The bartender was an excellent listener, his gaze fixed on Gao Sijin’s opening and closing lips as he listened to him recount the plots that were so difficult to write. His expressions would tense up or relax along with the story Gao Sijin told.
However, Gao Sijin didn’t reveal his entire experience to the bartender; he made some alterations.
“That’s the plot that’s giving me a headache right now.” Gao Sijin paused. “Now, the protagonist has fallen into a strange loop. He can give up his memories and live a blissful life with his current girlfriend, or he can explore his unknown memories—though that might trigger his current girlfriend. You must have gathered from my story that she’s a yandere. She might do something terrible to the protagonist or the people around him…”
The bartender stroked his chin and revealed a smile as warm as a spring breeze.
“So the protagonist in your novel is caught in a dilemma?”
“That’s right. The path ahead is thorny. Should he explore his unknown memories? And even if he does, can he bear the risk of failure? If he triggers his yandere girlfriend, he might be imprisoned in the basement forever and become the girl’s plaything.”
“Brother Sijin, I believe there should be ups and downs. If you put yourself in the readers’ shoes, would you enjoy a story as plain as water? I think it’s like gambling. The protagonist needs an adventurous spirit. If he doesn’t court death, how will he get that adrenaline rush? How will he feel the thrill? Some gamblers aren’t really interested in money; what truly fascinates them is that razor-thin line between life and death. Let your protagonist brave the tempestuous waves!”
“Brave the tempestuous waves?” Gao Sijin gulped.
The problem was that this wasn’t a novel—it was his reality.
To be imprisoned by Tsukiyuki Rio, to lose even the freedom to see the light of day again, to live indoors forever, never seeing his family, his friends, or the wider world…
Gao Sijin was terrified. He was just an ordinary person.
“What if this wasn’t a novel, but reality? If he had forgotten his first love and was living a carefree life in a world fabricated by his girlfriend, do you think he should still explore those past memories?”
“If it were reality, it’d be better to play it safe. The price is too high.”
“You’re right.” Gao Sijin smiled bitterly.
After all, people can’t live in the past forever. Besides, Tsukiyuki Rio wasn’t so bad—provided she would give him back his freedom.
The bar played Xu Song’s 《Luzhou Moon》, and here in Tokyo, Gao Sijin couldn’t help but miss his hometown. Although it wasn’t as bustling as Tokyo, it still held many places that he would never forget for the rest of his life. He was homesick.
“This is a trade-off. No matter which path you choose, there will be pain.”
“If it were you, which would you choose?”
“Even if there are risks, I would fight to reclaim the memories that belong to me. I absolutely can’t let someone toy with me. As for myself, I would rather die than forget my first love.”
Shuhan’s eyes were deep and distant, as if recalling events from many years ago. His gaze seemed to pierce through the river of history.
“Everyone has to experience at least two births. The first is being born from their mother’s womb. The second is love. So many years have passed, and I can never forget my first love.” Shuhan swirled his glass, his usually flippant expression now turning serious. “That woman truly spoiled me like a child. No matter what I did, she loved me. As long as I smiled, she would forgive me. What exactly is love? I think love is when two people return to childhood together. We were childish and willful because we believed that no matter what we did, the other would forgive us.”
“Did you marry your first love?”
“We got married. But later, due to circumstances beyond my control, I lost her. I gave her all my innocence.” Shuhan’s eyes brimmed with indescribable emotions. “After losing her, I still had to live my life. I’ve been with quite a few women since, but I’ve never felt that original feeling again. The more women doted on me, the more I looked down on them. Young girls are too naive, and even mature women can become hysterical over trivial things. The longer I live, the more I find women tasteless. Except for the first night, which can give me a little surprise, everything else is just emptiness and boredom.”
Gao Sijin’s gaze turned a bit strange.
“Do you think I’m a scumbag?”
“To be honest, a bit. But maybe that’s not the right word—I suppose you could call me a playboy…”
“My first love wasn’t beautiful. She was plain, even a bit dowdy. But I still loved her. For over four hundred years, I’ve often dreamed of her and the dumplings she made. But I won’t claim to be a devoted lover, because that would be the greatest blasphemy to the word ‘devotion.’ Brother, first love is truly important. If I lost those memories, I’d be a walking corpse with an incomplete soul.”
“Over four hundred years?”
“Just a bit of exaggeration. I admit I’m a womanizer, but I’m not afraid to tell you this—sometimes, on certain days, I’ll lock the door, pull out my SIM card, turn off my phone, and cry from morning till night.”
“Thank you for telling me all this…”
First love is a microcosm of childhood, a dance of two families’ pasts.
Forgetting the memory of first love leaves one’s life incomplete.
“Brother, the main purpose of love isn’t to find a companion you can live with for a lifetime. It’s to make you truly understand that you are an independent person, not an appendage of something,” Shuhan said gently.
“It’s truly wonderful to be able to confide my troubles in you.”
“Let’s exchange contact info. We’re both Chinese, and it’s not easy being out here. We should look out for each other.”
Gao Sijin didn’t refuse. Some of Shuhan’s words had deeply moved him.
From that moment on, Gao Sijin resolved to recover his memories, no matter what.
“Do you still remember your first love?” Shuhan asked again before he left.
“I only remember her name—Gu Xiarui. A beautiful name, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed beautiful. It sounds like she must have been a very cheerful girl.”
For a fleeting moment, Gao Sijin felt that Shuhan’s smile somewhat resembled the benevolent smile of a man well over seventy.
Shuhan looked like he was in his early thirties at most, but his eyes were filled with the weight of ages.
Perhaps he, too, had many stories that Gao Sijin would never know.
Gao Sijin checked the time on his phone. He had been out for almost an hour and a half; he needed to head back soon.
