The Crown of Thorns (Song Zhiyuan's Perspective)
The nights at Hongqi Commune always came early and were especially quiet. Song Zhiyuan stood outside the window of the men's dormitory at the educated youth site, gazing at the faint kerosene light streaming through the window of the nearby women's dormitory. His brow furrowed, the cigarette flickering between his fingers.
In the window was the woman named Lin Xueyin.
The first time he saw her was at the train station. Amidst the throngs of people and the sounds of weeping, she seemed like an elf who had strayed into the mortal world, her skin whiter than snow, her eyes misty, a stark contrast to the chaos around her. She nearly fell, and he caught her.
It was surprisingly slender and soft in the hand, with a barely perceptible tremor. At that moment, he could clearly hear his heart skip a beat.
He had seen too many women, the carefully cultivated socialites in the Beijing compounds, or various people who approached him with clear purposes. They were either bright, gentle, passionate, or reserved, but without exception, they all had some kind of calculation and flattery.
Only she, with her clear almond-shaped eyes, was filled with pure panic and helplessness. Like a frightened fawn, she easily bumped into his cold and hard defenses.
He helped her, almost instinctively. From taking her heavy luggage, to handing her the thick blanket, to the countless times he quietly helped her out. He told himself it was simply because he couldn't stand the bullying of Zhao Jianguo and his daughter, out of basic moral obligation to the weak.
But he knew it wasn't.
He would unconsciously pay attention to her movements, get upset if she frowned, and feel inexplicably displeased if she smiled at another male educated youth. This uncontrolled emotional fluctuation made him feel strange and... dangerous.
He is Song Zhiyuan, the third generation that the Song family has high hopes for. His marriage should be a stable alliance and an extension of interests, rather than starting with an accidental heart-beat, and the object is an educated youth with a simple background and a delicate temperament.
He tried to remain calm, to distance himself. But every time he saw her stubbornly pursed lips when Li Hongmei mocked her, her tears welling up in her eyes when her hands were rubbed raw from labor, her back standing straight and isolated at the criticism meeting... he would feel an overwhelming urge to completely take her under his wing and prevent anyone from hurting her again.
This contradiction tore at him. Reason told him this wasn't the best option, and might even bring trouble. But his emotions, those unfamiliar feelings he'd suppressed for over twenty years, grew like vines, entwining his heart and making it difficult for him to breathe.
Especially that night in the old barn.
He could have just warned Zhao Xiaofeng with words, or resolved the rumors in a more gentle way. But when he thought about how much more harm she might suffer, a surge of violent rage instantly overwhelmed his rationality.
He chose the most direct, primitive and despicable way - possession.
In the darkness, feeling her trembling and tears, listening to her broken sobs, his heart ached, but at the same time, he felt a twisted sense of peace.
All right, that was all. His mark had been left on her, and from now on, she could only be his. All those chaotic thoughts, that uncertain future, seemed to have a clear direction with this forced union.
But afterward, seeing the hollow, soulless look in her eyes, he was overwhelmed by a flood of regret and panic. Had he done something wrong? Had he completely ruined her?
This confusion reached its peak when he learned that she was pregnant.
A child. A bond he hadn't planned for, yet it existed. It bound him and her even more tightly. He saw her fear and despair when she heard the news, and watched her languishing in her hospital bed, protesting his plans with silence and weight loss.
For the first time, he began to doubt himself. His usual methods of control and coercion didn't seem to work on her. He could force her body, but not her heart.
Could it be...is he really wrong?
Late that night, looking at her sleeping face as pale as paper, an unprecedented fear gripped him - he was afraid that she would really wither away, that the unborn child would lose its mother, and that... he would lose her forever.
So, he chose to confess. In his clumsy way, he admitted his "mistake", his coercion, and declared that he would never let go.
He didn't know how much effect those words would have. He was just gambling, gambling on her instinct for survival, gambling on the faint existence, perhaps even unconscious of her own reliance on him.
Fortunately, he made the right bet.
When she started to eat, when she acquiesced to her parents' arrival, when she and he named the child together...his cold heart seemed to be filled with small pebbles, causing warm ripples to spread out.
He gradually understood that he couldn't treat her with mere force. She wasn't a territory to be conquered, but a delicate flower to be carefully nurtured. He began to learn to slow down, to approach her with a gentler approach, to humble himself in front of her parents, and to participate in the daily grind of parenting.
This process wasn't easy for him. He was used to giving orders, used to being efficient and direct, but now he had to learn to understand her thoughts and express his concern in a clumsy way. But when he saw the renewed light on her face, the frost in her eyes gradually melting, and the gentle, contented smile on her face as she held their daughter, he felt that all the attempts and changes were worth it.
The thrill that started with a fleeting glimpse at the train station, after going through coercion, hesitation, regret and difficult adjustments, not only did not disappear, but instead became even deeper.
He may never be a romantic and considerate husband, but he will be her strongest support and the most solid fortress of their small family.
Back then, on the thorny road of Hongqi Commune, he had personally placed a "crown" of pain on her head. Now, he was willing to use the rest of his life's patience and protection to grind those thorns into flexible vines, weaving them into a warm home that belonged only to them.
The determination has never changed. However, this determination, which was initially a brutal possession, has been tempered into the silent and deep protection of today.
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