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墨書 Inktalez
"I have also suffered from bullying in school. Because of an exam, I got involved with some idle people from society. They chased me with knives, and I still have a scar on my head that required twelve stitches."
"Wow! Let me see." I crouched down, pushed aside his hair, and saw the centipede-like scar among his thick locks. Before I could feel sorry for him, he continued, "I have had bipolar disorder and once thought about killing and eating people, like Hannibal, digging out their organs, stuffing their skins with straw, sewing them back up, and then carefully cooking their insides. It was an artistic act, but it was just a thought."
"Well, that's good. As long as it was just a thought. In life, we shouldn't harm others. Even if we die, we shouldn't cause trouble for others."
"My first love was my university mentor, who was eight years older than me. She looked like a doll. She had relationships with over thirty men behind my back and filmed it; the videos were on her phone, and I saw them with my own eyes."
"Wow!"
"I had over two hundred girlfriends in college; I was no different from a stud."
"Wow!"
"I had all kinds of friends—people from the entertainment industry, drug circles, dance circles, escort circles, live streaming circles... a complete mess."
"Wow!"
"In the past two years, I've been studying the Tao Te Ching and researching the works of Laozi and Zhuangzi."
"Wow! A kindred spirit! The idea of 'governing by doing nothing' and 'Zhuang Zhou dreaming of a butterfly'—I delved into that during college for a while but lost patience and gave up due to my limited talent. We should chat about our insights when we have time."
He looked at me and scoffed lightly. "You really are into culture. But you mentioned you work in the afternoon and get off in the morning; are you still in that industry?"
"What are you thinking? I quit during my junior year. That's when I started writing novels; it's been five or six years now. Later on, I wrote short stories, published works, and scripts. I was in Shanghai working for a publishing house writing children's mystery books. But at that time, I had just gone through a breakup and wasn't in a good state; I kept taking leave and got fired during my probation period. To distance myself from that man and adjust my mindset, I returned to Qingdao and joined a script-killing company. Have you heard of script killing?"
"I've played it a few times," he nodded.
"That company both opened stores and handled distribution. The store had game masters as well as authors; everyone worked in the afternoon because no one played script killing in the morning—most people came in the afternoon until late at night. The scripts I wrote needed collective discussion and revision by the creative team. So we could only gather when there were fewer customers and available rooms to discuss; we would often talk until dawn, grab breakfast together afterward, and go home—this went on for over six months. Just recently, I quit that job to take a break during October 1st. I didn't tell my mom about this; there's no need to worry her—she always overreacts."
He peeled an orange and stuffed three segments into my mouth before putting three into his own. He stared into my eyes and said, "I'm quite interested in your breakup."
"You really know how to hit the nail on the head!"
My romantic history isn't particularly long; if summed up in two words: complicated! Those vague childhood crushes don't count as love worth mentioning; my first love happened in high school through online dating.
Back then was different from recent years; half-touchscreen phones were still relatively new gadgets. My dad did his best to meet my needs financially despite his limitations—even though he struggled, he bought me a phone to take to school so he could know how I was doing at any time. However, at that time, schools explicitly prohibited students from bringing electronic devices onto campus—not even MP3 players were allowed—so I had to hide it everywhere. The only time I could log onto QQ—the popular chat software of that era—was secretly under the covers after lights out at night while adding strangers from all directions as friends.
Once I entered high school, the countdown began on the blackboard at the back of the classroom—a daily reminder of how little time remained. The pressure of early mornings and late nights made QQ chatting my only outlet for stress relief.
That boy... how did I add him? How did we start chatting? How did feelings develop across the screen? I racked my brain for details, but nothing came to mind except for one question that left a deep impression on me.
"Are you a Virgin?"
Virgin? At that time, I thought I was, and I felt ashamed of it. Now, I can't understand my strange thought process. A Virgin—someone who had never been intimate with anyone—someone who had no experience with the opposite sex—someone who lacked attraction—someone who considered themselves ugly. So, on my side of the screen, my face burned with embarrassment.
"What does it matter? What if I am or I'm not?"
"I like Virgins."
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