Wang Gui and Anna: Wang Gui is my dad, Anna is my mom

Author: Liu Liu / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2004-09-01
Features: "Wang Gui is my father, Anna is my mother"—what makes it resonate with readers is not the author's use of special techniques, nor the extraordinary story she concocted, nor any profound philosophical insights; it is merely the colorful and ubiquitous daily lives of ordinary people she depicts. Wang Gui and Anna is a collection of short stories by the online writer Liu Liu, gathering her most influential two middle-length stories—Wang Gui and Anna and Anna and Wang Gui—along with three short works. Of these, the two middle-length stories form an integral whole and are the most compelling parts of the book. They describe the series of mundane daily events in the lives of an ordinary couple in Chinese society: a noblewoman of fallen status, born into a declining family, is reluctantly married to a simple, down-to-earth farmer from a rural background. From the relationship between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law to household expenses, from children's education to subtle emotional fluctuations, the collision and eventual harmony of two fundamentally different ideologies, habits, and tastes in their ordinary lives. On the surface, the story seems unremarkable, even bordering on tedious upon first reading; but as one delves deeper, they are gradually drawn in by the author's witty and humorous prose, her meticulous portrayal, and the easily relatable "reflections." This is precisely Liu Liu's style: she records the life she sees with heart and emotion, avoiding the contrived and self-indulgent whining about romance, and never deliberately crafting titles to embellish her writing. Thus, the stories she tells are filled with the genuine reflections of life, radiating the wisdom and innocence of everyday existence.
As the saying goes, "Style reflects the author." Liu Liu's lively, fresh, and dynamic writing style reflects her sensitive, optimistic, and straightforward approach to life, which values simplicity and freedom.
Preface: Happiness is Actually a Feeling
Never believe that there are schools for cultivating writers. In my view, it's mostly an on-the-job training. Liu Liu is no exception; she studied international trade in college and worked in foreign trade for many years. But now, to the surprise of many, she has become a beloved online writer. Undoubtedly, she belongs to this new century, but she began her career in writing in the last year of the previous century. Now, hardly anyone can recall her real name, and her real name has become increasingly irrelevant. Similarly, few people today remember the works she has published—this is clearly unimportant, for her middle-length story Wang Gui and Anna, published in 2003, and later Anna and Wang Gui, have already gained fame both at home and abroad. She came to us from the world of online literature. Although this collection of online literary works is far from her complete oeuvre—she has yet to include numerous impromptu poems, essays, family anecdotes, character sketches, and even fairy tales—just the five works included here are enough to reveal why Liu Liu is increasingly favored by readers.
After reading this collection, I found that what moves readers is not the author's use of special techniques, nor the extraordinary story she concocted, nor any profound philosophical insights. What attracts us is the colorful and ubiquitous daily lives of ordinary people she portrays. Liu Liu does not chase trends or, like some female writers, subvert tradition to emphasize the sensory experience of the body. Instead, with her clear and delicate brushwork, she tells the stories of ordinary people, often overlooked in the increasingly noisy and lives around us, with humor, ease, and a touch of cleverness. In fact, this is more authentic and endearing than or, and it moves readers deeply. The stories she tells are indeed trivialities from family life, so small that one might think she is writing about a friend or acquaintance nearby. The plots are neither earth-shattering nor particularly, seemingly ordinary, yet because they are permeated with a sense of "authenticity," they radiate a strong artistic charm, making readers reluctant to put them down. As Liu Liu herself says: "Happiness is a gradual accumulation, a, a buildup of past life. In my attempt to see happiness with my third eye, I find that the same story, the same dialogue, when experienced by different couples, can yield entirely different outcomes due to different approaches. Happiness is a feeling. You notice the subtle glances, you overlook unintentional mistakes, you adopt a calm mindset toward life, like sipping tea—gradually adapting from intensity to gentleness, from excitement to indifference, and you will find happiness."
There was a time when I, like all wives, tried to change my husband, to mold him into the man I envisioned. I read many books and thought I was very clever. With my efforts, I believed I could never fail to "tame" him. I criticized his habits, his lack of ambition, his casual attitude toward life, and his indifference to me. The accumulation of these criticisms created a huge rift between us. We couldn’t sit together for more than ten minutes without ending in conflict. I treated life like a movie or TV show, creating suspense and waiting for the next episode. During heated arguments, fists flew, and there was even a hint of. Several times, I threatened to break up, or he did. But when we calmed down, we couldn’t bear to part. One breakup would erase the past few years, as if cutting off history. A long stretch of life would become blank. Later, I realized I could accept breaking up, but I couldn’t accept what about him? I decided to go cold war, watching him perform with a rational mind. When I was truly on the brink of separation, I was often unexpectedly reminded of his love. He thought we were breaking up too, and all his care was genuine, not just a ploy to curry favor—since we were about to part, why not leave a good impression? He never said "I love you," but he knew I was afraid of the dark, so he would always rush in first to turn on the lights before we went upstairs. When we went out, I noticed the clothing on both sides of the road, while he kept an eye out for restrooms. Because my stomach was sensitive, once I felt discomfort, I couldn’t hold it in for even a moment. He would always remind me promptly of the nearest restroom. It had become a habit in his life. Sometimes he would ignore my feelings, not caring about my whimsical complaints about romance. To him, it was utterly irrational: Why cry over a movie? Why get emotional over a little bird? But when I faced major setbacks in life, he stood firmly by my side, telling me that as long as he was there, I wouldn’t be the worst person in the world. That feeling of reliance on each other was perhaps like that.
I often searched for the love I believed I deserved. Because I loved being cherished and loved. I had indeed found the love I thought I deserved. I was very fond of that ethereal man, feeling that my love for him was far stronger than my love for the man beside me. I even wanted to abandon this family and follow him. But he said, "You love him more than me, but you don’t realize it." Anyone could see it, but I was blind. Now, I live freely, doing as I please, and give him the same freedom. Even when his feet are right in front of my eyes, I turn a blind eye. Even when he snorts while drinking soup, I find the sound natural. Even when he throws cigarette butts all over the floor, I can choose to clean them or let them blow away with the wind. Even when he is lazy sometimes, I just let it be! People are human, not gods. Life is short—why make home a prison? What you don’t want others to do, don’t do to them. Now, we live in peace, and sometimes we are even happy.
I’ve seen my parents’ love story. From not loving each other to being inseparable, the older they got, the tighter their hands held. Two unrelated people could eventually become blood relatives. Why did we love each other so deeply and then part? Cherish what you have, examine yourself more, demand more of yourself, and demand less of others. Have fewer unrealistic expectations. In fact, happiness has never really left.
(Chen Guidi)
The Origin of Wang Gui and Anna (Afterword)
The origin of this story is to tell a tale of an extramarital affair. I initially wanted to write about a familiar extramarital affair I knew. Every day online, I see someone breaking free from the shackles of marriage, someone abandoning their spouse and children to pursue happiness. What is happiness? Happiness is a gradual accumulation, a, a buildup of past life. I am trying to see happiness with my third eye. The same story, the same dialogue, when experienced by different couples, can yield entirely different outcomes due to different approaches. Happiness is a feeling. You notice the subtle glances, you overlook unintentional mistakes, you adopt a calm mindset toward life, like sipping tea—gradually adapting from intensity to gentleness, from excitement to indifference, and you will find happiness.
There was a time when I, like all wives, tried to change my husband, to mold him into the man I envisioned. I read many books and thought I was very clever. With my efforts, I believed I could never fail to "tame" him. I criticized his habits, his lack of ambition, his casual attitude toward life, and his indifference to me. The accumulation of these criticisms created a huge rift between us. We couldn’t sit together for more than ten minutes without ending in conflict. I treated life like a movie or TV show, creating suspense and waiting for the next episode. During heated arguments, fists flew, and there was even a hint of. Several times, I threatened to break up, or he did. But when we calmed down, we couldn’t bear to part. One breakup would erase the past few years, as if cutting off history. A long stretch of life would become blank. Later, I realized I could accept breaking up, but I couldn’t accept what about him? I decided to go cold war, watching him perform with a rational mind. When I was truly on the brink of separation, I was often unexpectedly reminded of his love. He thought we were breaking up too, and all his care was genuine, not just a ploy to curry favor—since we were about to part, why not leave a good impression? He never said "I love you," but he knew I was afraid of the dark, so he would always rush in first to turn on the lights before we went upstairs. When we went out, I noticed the clothing on both sides of the road, while he kept an eye out for restrooms. Because my stomach was sensitive, once I felt discomfort, I couldn’t hold it in for even a moment. He would always remind me promptly of the nearest restroom. It had become a habit in his life. Sometimes he would ignore my feelings, not caring about my whimsical complaints about romance. To him, it was utterly irrational: Why cry over a movie? Why get emotional over a little bird? But when I faced major setbacks in life, he stood firmly by my side, telling me that as long as he was there, I wouldn’t be the worst person in the world. That feeling of reliance on each other was perhaps like that.
I often searched for the love I believed I deserved. Because I loved being cherished and loved. I had indeed found the love I thought I deserved. I was very fond of that ethereal man, feeling that my love for him was far stronger than my love for the man beside me. I even wanted to abandon this family and follow him. But he said, "You love him more than me, but you don’t realize it." Anyone could see it, but I was blind. Now, I live freely, doing as I please, and give him the same freedom. Even when his feet are right in front of my eyes, I turn a blind eye. Even when he snorts while drinking soup, I find the sound natural. Even when he throws cigarette butts all over the floor, I can choose to clean them or let them blow away with the wind. Even when he is lazy sometimes, I just let it be! People are human, not gods. Life is short—why make home a prison? What you don’t want others to do, don’t do to them. Now, we live in peace, and sometimes we are even happy.
I’ve seen my parents’ love story. From not loving each other to being inseparable, the older they got, the tighter their hands held. Two unrelated people could eventually become blood relatives. Why did we love each other so deeply and then part? Cherish what you have, examine yourself more, demand more of yourself, and demand less of others. Have fewer unrealistic expectations. In fact, happiness has never really left.