panting heavily. After a while, I pulled her legs, dragging her back onto the bed, continuing my assault from behind. Her head was pressed deeply against the pillow and headboard. She pushed against the coffee table, her shoulders lowered, straining to raise her buttocks to their limit, breathing heavily. Just then, her phone rang. I was startled, quickly assessing the situation. She dazedly found her phone; it was her 9-year-old daughter calling. Good heavens, what time is it? Why is she making this harassing call? Afraid of interrupting their conversation, I softened my movements. Slowly, I pulled out and then back into her body, repeating this motion, unwilling to stop. I let them finish their conversation. The daughter asked what she should wear to school tomorrow. I suggested a few outfits, but the daughter seemed dissatisfied with all of them. After several minutes on the phone, she became impatient. "Wear whatever you like, Mom is here..." She hung up the phone with a reason that annoyed me. After asking who was looking after her daughter at home, my lust reignited. I looked at her trembling shoulders, wondering how her daughter and father had managed to get through the night. Another round of oral sex and thrusting ensued. Several times, morning clouds and evening rains. A hidden hatred, a hidden soul consumed. What is so hard to judge, a distant dream of her. Lingering affection, the azure sky and crimson night. The sea of desire, the demonic abyss, raging flames. My mind is in turmoil, running wild. Until my heart pounded like a war drum, I couldn't help but pull out and ejaculate on her back. Then she collapsed onto the bed, complaining that I hadn't ejaculated inside. "God, do you want to give me another daughter?"

It seems like every ten years is a step down a ladder, and this step is downward. Having just turned 30, I already feel my stamina is far less than it was a few days ago. We used to do this seven times in one night, but now even one time is a struggle.

We rested for a while, talking naked. We both felt the same way; if we had actually gotten married back then, the passion would have long since faded, and we might be arguing every day, even fighting. I now believe that dating without the intention of marriage is just playing around; I deny that arguments and fights without the intention of divorce are just a display of marital affection. So we're both glad we made such a wise choice back then. Love is an interesting thing that happens on the road to the grave. We are destined to lose the people we love, otherwise how would we know how important they are to us? Many things in life are a matter of chance; what you deliberately pursue may elude you, while what you never expected often arrives unexpectedly. Therefore, one should possess a peaceful and carefree heart, accepting everything as it comes, going with the flow, without resentment, impatience, excess, or forcing things; without pessimism, rigidity, panic, or arrogance; without being elated by external gains or saddened by personal losses. Accepting things as they come doesn't mean resigning oneself to fate, but rather facing life with an open-minded attitude. Around midnight or later, we did it again, this time far less intense than the first time. Finally, she held my scrotum, preventing me from pulling out. I gave in and ejaculated inside her as she wished. Exhausted, I held her body and drifted off to sleep, not knowing how long I slept. Since sleeping separately from my wife, I've gradually become unaccustomed to someone sleeping next to me. I woke up two or three times a night, it was truly unbearable. Each time I woke up and touched her genitals, they were slippery and wet, arousing me. I asked her, "Have you seen me? Is my genitals never dry? Is it the rainy season?" Twice, she touched my genitals, trying to arouse me before we could have sex again, but I refused. I said, "I'm really getting old, I don't have the energy I used to have. You can't let me die from exhaustion just by seeing you."

We made love until dawn. She wanted to stay in bed, so I got up, took a shower, and went to a meeting. That night, she asked me to come over, but I refused. I was convinced she would kill me. So I drank a lot of alcohol and went to sleep. Even a woman's period will leave you when you get old, let alone a man? A woman who is like a wolf in her thirties and a tiger in her forties is a sin. I knew the more I did it, the more painful it would be for her, the more she would be reluctant to part, the more she would cling to me, the more unforgettable it would be. After the three-day meeting, I planned to go to the mountains of Baligou for a few days to have some peace and quiet. She really couldn't go with me, and she reluctantly pulled me to Baiquan Park, looking at the gray rain pavilion, the green willows, and the clear spring, not wanting me to leave. Even the heavens weep, pattering on the banana leaves, reluctant to part at the post station bridge. A light rain falls, swallows fly away in pairs, fallen flowers cast lonely shadows. I still shook off her hand and took a car to Baligou, Jiulian Mountain. She went back to Xinxiang in the opposite direction.

In a small shed under a persimmon tree on Xiaoxitian Mountain in Jiulian, I found a sturdy hammock. Looking at the persimmons, like little red lanterns, I swayed in the hammock, lost in thought. The persimmon shadows swayed, drawing in scattered raindrops, startling the red leaves, and bringing a chill to the autumn air. Alone in the mountains, gazing at the horizon, a desolate scene unfolded before my eyes. Still a bitter journey to the ends of the earth, like drifting duckweed, dreams carried away by smoke and clouds. I lamented the unfulfilled desires of my life, my heart's voice once whispered to the flowers. Is a person's life for marriage? Or for love? Is marriage for love? Or love for marriage? Why do lovers and other people's wives always make you want to sleep with them again and again, while you have to sleep with your own wife every day? If that's the case, why get married at all? Do you hate marriage after getting married?

Marriage is ordained by fate. After marriage, husband and wife become two sides of the same coin: they cannot face each other, yet they must stay together. Married life is incredibly frustrating: in the first year, the man speaks while the woman listens; in the second year, the woman speaks while the man listens; in the third year, the neighbors overhear their conversations. When a man opens the car door for his wife, one thing is certain: it's either a new car or a new wife. Marriage is about a man and a woman becoming one. Trouble begins when they decide to define who is who. Many people dream of a heavenly life through marriage, but heaven has everything except marriage. Jehovah and Jesus are still unmarried; Buddha was single; Muhammad was single. Only in Chinese legend does the Jade Emperor have a Queen Mother, but they almost never appear together. Before marriage, a man might spend the entire night pondering her words. After marriage, he's already asleep before she finishes speaking. Every man desires a beautiful, understanding, financially secure wife who is also a good cook. But the law only allows one man one wife. Before marriage, a man holding a woman's hand is love. After marriage, it's self-defense. Marriage is the only war you must fight alongside your enemy. In marriage, the two words a man hates most are "don't" and "stop," unless they're used together, i.e., "don't stop." Marriage is a university where a man loses his bachelor's degree, while a woman gains her master's. In marriage, a man speaks to his wife in words, while a woman speaks to her husband in paragraphs. Marriage is the result of love, and love is blind. Therefore, marriage is a university for the blind. Love is a long, beautiful dream, while marriage is the alarm clock. When a newlywed man seems happy, we know why. But when a man married for 10 years seems happy, we question the reason. Marriage is not a word. Marriage is a sentence, a life imprisonment.

Looking back on these years, I've walked, passed by, thought, guessed, forgotten, loved, lost, cried, heard, seen, gone mad, made fools of myself, dreamed, been hurt, cherished, been busy, been idle, been confused, been angry—but in the end, all that's left is to drift along. Flowers bloom tirelessly for the butterflies' fragrance; a true friend finds no extravagant hopes for the rest of one's life. Time flows like water, carrying varying weights; let's drift along with each other, like boats on the waves. So many emotions have been scattered in the wind and rain, yet I can't let go of the face I cherish. Life is impermanent, like a dream; may love endure until the end of time. Because it rained the next day, and my son called to say he missed me, I really couldn't play anymore. I went home and wrote this to share with everyone. The world's connections bring us together and separate us in haste, yet I'm willing to hold onto this unresolved encounter; may you be moved by my enduring love.

They say women are like water, so everyone should learn different swimming styles. Find someone to spend your life with; they don't have to be perfect, or even your true love. As long as we're on the same path, we can travel together and avoid a lifetime of loneliness. I think that's about right, so be it.
I can't describe how I feel right now. This morning, on my way to the office, the wind howled fiercely, the cold biting my teeth. All I could smell was the lingering scent of skincare cream and semen on my hands.

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My junior sister from back then

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