Did you be afraid of loving me?

Author: Peng Peng
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-10-01
Features: A perfect blend of humor and melancholy, a dazzling display of brilliance and individuality. Peng Peng's debut work in 2005, from one of the most promising young and unique writers of the year. A perfect combination of humor and melancholy, a dazzling display of brilliance and individuality. Peng Peng's debut work in 2005, from one of the most promising young and unique writers of the year. If university life is dull, I have to admit it's head-heavy and foot-light. But Peter Pan can no longer comfort me; I must seek another form of comfort. No one can tell me why all this is happening, so if I am powerless against it, I can only live on as usual, even if fragmented, even if disheartened. If superficiality is needed, choose superficiality; if comfort is needed, seek comfort; if loss is inevitable, let it be lost, and believe that comfort is a form of strength. I can tell myself I have first-class imagination, second-class stories, third-class writing skills, fourth-class looks, fifth-class taste, sixth-class humor, seventh-class nests, eighth-class health, and ninth-class life. Therefore, I have a ninth-class life, and this does not hurt me.
Chapter 1
In spring, I will think of leaves. Actually, leaves have been beside me all along. She is the kind of person I see with my eyes and think of with my heart. This fits a book title—reminiscing about a woman older than me in spring. At that time, leaves claimed she was still a girl, and it seemed no one could do anything about it. Instead, her words, like waves, surged in my mind, promising one day to create a thousand ripples. "If it rains in spring, we're finished," leaves said, "This is the season when all animals start to get frisky. A little rain acts as a catalyst, and suddenly hormones stir. This rain is so damp and muggy and sultry; if you don’t have sex, you’re disrespecting the heavens, and you deserve to be struck by lightning." She couldn’t be more poetic or romantic. Romantic love, when spoken by her, was like sulfuric acid, utterly distorted. Leaves was sharp. It was said that this woman liked to use verbal violence and appreciated a violent aesthetic. Thus, leaves’ expression was like a rose about to bloom, yet also impervious to harm.
"In spring, you must sow." During the drizzling rain, leaves rolled up her pants and sleeves, stood in front of the window in slippers, and posed like a farmer, saying thoughtfully, "In spring, that virgin land." The leaves who spoke of this virgin land was like a hermit returning to the countryside, yet her words were, "That virgin land in spring." The virgin land in spring made her worry. Spring had arrived, and this leaf who claimed even love needed to hibernate had finally thawed. Wine began to behave strangely, "The wind stirs, ripples the spring pond." We often only hear the first half of leaves’ sentence; the second half, even in its early stages, died in the womb. Later, leaves always said she hadn’t thought it through. She had thought too much, and now she couldn’t think straight.
"The first half of the sentence was leaves’ heartfelt words, showing her honesty, yet it still earned her a bad reputation—as a woman who was a slut in every sense of the word. This, qianqian, Donggua, and I believe to be true, without a doubt. Leaves, even if she jumped into the Pacific, couldn’t wash away the stain; snow would never fall in June. Leaves firmly believed she was only yellow, not colorful, and thus, like a celebrity, she boldly shook her head and said, ‘Walk your own path and let others talk.’" Donggua pointed at leaves’ back seriously and said, "She has a personality! In twenty years, when I get rich, I’ll package her."
Here, let’s mention Donggua, who thinks he has sharp eyes to spot talent. He’s the kind of person who, even after watching "Basic Instinct" and countless pornographic films with a magnifying glass, denies everything. Of course, in return, Donggua says I’m the kind of narcissist who stands on a stage holding a broom, sings a song, and bows to the air, thanking it. It seems he wants to even the score with me, but I don’t know why he wants to do that. He never knows the rule of "lady first!" He pointed at my face and said, "No lady!" The gentleman in front of me was so few that it was hard to describe.