In April, Qiao Qisha returned from Sydney to attend Juan’s wedding. Juan went to the airport to pick her up, watching from a distance as she walked over with two newly heightened cheekbones. The voices were noisy, the air filled with the sour stench of sweat, so the planned embrace was omitted. Walking outside, Qiao Qisha took out two Kent cigarettes, handed one to Juan, and they stood next to an iron trash can to smoke. Juan smoked very quickly, always with a vicious urgency to destroy it quickly. After finishing, she stood there, bored, and reached out to touch Qiao Qisha’s cheekbones, finding them cold and hard, yet said they looked very natural.
She drove Qiao Qisha home, and when they were almost there, couldn’t help but ask: Such high cheekbones, won’t they bring misfortune to your husband? Qiao Qisha sneered coldly, saying, I’m afraid they won’t kill him fast enough. Juan thought of Heitan’s yellowed, shriveled face and suddenly felt he might die early.
In the rearview mirror, Qiao Qisha was tightly holding her face and applying lipstick again—this pale pink color was this year’s trending shade. Juan felt very melancholy inside. How beautiful Qiao Qisha used to be, but now she had permanently become a girl whose smile never reached her eyes.
When Juan opened the door, Qiao Qisha asked: Don’t you need to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding? She said everything was pretty much ready, her mother and the others had come long ago and wouldn’t let her manage anything. Two cats rushed out, one black and one white, circling around her and meowing loudly. She scattered two handfuls of cat food into the small bowls on the floor, and they finally quieted down. Qiao Qisha asked, Didn’t you used to have a dog? The dog died, so I switched to cats.
Qiao Qisha walked around the house and looked at the floor lamp made of white feathers in the bedroom, saying: Very well made. She asked in surprise, How did you know I made it myself? Qiao Qisha said, Because you told me many times. You’re always showing off your little artistic touches, endlessly. They sat on the sofa for a while. Juan got up to make two cups of coffee, then turned on the music—lazy Bossa Nova filled the room. Qiao Qisha picked up the wedding photo album from the coffee table and flipped through it page by page. He looks pretty good, just a bit short. Juan sat down and said, This “Lover’s Wharf” set was shot by the seaside. Halfway through shooting, a typhoon came. Later we had to go back specifically to reshoot—it was exhausting. Qiao Qisha sighed, I really don’t understand what’s the point of taking these photos, they’re so fake. She closed the album, put it back on the table, pinched up a sugar cube that had been dipped in coffee with her fingertips, and put it directly in her mouth. Crumbs immediately scattered, whitening the black mesh skirt on her knees. Juan stared blankly for a while, then felt that Qiao Qisha hadn’t lost her beauty after all, which somehow made her uncomfortable.
Qiao Qisha had made plans and wouldn’t be eating dinner with her. Before leaving, she remembered to ask for a condom. Juan laughed, You’re truly worthy of being a Greedy Wolf woman. Qiao Qisha didn’t understand, What’s a Greedy Wolf woman? Juan said, I’ve been studying Zi Wei Dou Shu recently. The main star in your destiny palace is Greedy Wolf—you’re destined for romantic encounters, promiscuous and excessive. Qiao Qisha said, I’m much more restrained now. Just give me a condom. Juan then said, I don’t have any. Qiao Qisha was very surprised, Do you take pills then? Juan laughed, From contraceptive methods alone, you can see we’re dating completely different types of men. If you always sleep with relatively traditional middle-aged men, you’d know how low the usage rate of condoms is. Qiao Qisha frowned: Don’t you think middle-aged men have a decaying smell about them? She added, Taking pills is very bad for your body, and it really does make you gain weight. But I don’t understand why you accommodate men. Juan wasn’t to be outdone: I’m not accommodating anyone—I don’t like condoms myself. That rubber smell makes me want to vomit just thinking about it. And thinking about inserting such a foreign object into your body is always awkward. Qiao Qisha said, Is it that serious? You’ve used tampons before, haven’t you? If you can get used to those, why not these? Qiao Qisha was always so aggressive like this. Juan couldn’t stand it and said hesitantly, Maybe I’m more sensitive. Qiao Qisha lifted her wrist to check her watch, There’s no time, I have to go. We’ll continue talking when I get back tonight. As Juan was closing the door, she asked, Are you sure you’re coming back tonight? Qiao Qisha shook her head, Not sure. At the latest, early tomorrow morning—I’ll definitely make it to your wedding. Give me a key anyway, in case I come back in the middle of the night and have to wake you up by knocking. Juan took a key off her keychain, handed it to Qiao Qisha, and said, Come back early. The makeup artists will be here at seven o’clock, and if you’re here, you can help too… Before she finished speaking, the Greedy Wolf woman had already been enclosed between the elevator doors with the fragrance of peach blossoms.
It was like returning to several years ago, when they were studying at university in Toronto. Qiao Qisha would go out on dates with great enthusiasm, while Juan would bite on a cigarette, curled up on the sofa watching HBO movies, quietly waiting for that long-haired young man they shared the apartment with to return. If he happened to be in the mood and the other two roommates weren’t there, they could do it. Do it, just do it—she didn’t even ask which school he was studying art at or what exactly he had painted. But she wasn’t very focused even during sex; later she couldn’t remember the size of his penis or his preferred positions at all, even though he was her first. She only remembered that she couldn’t make noise. The other people might come back at any time, maybe they had already returned and were in the living room. But she really, really wanted to cry out. The entire pleasure of making love seemed to be just about crying out. The louder she cried, the faster orgasm would come. Once she did cry out, and the young man propped himself up and grabbed a sock to stuff in her mouth. It was very smelly. From then on, the stink became inseparable from intercourse, and she always maintained the view that making love was a very smelly thing. So whether before or after making love, she never liked to shower.
She didn’t cry out, so the others never discovered this thing—they were really too careless. Didn’t the wrinkled bed sheets and the drops of semen on them ever arouse Qiao Qisha’s suspicion? They were roommates, after all. She might have seen it, but she didn’t ask. She wouldn’t ask—she didn’t have the habit of questioning. She herself was straight, so she couldn’t imagine anything crooked. She herself was bright and clear, so she assumed ambiguity didn’t exist in the world. Qiao Qisha always had the bearing of a leading lady—if she stood on stage, the spotlight would definitely follow her.
Juan herself, of course, wouldn’t tell either. She thought the long-haired young man was terrible, especially after Qiao Qisha brought back her mixed-race boyfriend—then she found him even more slovenly, like a dirty rag. She thought to herself, this would end soon anyway. But it actually lasted more than a year, until she discovered she was pregnant. Then she really couldn’t tell. If Qiao Qisha found out that she had gotten knocked up by this dirty rag, she would probably never be able to hold her head up in front of her again. So Juan endured until summer vacation before returning to China to have the abortion. By then the fetus had already begun to take shape. As she sat alone in the chair waiting for surgery, she covered a thin paper over the ultrasound image and traced its outline. Her heart changed, giving birth to a kind of tenderness, and a stinking lustful feeling kept surging up in her throat. The summer vacation was too long. She lied to her mother and returned to Toronto a month early, but the long-haired young man had already been deported for fighting. He had punched a Canadian police officer—one punch—very decisively ending his story with her, and having sufficient reason to vanish from the world thereafter. In her life, relationships always ended like this, abruptly. Most importantly, they were always very secretive from beginning to end, without a single witness.
II
Juan stood in the middle of the room and spaced out for a while, then dragged Qiao Qisha’s suitcase next to the sofa, opened it, and examined the clothes one by one. Qiao Qisha still loved hooded sweatshirts so much—white, blue, dark red with ham patterns—along with camisoles to wear underneath. There were two pairs of jeans, both skinny low-rise, the kind that clung tightly to the body. Just to show off her ass, Juan thought.
She untied a drawstring cloth bag and pulled out seven or eight sets of matching bras and panties. Black soft satin trimmed with lace, light purple with a U-shaped underwire in the middle (she didn’t even bring low-cut clothes, what’s the point of wearing this), creamy white transparent mesh (having nipples constrained by this would be torture), pink and white checkered, three-quarter cup with thick padding on the inside (same preference as porn actresses). The panties were almost all transparent, mostly thongs, thin as mouse tails. Thinking about how they would stick there made her body uncomfortable.
Were these Heitan’s preferences? Juan tried hard to remember but still couldn’t recall what Heitan was like when making love. But remembering wouldn’t be of any use anyway. They had only done it a few times, both very restrained, never getting familiar with each other. Heitan just wanted to steal pleasure, but stole it without any joy at all. He lay on top of her, so frightened, pretending to be nonchalant, yet asking over and over again, Qiao Qisha didn’t say she was coming to see you today, did she? Juan only remembered this sentence because it shattered her dream of being able to cry out, and also made her understand that there was no hope of prying this man away from Qiao Qisha’s side. But she still didn’t give up, trying again and again—baking cakes, making soup, bathing him after making love, helping him put on his shoes before going out. She thought these things could make Heitan feel that she loved him more than Qiao Qisha did, or at least was more suitable to be a wife.
Until one morning when Heitan and Qiao Qisha appeared side by side at her door. Qiao Qisha said, We’ve decided to get married and then immigrate to Australia. Heitan looked at her with a smile, not daring to give even an ambiguous glance. Juan let them come in and sit, eating the cheesecake she had made. They were eating the same cake that Heitan had eaten just the afternoon before, and Heitan said it was delicious, just like he had the afternoon before. Juan asked, Do you need me to be a bridesmaid? Heitan immediately said, No need, you’d have to travel so far, it’s too much trouble. I have a cousin who happens to be in Sydney. Juan said, You’re really too sudden—I don’t even have time to prepare a wedding gift. Qiao Qisha sat there listlessly, as if she hadn’t woken up yet. It was all Heitan talking: We accept your sentiment. Juan smiled and nodded, thinking she should bring out that wool vest Heitan had left here—that would be my sentiment. They also drank a bowl of the lotus seed soup that Heitan had drunk the afternoon before, then got up to leave. At the door, Qiao Qisha suddenly turned around, hugged Juan and said: Will you miss me? This was the only time in five years of friendship that she had asked about Juan’s feelings. She seemed to have no confidence in their friendship. Perhaps because of this rarity, Juan was a little moved. She said, Yes.
Juan picked up those pieces of underwear one by one, examining them carefully. They weren’t new—each piece had been worn for a long time. When Qiao Qisha was at home, she must have worn these undergarments too. So she thought, no matter what, Qiao Qisha was still passionate about underwear, which meant she still had love. Maybe her relationship with Heitan wasn’t as bad as they said. It was probably the third month after they left that Heitan started calling her. The first time he was very timid, his words reserved. The second time, third time, gradually it became very natural—at least once a week, with nothing particular to discuss, just chatting. More precisely, listening to Heitan complain. He earned money to support the family, paying for Qiao Qisha to continue her studies. He ate box lunches at noon and had to work overtime at night—it was very hard. And Qiao Qisha only went to school three mornings a week, spending all other time at home, but she never cleaned the room. The house was as messy as a pigsty. Before coming, she had sworn she would learn to cook, but after living there for half a year, she hadn’t even touched the stove. There was only a microwave oven left by the landlord, which quickly became dirty and old, its rotating plate stained with milk and soy sauce. Every day when he came home and opened the door, he would either see a house full of strangers having some inexplicable party, all drunk, with furniture pushed to corners of the room and the carpet sticky with vomit, Qiao Qisha extending her arm from among a pile of heads to wave at him; or he would see the room completely empty, the bedroom looking as if it had been robbed, with bottles and jars toppled all over the dressing table, the wardrobe wide open, colorful clothes flooding out like a torrent, overflowing the entire room. How could such days continue? Heitan repeated this sentence countless times, while Juan remained silent on this end. Yet after a few minutes, he would hang up and obediently return to those impossible days.
They made love over the phone several times. At that time, Heitan and Qiao Qisha were in a cold war and hadn’t had sex for a long time—this was what Heitan said himself. The first time, their vocabulary was very poor, especially verbs, just constantly repeating, making the whole process seem dull and dry. Later it got much better, with words changing according to the situation, highlighting speed and intensity. She suspected Heitan might have, like herself, spent these few days online reading many pornographic novels. In any case, she was quite happy. In her own fierce eruption, she even smelled that long-missed stench. Finally, she cried out with relief, and Heitan responded to her passionately. From this perspective, their lovemaking was far more successful than in the past. After climaxing, Heitan said, I’ve never been so happy. She giggled and mocked him on this end, her heart full of triumph. But this sense of victory hadn’t lasted even a minute when Heitan said very affectionately: I really regret not taking a pair of your panties with me when I left. She laughed even harder, rolling from the sofa to the floor. Laughing and laughing, tears burst out. Why didn’t he regret leaving her, but only regret not taking her panties so masturbation would feel a little better? Men were so afraid of failure that even their regrets only went one small step. She hung up the phone, picked up her bra and panties from the floor, and putting them on, finally began to cry aloud.
More than a month later, they resumed their phone calls, but didn’t make love again. Sometimes she also found herself ridiculous—why maintain this kind of contact with Heitan, listening to his monotonous complaints. But she always maintained undiminished enthusiasm for Qiao Qisha’s current living situation. This curiosity had long taken root and couldn’t be eliminated. This was how she missed Qiao Qisha.
III
If she hadn’t turned the suitcase upside down, Juan would have almost missed that dress. It was pressed under the laptop and toiletry bag, folded very neatly. When she took it out, she smelled a rich perfume scent—not the brand Qiao Qisha used now. The clothes apparently hadn’t been washed, probably worn only once, and the smell of new fabric could still faintly be detected. It was a Kenzo lemon-yellow dress, very bright—Juan seemed to have only seen people wear such yellow in her girlhood. It was pieced together with two fabrics, silk satin and chiffon, with crimson and pine green floral patterns, plus smoky gray Japanese-style patterns. It had shell sleeves and a body-hugging hip-wrapping hemline that reached the ankles. She particularly noticed the deep heart-shaped neckline full of ruffles, very low and wide—that purple U-shaped underwire bra was meant to match it. Juan held the dress up to her body, looked at the neckline position, and suddenly felt very irritated. She threw down the dress, ran to the water dispenser, and gulped down two mugs of water. Yet her gaze returned to that dress. It spread on the floor like a small fragrant flower field. Juan found it strange that the cats, instead of stepping over it as they usually did with her clothes, carefully walked around it. Even the cats thought this dress was extraordinary.
She was certain that Qiao Qisha would wear this dress to tomorrow’s wedding. This made her very sad. She had agreed with Qiao Qisha beforehand that the ceremony would be very simple—aside from relatives from both sides, only a few friends. Dressing casually would be fine. Now Qiao Qisha was clearly opposing her. For the past five years, she had always yielded to Qiao Qisha, never competing with her for attention, but this time—this was her wedding. Couldn’t Qiao Qisha yield for once? Although this dress couldn’t be considered formal wear, it was still too brilliant, and did the neckline really have to be cut so low? Yesterday Juan had just tried on the gown at the bridal shop. She had rented the most expensive set, studded all over with tiny diamonds, tightly constraining the chest, with a three-layered bud-shaped hemline. Most importantly, the white was very pure, and the texture of the gauze was very delicate—anyone knowledgeable would know its price was considerable. But now she suddenly felt that wedding dress was very tacky. Even the purest white would become gray and dull next to such brilliant yellow. Moreover, this mass of white had to be used to set off her dignity and quietness, stiffly piled in one place, looking very bulky. While that mass of yellow was free and passionate—it could flutter about, could shout or laugh heartily (she would definitely do this after drinking), and when drunk could lean against the man beside her. She and her cleavage would undoubtedly become the focus of the entire wedding.
Now Juan really regretted agreeing to let Qiao Qisha attend the wedding. She hadn’t planned to invite her at all—it was a mutual friend who told her. Qiao Qisha then called, saying she would come. Juan politely declined, but Qiao Qisha said, Heitan and I have separated. I’m planning to move out and haven’t found a house yet, so this is a good chance to come back and have fun. I haven’t been back for a year and a half. Juan’s heart ached—why hadn’t Heitan mentioned the separation? He must still be trying to win Qiao Qisha back. Juan had originally wanted to decline again, but a few days ago she heard Heitan say that to make her face more European-looking, Qiao Qisha had specifically flown to Korea to get two high cheekbones implanted, and now looked ugly as death, like a monster, Heitan said. She was very curious and wanted to see, so she agreed.
Because Qiao Qisha was coming, she changed the restaurant for the wedding banquet, reselected the gown, and moved the wedding photo location from the park to the seaside. The wedding that was originally planned to be done hastily suddenly became grand. The only regret was that the wedding rings had been bought long ago, and the diamonds on them were a bit too small.
IV
The phone rang. It was her mother calling:
Do we still want the candlesticks? The wedding company is such a rip-off—charging so much money for a few candlesticks to put on the tables! Her mother’s voice was piercingly loud. Her aunt, who had gone with her, said from the side:
If we don’t want them, we don’t want them. No need to shout so loudly about it.
Why do you always take others’ side and speak for them?
These two women in their fifties had been arguing since getting on the train to Beijing, for a whole week, almost non-stop. Whether to take the subway or a taxi, whether to replace the soft-shell turtle at the wedding banquet, whether to go to the bank for new money first or buy wedding candy first… All of these could become major events worth arguing about for hours. It was this time that Juan suddenly felt her mother had aged a lot. When she was young, her mother had high aspirations, thinking her aunt was vulgar and didn’t know how to dress herself. Now she had finally become exactly like her aunt. They had the same round, plump bodies, ate and talked at the same rapid pace. The only consolation was that Juan’s house couldn’t accommodate them—they traveled between the hotel and wedding company during the day and stayed at Juan’s uncle’s house at night. This way, Juan hardly had to face them.
Juan felt a terrible headache. She said weakly:
You decide.
Then we won’t take them, how about that? her mother said.
Juan didn’t answer.
Say something.
Mom, Juan finally said, can we not have the wedding?
What are you saying? Getting upset over a few candlesticks?
No, I just don’t want to have it anymore.
Are you crazy? The invitations have already been sent out, and we’ve paid the deposit for the restaurant. Her mother started shouting on the other end.
Her aunt interjected again: I said long ago that you’ve spoiled Juan. Everything has to go her way. Originally having the wedding in Qingdao would have been so convenient. But she insisted on having it in Beijing. Making so many relatives travel such a long distance. That’s not even mentioning how she suddenly said she wanted to change the restaurant we’d already booked to a much more expensive one. You accommodated her in that too. We’ve done all the work while she and Qing Yang have barely lifted a finger. Now that everything’s almost ready, she suddenly says she doesn’t want the wedding anymore…
Her mother interrupted her aunt’s words and tried to say calmly to Juan: Stop making trouble. After you get married, I won’t interfere with your affairs anymore.
Juan hung up the phone. Her mother called again; she declined it. Called again, declined again. This repeated continuously. Their record in the past was thirty-five times. She firmly believed her mother had mild obsessive-compulsive disorder. As she aged, she would inevitably inherit this genetic gift too—there were already some signs. Similarly, many years later, she would also grow to look exactly like her mother and aunt. Sitting at opposite ends of a long table with her fat, boring husband, slurping noodles, rolling up her sleeves to wipe the sweat from her forehead. What a crude gesture, almost forgetting she was a woman.
Would she also, like her mother, give birth to a mediocre daughter? About this, Juan was almost certain. A few years ago, the one she aborted should have been a boy—from the pencil-traced ultrasound image, she seemed to feel a spirited energy. Their family was destined to raise daughters. A cold observer with a different surname, a cowardly traitor. Worst of all, she would also, like her mother, insist that this mediocre daughter was the most excellent. Because she was the most excellent, all the good things in the world should fall upon her.
When she was studying, Juan worked very hard, but her grades could only be considered average. However, her mother would always tell outsiders, “My daughter is very smart, she just likes to play. If she studied seriously, she would definitely be among the top students.” Later she only got into a school that could barely be called a university. Her mother felt it was embarrassing to attend that school, so she strongly supported her studying abroad, and told outsiders, “Our family is quite open-minded and westernized. Juan grew up in this atmosphere, so she’s more suited to Western educational methods.” Juan studied finance. After graduating, she couldn’t find work in Canada, so she returned home. Her current job in Beijing was found through her father’s old classmate’s help—working as an editor at a financial magazine, very leisurely. The magazine featured successful people, and her mother thought this job was good, very respectable.
Qiao Qisha had returned to China with Juan. She had grown tired of staying in Canada for so long. Back in Beijing, she didn’t immediately look for work but helped out at a friend’s gallery. That year when Juan’s mother came to Beijing, she met Qiao Qisha for the first time. Juan quietly asked her, “Is Qiao Qisha pretty?” Her mother said, “Her face is too pointed, making her look petty. Not as beautiful as you.” Juan said, “But she has a great figure.” Her mother said, “What’s so great about it? She’s tall and dark, making her look robust.” Her mother added, “She’s far inferior to you—she doesn’t even have a decent job.”
Her mother clearly harbored hostility toward Qiao Qisha and wouldn’t let Juan get too close to her. When Qiao Qisha married far away to Australia, her mother finally breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “That girl is too flamboyant. Always being with you, she’ll steal away things that originally belonged to you.” Juan thought to herself, what should have been stolen was already stolen long ago.
Her mother was a woman who lived on fantasies, believing she had the best husband and daughter in the world. So when she discovered the affair with Ou Feng, she nearly went crazy. However, she must have had suspicions earlier, otherwise she wouldn’t have secretly looked at the text messages on Juan’s phone.
Her mother said heartbrokenly, “That man is a full twenty years older than you, has a family and children. Do you think he’s serious? He’s just taking advantage of your youth, deceiving your feelings! What a sin, he’ll get his comeuppance. Doesn’t he also have a daughter? When his daughter grows up, she’ll also be deceived by an old man, then he’ll know what it feels like!”
Juan raised her head and asked quietly, “Then my being deceived by an old man should also be my father’s comeuppance?”
Her mother froze for a moment, then raised her hand and slapped Juan. Immediately after, she broke down crying. She had never cried like this before, as if trying to cry out all the water accumulated in her body due to slow metabolism.
Even if she could cry herself thin, she couldn’t cry back her youth.
Juan suddenly understood that her mother hadn’t always lived in fantasy and wasn’t that naive. She was just desperately concealing, carefully maintaining. Even if this was vanity, it was what she relied on to live, so there was nothing shameful about it—only pitiable. Looking at her mother crying uncontrollably, Juan believed she was also seeing her future self. She didn’t think this was karmic retribution; more precisely, perhaps it was a kind of generational inheritance. Vanity inherited, humility inherited. She seemed to understand everything, so she stopped struggling and obediently submitted.
A few months later, Juan decided to marry Qing Yang. Qing Yang was introduced to her by her mother—a high official’s son, idle and good-for-nothing, but he looked quite proper. He had also returned from studying abroad, and his family had paid to open a small company for him. Such a pillow embroidered with flowers could satisfy the whole family’s vanity. Juan just felt tired. All her past relationships had been submerged underwater, unspeakable. Having stayed underwater too long, she wanted to surface for air. She also noticed Qing Yang’s slender hands and long legs, and his beautiful phoenix eyes. They say daughters resemble their fathers, and Juan only hoped to have a beautiful daughter in the future, so that even if she encountered girls like Qiao Qisha later, she wouldn’t feel too inferior. Of course, it would be best not to encounter Qiao Qisha at all. Her difference from her mother was that her mother didn’t have a female friend like Qiao Qisha around her, so her fantasies could remain relatively intact. Her mother also had strong self-healing ability—she never mentioned Ou Feng to Juan again afterward, as if she had forgotten this person ever existed.
When Juan looked at her phone again, there were already nineteen missed calls from her mother.
V
Juan still decided to try on that dress. For her, it was indeed too big—her chest couldn’t fill it out, leaving two folds of fabric bunched up. The neckline was really too low, unable to hide the white bra underneath. She walked to the mirror and tried gathering her hair, pinning it behind her head to expose her neck (she guessed Qiao Qisha would definitely do this). It was truly brilliant. Juan had to admire Qiao Qisha’s good taste. Even if she had seen this dress in a department store, she might not have thought to pick it up and try it on. She always unconsciously avoided things that were too dazzling, feeling she was incompatible with them. But now she felt she and this dress complemented each other well.
Juan felt she should wear this dress to see Ou Feng. She suddenly felt an inexplicable excitement. This afternoon that had been sad enough to die finally had life again. However, before going, she needed to borrow Qiao Qisha’s U-shaped bra.
Juan sat drinking coffee at the Starbucks downstairs from Ou Feng’s office building, wearing the beautiful yellow dress. She had to wait until everyone from Ou Feng’s company left before she could go up. Juan had lost count of how many times she had waited like this. But it wasn’t too many times—more often, she waited for him at home. Comparatively, it was better here. At most, she would take out a small mirror and use powder to dab her oily nose, or touch up her lipstick. If she were at home, she would constantly change clothes in front of the mirror. Whether to wear clothes or not, sleepwear or formal wear, which sleepwear. She would also casually scatter a few books on the coffee table to show she loved reading and wasn’t specifically waiting for him to come.
She had refills of American coffee twice and ate a muffin. She received a text from her mother, who finally compromised and stopped calling. She just told Juan to remember to cook the “Sweet Honey Soup” with pre-prepared ingredients in the pot after waking up tomorrow morning. She also reminded her to sleep early tonight. At eight-thirty, Ou Feng finally called to let her come up.
As soon as Juan entered, Ou Feng locked the door behind them. He turned off all the lights and embraced her. She was annoyed because he hadn’t even had time to see the dress she was wearing clearly. His hand had already found the zipper on her back, pulling it all the way down and peeling her out of it. In the darkness, she heard another zipper sound, then felt that thing desperately pushing into her. During this process, she again became a soft puppet, losing consciousness, completely submissive. She thought of the discussion about condoms she’d had with Qiao Qisha that afternoon and felt very pathetic. Every time she was stripped naked by a man, her brain went completely blank, as if she had died, unable to make any sound or movement. So she had never interrupted a man’s advance to demand a condom. The reason for this should perhaps be traced back to Toronto again—during the first two years, she watched Qiao Qisha constantly changing boyfriends, going out overnight with them, while she remained a pure virgin. In such times, purity was truly an insulting word, implying disadvantage in competition and therefore being ignored. She felt like overstocked goods on a shelf, covered in dust. The repression and deprivation of that period made her later become blindly eager for sex. No condom didn’t matter, no pleasure didn’t matter. No love didn’t matter either. She was like a mansion that had been idle too long, just hoping someone would visit. Although she knew some people just came in to rest their feet.
But Ou Feng was different. He was different from all those before. He wasn’t just stopping by to rest—maybe initially he was, but later he stayed long-term and became the master of this place. Of course, he didn’t understand the history of this mansion, thinking the people who had been here could be counted on one hand. Juan gave men the impression of being reserved and shy, belonging to the category of innocent, dutiful girls. But after being with Ou Feng, Juan did indeed become innocent and dutiful. Essentially she wasn’t promiscuous, just empty. Ou Feng’s appearance filled this emptiness. What replaced it was waiting. Of course, waiting ultimately exchanged for another kind of emptiness, but it was concealed by colorful promises. By the time Juan discovered this, it was too late. This man was the one who had given her the most promises in the world, and probably no one would surpass him in the future. Maybe he naturally liked making promises, but Juan preferred to believe it was because he cared about her and had to keep promising to capture her heart. He promised to accompany her to set off fireworks in the suburbs during New Year, promised to take her to Europe, promised to divorce, promised to marry her, promised to have a child with her. The firework promise was made for two years without being fulfilled. The other promises had open deadlines—if she was willing to wait patiently, perhaps some could be fulfilled. Because he had also fulfilled some promises, like giving her a puppy. So it became her playing with the puppy while waiting. After the puppy died, she started keeping cats, grooming the cats while continuing to wait. He promised a lot, but the actual time they spent together was very little. Each time was also very short, just long enough for making love once. Looking back at their relationship, it was just making love again and again, so similar to each other that they eventually became somewhat formulaic.
After one lovemaking session, Ou Feng fell asleep tiredly. Juan slipped out from under the quilt, propped herself up and lit a cigarette, silently looking at him. Every time after making love, he would break out in a cold sweat, lying naked outside the covers to cool down. His body was always very hot, very warm when holding her. She wanted just this bit of warmth—without it, she really didn’t know how to get through winter. Sunlight shone through the not-quite-closed curtains, falling on his belly and thighs. All along, when they were together it was very dark, without light. She seemed to have never seen him clearly like she was doing now. She looked at him intently. His skin was so white, perhaps related to decreased male hormones. When he turned over, his skin trembled violently, like snow about to be shaken off tree branches.
“Don’t you think middle-aged men have a decaying smell about them?” Qiao Qisha’s words surfaced again.
At this moment, she truly felt the smell of decay. The man before her no longer had the ability to overthrow his current life and rebuild it.
Juan finally decided to leave.
Qing Yang looked very dull and made love like a woodpecker, but he still had enough time—enough time to grow old together with her. It turned out vitality was so important; only it could be used to fight against loneliness.
Juan lay on the cold office floor, feeling Ou Feng’s weakening spasms. She found her throat hurt—she must have cried out loudly again just now. When he was about to withdraw from inside her, she suddenly reached out and tightly hugged his neck: “Stay inside a little longer.” He didn’t move, still lying on top of her. Juan said again, “Don’t fall asleep, let’s talk.” Ou Feng said breathlessly, “Alright.”
“Do you love me?” Juan asked. She rarely asked this. But this sentence was indeed most suitable as the beginning of a conversation created from nothing.
“Of course.”
“What do you love about me?”
“You’re young and beautiful, and very understanding.”
“Oh.” Juan responded softly and said, “There are many girls younger and prettier than me, and they would be understanding too.”
“But I don’t know them, I only know you. Our meeting is fate.”
Juan didn’t speak. This answer really disappointed her. He didn’t love them only because he didn’t know them.
He had completely withdrawn from her body and couldn’t stay on top anymore. After making love, men instinctively want to separate from women, as if feeling ashamed of their recent dependence. She tightened her arms, not letting him move. “Take me away, live with me. Don’t just watch me marry someone else, okay?” Juan buried her face in his shoulder, scalding tears pouring out. The emotion at this moment was so sincere—if it wasn’t love, what was it? Juan seemed to just understand her own heart. She still couldn’t bear to part with him. Even though she was vain and afraid of loneliness, if he agreed now, she could throw all that away.
“Silly girl.” He patted her, loosened her clasped fingers, and climbed off her. He reached out to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve said it before, I really want to be with you, but I need some time.” He stood up unsteadily, took a cup to the water dispenser to drink. Juan looked up, only seeing Ou Feng’s inverted legs—thick, short, and cold. In the darkness, they had lost their characteristics and could belong to any man. She could no longer claim them as her own.
Juan pulled over the dress to cover herself. This silk wasn’t hers either—body temperature couldn’t stay on it, cooling faster than her body. She slowly came to her senses. Just now was only a momentary loss of control, with a thread of hope in her heart that Ou Feng could take her away from her current life. She sat up and put on her clothes. But her hair couldn’t be pinned up properly anymore.
“Are you getting married tomorrow?” Ou Feng asked.
“Yes.” Juan tied the dress sash behind her and stood up shakily.
“At the hotel you mentioned last time?”
“Yes.” The hairpin scratched against her scalp, piercing through the twisted hair, burning with pain.
“Don’t you need to stay home today to prepare?”
“Hmm?” Juan walked over and turned on the light. The cold white light was very harsh. The time for making love was actually very short, but enough to make one accustomed to darkness. He looked directly at her. She thought he should comment on this beautiful dress.
“You know what?” Ou Feng said, “I think you’re not getting married tomorrow. You’re not getting married at all. You’re just using this to scare me. You’re forcing me.”
Juan stood in the corner, looking at him. His expression was very stern, like scolding a lying elementary school student.
“Isn’t that right? I’ve suspected this for a long time.” Ou Feng pressed her.
Juan began to sneer. The hairpin fell again, and her hair came loose.
“I don’t like you doing this. These tricks don’t work on me.” Ou Feng said viciously.
“I really am getting married tomorrow.” Juan picked up the hairpin, opened the door, and before leaving, turned back to say very mournfully:
“I specifically wore my most beautiful dress today to say goodbye to you.”
Ou Feng looked her up and down. His gaze lingered on her cleavage. His tense expression gradually relaxed, and he sighed, “Since you still insist on saying you’re getting married tomorrow, then fine. I’ll go to that hotel tomorrow at noon and watch you marry from afar.”
He stared at her intently, waiting for her to admit she was lying.
But Juan turned around and walked out the door.
VI
Juan drove home. Night was falling, and the elevated highway was packed with cars. Street lights, neon lights, and billboards all lit up at the same moment. So bright, so crowded, it really looked like the night before a festival. She was wrapped in the crowded center, as if they were all coming toward her. To celebrate her wedding.
Wedding hallucinations began appearing before her eyes. She stood on stage exchanging rings with Qing Yang. Through the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling glass, she saw Ou Feng standing outside. But his gaze wasn’t on her, not even on the flower-bedecked platform. His gaze fell on that yellow dress. The owner of the yellow dress flew through the crowd like a flower butterfly, spreading bewitching fragrance. She flew around aimlessly until she saw him. Through the bouquets and glass, she saw him. They saw each other. When Ou Feng went around to the entrance, the flower butterfly was already waiting there. They stuck out their tongues and began kissing. How could they kiss before the new couple on stage? No, they shouldn’t kiss at all! She cried out, telling them to stop. But they had already fallen in love and were stuck together. But how could they fall in love? Ou Feng, are you willing to forever face a woman who fake-smiles with silicone cheekbones? Oh, Qiao Qisha, don’t you hate the decaying smell of middle-aged men? He’s too old, he can’t give you any happiness at all! She very ungracefully shook off Qing Yang’s hand, rushed forward, and shouted at the crowd below the stage, “Separate them! Quickly separate them!”
Juan’s emotions were out of control, waves of dizziness, everything going black before her eyes. She turned the steering wheel, pulled into the emergency lane, and hit the brakes. She had to rest for a while. Rest for a while. She opened the sunroof, leaned back in her seat, and slowly crawled out of the hallucination.
But some things weren’t hallucinations—they were about to happen. Tomorrow Ou Feng would come, and he would meet Qiao Qisha. Once he knew her, he could fall in love with her. Juan had a very strong intuition that Ou Feng would fall in love with Qiao Qisha. She had used the same intuition to foresee the departures of the long-haired young man and Heitan. It’s just that each time, she was unwilling to accept it and kept running forward until she crashed and bled before giving up.
The most tragic thing was that no one had ever seen her bleed. No one witnessed her infatuation. Each time she fell in love with someone, it was always very hasty, but those feelings were real. Even if initially motivated by jealousy or emptiness, they later carved deeply into her flesh and blood. Then were suddenly uprooted.
In the rearview mirror, she saw a collapsed face with a very dull expression. She sneered and said to the person in the mirror: “Look at yourself—how can you be a bride like this?”
The next morning at nine o’clock, Qiao Qisha returned from outside, sleepy and drowsy. She turned off the alarm clock she had set, and indeed was late. However, the bride-fetching ceremony probably hadn’t ended yet. She imagined the house packed with people coming to fetch the bride, the groom perhaps answering tricky questions from the bride’s friends and family, constantly thinking about how to break through and enter the bride’s room. But after knocking on the door for a long time—almost shaking off the double happiness character on the door—there was still no response. She suddenly remembered she had a key, so she took it out and opened the door. The house was quiet and empty. There were melon seeds and wedding candy on the table, but otherwise it was no different from usual. Qiao Qisha was very puzzled about whether the bride-fetching ceremony had taken place at all. She walked into the bedroom—the window was wide open, and the floor was covered in golden yellow. A big black cat lying on it opened its eyes alertly. As she approached, she saw that yellow dress had been torn into many strips, wide and narrow, scattered across the floor. She slowly crouched down. The cat meowed and jumped up, quickly darting under the bed.