Chapter 285
During her teaching days, people around her secretly said that she was mentally ill and like a ghost. She didn't blame them, because she was no different from a ghost.
Later, when she was riding the bus, a young couple brought their four or five-year-old daughter. The man peeled loquats and gave them to his daughter. After eating two loquats, the girl said she wanted to sleep.
The woman asked her daughter to lie on their laps and said with a smile, "Go to sleep. Mommy is here. What are you afraid of?"
Then the daughter fell asleep. The woman gently stroked her daughter's hair, looked at her, and said to her husband with a smile, "Who does she look like?"
That scene didn't cause her much of a stir. If it were during her amnesia, she'd probably burst into tears. But things were different then. She no longer used her amnesia to escape reality, and those terrifying dreams became rarer. The nightmare period was over, and she had accepted reality, completely despairing, no longer holding out hope for anyone or anything.
Later, when the war broke out, it was very difficult to find a job. There was no food, no place to live, and even drinking water was limited. At that time, bombs were still being dropped randomly, and walking on the street, you didn't know who would be killed. She didn't care. After all, she was already saturated with suffering, and any more would not make any difference.
Once, while out looking for work, another plane approached. She joined the crowd, running for her life, but after not eating for days, she couldn't run any longer. She simply gave up and sat down on the side of the road, panting with exhaustion.
She was like a statue, people rushing past her like a Hitchcock zoom in a movie, someone always stepping on her feet, bumping into her legs.
A middle-aged man passed by and shouted, "You're going to die! Why don't you run?"
She smiled slightly and thought to herself, "Blow me up, I really can't hold on any longer."
He was a man she rarely felt grateful to. If she had to say who she was grateful to, it would be him first, then her university Chinese studies teacher, Mr. Yang, and finally, this older brother whose name she didn't know.
At that time, she thought that he was such a good man. He escaped for his own life and also asked her to escape as well.
After the amnesia period, she completely turned into a walking corpse. She no longer had any human joys or sorrows, hopes or disappointments. She no longer had any hope in love, even the instinctive desires of human beings. Before she lost her memory, she still had hope, to meet a perfect person who loved each other, and then have each other on the wedding night. It didn't have to be the wedding night, as long as she loved him enough, anything was fine, she didn't care. But everything was impossible. And because she was so disgusted, she was very repulsed by the matter, feeling that she was dirty, and the matter was also dirty. She also knew that it was human nature, and that her psychology had reached a perverted level. After the war, because there was no food, her menstruation stopped. She felt that she was no longer a human being, from body to spirit, she was no longer a woman.
The painful, tormenting, and sordid experiences would constantly resurface and torment her. She desperately wanted to confide in someone, but she didn't dare. No matter who she told them to, they wouldn't sympathize with her, only think she was a complete fool and a slut. This only made her suffer even more.
When she first met him in Shanghai, even though they were both acting, the moment she saw him, a thousand words came flooding into her mind and she wanted to tell him. She couldn't figure out why, but she just wanted to tell him.
The first time she was with him, even though he was very violent and left her helpless, her hatred for that matter vanished instantly. At least she had regained her womanly desires and was no longer like a stone woman.
Then he disappeared for several days and got angry with her for no reason. The anxiety that had been building up inside her only flared up when they met again. She was so embarrassed that she couldn't control herself and ended up in bed with him without knowing why.
Originally, she had been sharpening her sword, determined to defeat him, but that was their first real game, and she had no control at all. She just obeyed him like a slave, letting him do whatever he wanted.
The pleasure and pain were both intense. But the pain was the pain of injured muscles and bones recovering, the pain of joints and meridians needing external force to open them up. It hurt so much, but she was no longer a walking corpse, her blood dried up and congealed. Along with the pain, her blood vessels and bones began to flow. Like the parched, withered earth within her, after a rain, the dry rivers began to flow again, and the vegetation began to sprout again. She felt alive again, a living being.
But what surprised her most was that for the first time after so many years since her mother's death, she didn't feel alone.
Even before that nightmare, she had lived alone for years. Every holiday, when everyone went home, she was left alone in the dorm. She helplessly endured those horrific and filthy practices, the fear and humiliation, the disgusting acts of prostitution. Later, she was a wandering spirit, watching them eat and drink carelessly as they went about their daily lives. She had originally thought that at least Kuang Yumin would be a little different from them, but he was just like them.
Back then, Lao Yi wanted her to feel pain, to feel lost and at a loss, but through it all, she surprisingly felt he was with her. Someone truly was there for him, and even through all that, she felt a sense of security. Perhaps they had been entangled in conflict from the very beginning. Even when he was furious and wanted her to be afraid, she still felt he was there for her, and a sense of security remained. It was like the feeling of being accompanied by someone even if she went to hell.
I don't know when it started to rain outside. The raindrops hit the leaves on the trees, making a sound.
The room suddenly became very cold.
Wang Jiazhi recalled her first meeting with him, and a thousand words welled up in her heart. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, like a lost kitten finally returning home. She wanted to tell him all the pain and suffering she had endured along the way. Of course, she couldn't tell him that one thing, but she also wanted to cry with him about all the other trivial pains and grievances she had suffered.
He came back very early today. As soon as he entered the room, he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze, with an old piece of clothing on her legs and an open box at her feet.
After being distracted for a while, she turned around and saw him standing at the door.
The tearful look on his face was exactly the same as when she first saw him. He was overwhelmed at the time. Why? They had only met once or twice, yet he was like this.
He walked up to her and asked, "What's wrong?"
Instead, she calmed down, rested her head on his shoulder, and said, "If you saw me wearing these clothes, would you still like me?"
"Yes." He suddenly imagined her wearing a worn navy blue cotton gown, collecting relief rice in the cold wind. The scene was so familiar, but he had never seen her like that before.
"I don't believe it."
"I always pay attention to beautiful women."
"You're annoying."
He said very seriously, "If I just like pretty looks, it doesn't necessarily have to be you."
She was very moved by what she heard, but she thought to herself that her soul was dirtier than her appearance. If he knew what she had been through, he would never have touched her body in the first place.
"I know you have a lot more beautiful looks than me."
"That makes me angry again."
She moaned and just snuggled in his arms and acted coquettishly.
After a while, the child woke up. He picked him up gently, and the kitten actually started to act coquettishly with him.
He laughed and said, "Did you learn that from your mother?"
"I didn't." She leaned on his shoulder and listened quietly to the sound of rain.
She and he have many similarities, for example, their lenient nature towards others and strict self-discipline is extremely torturous. Even if others are at fault and she is the victim, she will reflect on whether she has done something wrong to cause this, unlike Lai Hsiu-kin and Kuang Yu-min, who can, with a clear conscience, claim to be 10% in the right even if they are 90% wrong and only 10% in the right. Even if they are not in the right at all and are 10% wrong, they can still shamelessly distort the truth and claim to be 10% in the right.
It seems that when I was a child, my teacher would always shamelessly say: Why do people bully you and not others?
This is simply nonsense. She is bullied because others are not easy to bully, but she is. But Wang Jiazhi really reflects on why she is the one being bullied instead of others.
It seems she was a talented artist as a child, and the teacher hadn't told her there were only group prizes, not individual ones. She was incredibly responsible and diligent, practicing her drawings every day. When the time came for the three of them to compete, the other two hadn't practiced hard enough and their drawings weren't good, while she was the only one who did well and received a high score. But because the other two held her back, she still didn't win a prize. Foolishly, she practiced diligently for almost three months, but didn't even receive a notebook.
The teacher said, "If you had gotten a few more points, we could have won a prize." It seemed as if the other two weren't at fault for not practicing well, but that she, the hardest-working student, was guilty of not getting a few more points. At the time, she foolishly thought it was all her fault for not drawing better; if she had gotten a few more points, she would have won the prize.
So although she hated those people for mistreating her, she felt that she was the one who was most responsible because she was the one who did not refuse and obey them.
Old Yi had the same personality. Ever since he was young, whenever something went wrong, even if it was clearly someone else's fault, he'd blame himself, wondering if he'd been careless enough to cause the other person's mistake. It seemed to have reached a point where those around him shamelessly excused themselves, explaining how they'd been deceived and wronged, or how there were good reasons for their actions. Then, they could live their lives with a clear conscience and no pressure. He had far more excuses than those people, yet he kept none. Even when Mrs. Yi sometimes tried to defend him, he'd be very upset and tell her to stop.
He and Wang Jiazhi are both the type of people who, even if they're only slightly at fault, will exaggerate their responsibility when something goes wrong, ultimately assuming they're completely at fault. People with this personality type are often very ambitious and competitive, but life is incredibly tiring, especially when faced with major events, when life can be excruciatingly painful.
In the end, it is the people in the small circle who are happy. They are the kind of people who, even if they are very wrong, can shamelessly distort the truth and portray themselves as victims. They believe in themselves that they are victims.
But most of these people are shameless, incompetent idiots. A person's sense of responsibility often goes hand in hand with their ability. Kuang Yumin has all the bad qualities of a big shot, but none of the ability.
Because of the dirty experience as a prostitute, the unbearable nightmare during the amnesia period, and many other things, Wang Jiazhi felt that she and he should only be emotionless bed partners, not emotional lovers.
Wang Jiazhi thought, if she had been forced, and if he hadn't been such a terrible person, she wouldn't have felt so unworthy. But even if that person had been Kuang Yumin, she certainly wouldn't have suffered so much torture and nightmares. But with her idealistic fantasy of love, she still felt sad when she met him.
They both have very high requirements for relationships. If they just want a companion who shares their suffering, it is not difficult for either of them. Lao Yi is self-evident. Even if she was in the worst situation, in fact, as long as she was willing, with her youth and beauty, it would not be so difficult for her to find someone who would treat her well and not mind her past. But she is not a girl like Songzi. As long as someone treats her well, as long as someone accompanies her, no matter how ugly or incompetent he is, as long as he is a man, she will be devoted to him. Wang Jiazhi's romantic nature makes her feel that her situation makes it impossible for her to have the possibility of her ideal relationship, so she would rather be alone than settle for someone she doesn't like. She has completely given up on love.
At first, neither of them had imagined anything other than liking each other would unfold like this. Because these two were isomers, their shared strength, rebelliousness, sensitivity, and romance created a strong attraction, fueled by their terrifying shared destiny and overly compatible sexual intimacy.
Wang Jiazhi was very insecure. In fact, the doubts of those wives of officials were also hers. What exactly did he like about her? Although women all have that kind of romantic confidence, feelings are unreasonable. Who knows why, he just likes her.
He wasn't entirely sure how deep her feelings for him were, but he was certain she loved him immensely. He had no idea why, but he'd been confident since he was young. It wasn't surprising that someone would like him.
There was one thing he might not have imagined: in his youth, he, too, had been a bright, fragrant weed. Although he felt completely cut off from his past, his past self long dead, a completely unbearable person, even though the orchid withered and died, it still held a certain fragrance. He still held a lingering trace of his former beauty, something Wang Jiazhi had longed to find in people like Old Wu and Kuang Yumin, but could never find. After all, a poisonous weed is, at its core, a poisonous weed; alive or dead, it will not be liked.
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