Goodbye, weasel

Author: Zhang Xiaoxian / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2000-12-01
Features: There is a type of fighter jet called the Wild Mole, which is designed to mimic the appearance of a mole. It is not the most powerful weapon because it can refuel in the air, allowing it to stay in the sky for a long time, forever and ever. A woman gives a Wild Mole fighter jet to a man. He thinks she loves him, but she loves another man. She spends ten years on him; he is her entire life. But the man who promised to love her for seventy summers takes away her dignity. The summer fades away silently. Love is originally like drinking poison with a smile, heartbroken but never regretting it. The Wild Mole, stripped of dignity, leaves. He leaves, and she realizes that it was him who gave her dignity. She is the protagonist Qiu Huan'er, who has created a dream of a childhood sweetheart and immersed herself in it. When she realizes that there is no one left besides herself, she turns back only to find the door locked and the key lost outside—she can no longer escape. She was just a hair away from missing happiness, but the door creaked open, and their eyes met. There was still longing, but after all they had been through, dust had settled on both of them. Women in the world are always sentimental and changeable, hoping to meet two kinds of men in life—those who love them and those they love. How perfect that would be. But how many men can stay by their side through the years? Perhaps what moves us is the rarity of such devotion in reality. This book uses beautiful language to show readers the inner world of a girl, expressing her pursuit of ideal love. Though it is a novel, it is as beautiful as a lyrical prose. After reading it, one can taste a faint sweetness, like tea—bitter yet awakening. The reason the novel is titled "Goodbye, Wild Mole" is because there is a fighter jet called the Wild Mole, designed to mimic the appearance of a mole. It is not the most powerful weapon because it can refuel in the air, allowing it to stay in the sky for a long time, forever and ever. In love, we all hope for it to last forever, but reality often deviates from our wishes. The dialogue in the story is brilliant and full of philosophical insights about love. There is a fighter jet called the Wild Mole, designed to mimic the appearance of a mole. It is not the most powerful weapon because it can refuel in the air, allowing it to stay in the sky for a long time, forever and ever. A woman gives a Wild Mole fighter jet to a man. He thinks she loves him, but she loves another man. She spends ten years on him; he is her entire life. But the man who promised to love her for seventy summers takes away her dignity. The summer fades away silently. Love is originally like drinking poison with a smile, heartbroken but never regretting it. The Wild Mole, stripped of dignity, leaves. He leaves, and she realizes that it was him who gave her dignity. She is the protagonist Qiu Huan'er, who has created a dream of a childhood sweetheart and immersed herself in it. When she realizes that there is no one left besides herself, she turns back only to find the door locked and the key lost outside—she can no longer escape. She was just a hair away from missing happiness, but the door creaked open, and their eyes met. There was still longing, but after all they had been through, dust had settled on both of them. Women in the world are always sentimental and changeable, hoping to meet two kinds of men in life—those who love them and those they love. How perfect that would be. But how many men can stay by their side through the years? Perhaps what moves us is the rarity of such devotion in reality. This book uses beautiful language to show readers the inner world of a girl, expressing her pursuit of ideal love. Though it is a novel, it is as beautiful as a lyrical prose. After reading it, one can taste a faint sweetness, like tea—bitter yet awakening. The reason the novel is titled "Goodbye, Wild Mole" is because there is a fighter jet called the Wild Mole, designed to mimic the appearance of a mole. It is not the most powerful weapon because it can refuel in the air, allowing it to stay in the sky for a long time, forever and ever. In love, we all hope for it to last forever, but reality often deviates from our wishes. The dialogue in the story is brilliant and full of philosophical insights about love.
"Life is tough!" I smiled. I had been working as a multi-level marketing salesperson for American skincare and health products for two years. Additionally, I had three tutoring jobs, earning a total of 8,000 yuan per month. This 8,000 yuan was to pay off Qiu Xiaoju's debts. For him, being in debt was also a kind of happiness. In my second year of high school, ten classmates and I went camping at Dalang West Bay. In the morning, the weather was already bad when we set off. When we arrived at Dalang West Bay, the weather suddenly turned severe—thunder and lightning, pouring rain, flooding in many places, trees falling down. We were stranded on a beach, and our camp was swept away by the wind in just five minutes. We walked to a nearby village, and by then, it was already past eight in the evening. It was pitch black all around, and several village houses were abandoned and uninhabited, which was terrifying. We knocked on a lit village house and a man opened the door. He took us to another village house to spend the night and charged us 200 yuan for lodging. It was a dilapidated village house that no one lived in. When we entered, we looked up and were shocked to see ten coffins on the roof. "These coffins belong to the elderly in our village. They are accustomed to pre-ordering coffins. Out of these ten coffins, only one has a body." "A body?" We screamed in horror. "An elderly person in the village passed away tonight, and their body couldn’t be transported out, so it’s being kept here." The man said. "Is there another place?" someone asked him. "There’s only this place," the man replied. We shrank together in fear. I had never seen a real coffin before, and one of them even had a body inside. "Why did you only build a fighter jet model?" I asked him. "Don’t you think the shape of a fighter jet is beautiful?" Gao Haiming countered me. "People who love fighter jets have a storm of passion in their hearts," I deliberately pretended to see through his thoughts. "Is that so?" He didn’t admit it. "Fighter jets are used for." I said. "You’re studying psychology? You seem very good at analyzing people." "That’s right, I’m studying psychology, but I’ve only learned the basics. Observing people is much more practical. What are you studying?" Gao Haiming asked as he twirled a strand of golden hair with a fork. "I’m studying chemistry," he replied. "You’re the type who always stays in the lab." I said. "No, studying chemistry is very romantic," he said. "Is it? I’ve never heard an explanation like this before." "In the lab, color changes are fascinating. Red and yellow mixed together might be orange on a palette, but in a lab tube, yellow plus red might turn blue. And this bright blue only exists in the lab—it can’t be found in the outside world." "Is the blue in a tube more beautiful than the blue of the sky or the blue of the sea?" "I think they’re different because the blue in the lab can’t be found in this world. Just like perfume, it’s also mixed in the lab, and every perfume has a different scent." "Then the most romantic thing about chemistry is that you can make perfume." "No, the most romantic thing about chemistry is that all substances never disappear; they only transform." "People don’t disappear either?" I asked him. "Yes, a body buried in the soil can turn into nutrients, enriching the soil, which then gives birth to life. You and I will never disappear—we will only transform into other substances." "Then you might turn into a piece of charcoal," I laughed. "Yes, or a speck of dust." "That’s not romantic, it’s bleak. I’ll be a piece of charcoal in my next life, and you’ll be dust." "But we won’t disappear," he said. "Since you love chemistry so much, why are you doing what you do now?" I asked him. "No matter what I study, I’ll have to inherit my father’s business," Gao Haiming said indifferently. "Does your father only have you as a son?" "I also have an older sister. She’s married, and her husband is an accountant. She’s a happy woman." I heard he was an accountant and became interested. "Which accounting firm?" "Ma Cao." "Did you give them a fighter jet?" "My family doesn’t know I do this. If they did, they’d think I’m strange." The next week, I called Meng Meng, but she refused to answer my calls. She was still angry with me. How could she know that in these days, as long as Xiaoju didn’t drive me away, I believed there was still hope between us. The second week, Meng Meng finally called me. We met at a restaurant near the company. "I’m sorry," I said to her. "You’re sorry for yourself, not for me." "I can’t live without him." "How can you give up on him?" she asked me. I shook my head—I couldn’t give up. "Do you really want dignity?" she asked me. "Love only has two outcomes—" I said, "You gain a lot of dignity, or you lose a lot of dignity." "Are you gaining or losing now?" she looked at me. I couldn’t answer. "You’re losing now," Meng Meng said. "I once had dignity." I said, tears in my eyes. "Can it make up for what you lost today?" "If dignity could be exchanged for love, I wouldn’t mind trading it," I said. "If you’ve lost your dignity, is it still love?" "As long as you can keep it, you have dignity." She looked at me and shook her head three times. I could only smile bitterly. "Is Tiehan doing well?" I asked her. "He’s stationed in Tsim Sha Tsui," she replied. "That’s an important police district, isn’t it?" "Yes." "Don’t you worry?" Meng Meng shook her head. "I have a lot of confidence in him." I noticed a red rope tied to her wrist. "What’s this?" I asked her. "This? I bought it on the street. Tiehan and I each have one, tied to our wrists as a symbol. In our next life, we’ll recognize each other by this red rope and become lovers—or even husband and wife." I looked at the red rope on Meng Meng’s wrist, and sorrow overwhelmed me. I truly envied her. "How much do you love him?" I asked her. "I’ve loved him since I was a child," she said. I parted ways with Meng Meng outside the restaurant. "Listen, go home," she said. Now I was in a dilemma. Christmas and New Year’s came, and he left me alone at home. He no longer considered me a part of his life. I still waited for him foolishly. I kept feeling that on that day last year, he was in that room on Fushan Mountain, where I once felt his warmth. It was me who drove him away. How could I blame him? People who study science are very stubborn. Two substances, as long as the temperature, energy, and position are right, can react. I was stubbornly waiting. Every time I woke up at midnight, I was terrified—was Gao Haiming still there? Had he already disappeared, transformed into a speck of dust, occasionally lingering on my shoulder? I didn’t want to brush away the dust on my shoulder. Where was he, at the ends of the earth? I left the restaurant with the Christmas gift, and when I stepped outside, I saw a man in a gray-blue coat standing far away, smiling at me. Impossible. The man walked over and stood in front of me. Impossible. He hadn’t changed in three years—only his hair had grown longer, like golden hair. He stood in front of me, a scarf around his neck, and I could almost hear his breathing. "Huan'er—" he whispered, exhaling a puff of white smoke. He was truly a person. I threw myself into his arms, and he held me tightly. I couldn’t believe he was back. The myth of the Christmas stocking had come true. "I miss you so much—" I said. "I do too—" "Why did you come back?" I was angry with him. "I still owe you something—" "What?" I was surprised. He took out a can of air from Mount Fuji from his pocket. "The thirty-third can of air—you forgot? I still owe you one." "On that Christmas Eve three years ago, were you in that hotel room at 606 on Mount Fuji?" He didn’t answer me. "Why did you avoid me? You were so cruel." "I thought I could love you less." "You could." I said. "I couldn’t." "I thought you’d never come back." I swept the dust off my shoulder. Finally, I could sweep away the dust. "I thought so too," he said, gazing at me deeply. "I want to take back something I said three years ago." "Which one?" he asked. "I can’t love you." I said. "I want to take back what I said that day too." "Which one?" "You don’t love me at all." he said. "Who said I love you?" "Fang Yuan did." "So you’ve met him. No wonder he said you’d come back. But it’s not good that you’re back." "Why?" "You’re unemployed." he asked in surprise. "The modeling work I do for others, I’ve taken over now. Someone is specifically asking me to build models." He laughed. "Am I the poison?" I asked him. He shook his head. "It’s the one I’m willing to drink." He took out the paper crane I left on Mount Fuji and the note from the restaurant in Prague where we ate angel hair. "You’ve both received them?" "I thought you wouldn’t look for me," he said. "I know you won’t disappear. You said all substances won’t disappear in this world—they’ll only transform into something else." He held me close and kissed me fiercely. The embrace and kiss I’d missed for three years. "Will you leave again?" I asked him. Just as he was about to answer, I stopped him. "Next time you leave, let me say goodbye first." "Why?" he asked me. I burrowed into his coat and said, "The one who says goodbye first will always have the advantage."