Love is silent snow, but also bone-chilling cold
The days that followed were like a carefully choreographed pantomime.
I attended flower arranging classes regularly, taking diligent notes. I visited my mother every Tuesday and Friday, sharing long lunches with her. Every afternoon at 4 p.m., I showed up at the heated pool in the apartment building and swam twenty laps.
Gu Yanshen was very satisfied with this routine. He enjoyed watching me follow my routine on the surveillance camera, like admiring a well-preserved work of art.
But beneath my perfect performance, something was quietly changing.
It was a rainy night, and Gu Yanshen hadn't returned from a social engagement. Alone in my study, sorting through old things, I stumbled across a photo album from college. The girl in the photo was smiling heartlessly, her eyes gleaming. That light had been gradually worn away by Gu Yanshen.
Tucked between the last page of the album was a letter of recommendation from my university advisor, which described me as an "insightful and critical writer."
I crumpled the letter into a ball, then carefully flattened it. Those suppressed words surged in my chest, like a trapped beast searching for an escape.
In the flower arrangement class the next day, Mr. Nakamura asked us to create a work that expresses "resistance".
The works of other students all express resistance to the outside world, but in my vase, every flower is rebelling against itself - the lily twists to break free from the bottle, the rose scratches the wrapping paper with its thorns, and even the accompanying grass stubbornly points in different directions.
"It's very interesting," Nakamura said, pausing before my work. "It's an inner rebellion."
When Gu Yanshen came to pick me up, he looked at the work for a long time.
"You're not happy." He suddenly said on the way home in the car.
"Very happy." I smiled expertly. "Your little fish is always happy."
He held my hand silently. The warmth in his palm reminded me of the temperature sensor on my collar.
That night he was exceptionally gentle, yet also exceptionally out of control, as if he was confirming something, yet also as if he was afraid of losing something.
Afterward, as I lay in the dark, I heard him whisper in my ear, "Don't leave me, little fish. Never."
This sentence sounds more like a curse than a request.
The turning point came on an ordinary afternoon.
I met my new neighbor at the pool, a single mother with a little girl. The little girl's toy ball rolled to my feet, and I picked it up and gave it back to her.
"Thank you, Auntie!" the little girl smiled brightly. "Your necklace is so beautiful!"
I subconsciously stroked the pearl necklace around my neck—it was Gu Yanshen's twentieth birthday gift to me. For the past three years, I'd hardly ever taken it off.
"Do you like it?" I heard myself ask, "Can I give it to you?"
The little girl nodded in surprise. I untied the necklace and put it on her. In that moment, I felt an inexplicable sense of relief.
That night, Gu Yanshen discovered that the necklace had disappeared.
"Lost?" His tone was terrifyingly calm.
"Maybe it fell in the swimming pool." I avoided his gaze.
He lifted my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. "You never lose anything I give you."
"People change."
These words made the air freeze.
"Very good." He suddenly laughed, "My little fish has finally learned to resist."
He slammed the door and left, not coming back all night.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at the faint mark on my neck. It felt so liberating to be free of the shackles, even if only temporarily.
The next day, I received an anonymous package. Inside was a copy of The Second Sex, with a line of words written on the title page:
"She wanted to escape, but the key to the cage was in her own hands. - Mockingbird Reader"
There was a note in the book:
"Tomorrow afternoon at 2:00, in the Ancient Books Reading Room of the Municipal Library. Bring your courage."
It wasn't signed, but I knew who it was. Shen Que was still working hard, even though I had broken my promise last time.
This time, I decided to keep the appointment.
Before the appointment, I did two things.
First, I visited my mother in the nursing home. I didn't explain much, but simply told her, "No matter what happens, I will ensure you spend your remaining years in peace."
Then I went to see a lawyer, under the guise of consulting on art investments, but in reality I learned about divorce procedures and the requirements for applying for a writ of habeas corpus.
At 2 p.m., I showed up at the ancient books reading room of the library on time. There was no surveillance here because the precious ancient books were afraid of light and moisture.
Shen Que was already waiting for me. He had lost some weight, but his eyes were still firm.
"Are you okay?" This was the first thing he said when he saw me.
I nodded and pushed the USB drive I had prepared towards him. "This is all my manuscripts, and...some other materials."
The USB drive contains not only my column manuscripts, but also the control behaviors of Gu Yanshen that I have recorded over the past few months, as well as the data analysis of the cloud collar.
"This is enough to apply for a protection order." Chen Que put away the USB drive. "Are you sure you want to take this step?"
"I'm sure."
We agreed to meet here in three days, when he would bring his lawyers and reporters.
Leaving the library, I felt a long-lost sense of relief. Even if the road ahead was uncertain, at least I was taking steps toward freedom.
But the relief was short-lived.
After returning home, Gu Yanshen sat in the living room with the book "The Second Sex" in front of him.
"Interesting reading," he whispered. "Tell me, Little Fish, are you finding yourself now, or are you running away from yourself?"
I stood there and didn't answer.
He stood up and walked closer. "Do you think you can find freedom by leaving me? Do you think the world outside will accept you?"
He stood in front of me and reached out to touch my cheek, his movements as gentle as if he were treating fragile porcelain:
"Without me, you're nothing. The disheveled Mo Xiaoyu three years ago was the real you. And the elegant and composed Mrs. Gu you are now is the creation of me."
His words were like poisoned daggers, piercing my deepest fears.
But this time, I didn't back down.
"Then let me be Mo Xiaoyu again." I looked him straight in the eye. "At least that's the real me."
His expression finally cracked. In that moment, I saw anger, hurt, and a hint of... fear.
"You'll regret this," he said finally.
Maybe. But more than regret, I fear the thought of continuing to live in this exquisite cage and slowly suffocating to death.
As the night deepened, the snow fell silently. I stood by the window, watching the snowflakes covering the city.
Love should be warm, but when it becomes a means of control, it is colder than ice and snow.
What will I face tomorrow? I don’t know.
But I know that no matter what, I will never go back to being that stranger in the mirror.
The self who is slowly dying in the cage of tenderness.
When tenderness becomes a shackle, she must break the cage in the name of love and find back her deprived self.
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