For a period of time, due to ongoing controversies surrounding my novels on the internet, my mood became incredibly poor. I suffered from severe internal friction, and during the worst moments, I would even hurt myself. Of course, I knew that was unacceptable and wrong, but I was in so much pain that I simply couldn’t control myself. I would end up hurting myself for no fathomable reason.
The moment I first started harming myself, Miss Y discovered it immediately. When she found out, she just looked at me and wept. She cried so heartbreakingly, as if she were trying to cry out all the sorrow, grief, and confusion that I couldn’t process myself. The sound of her crying felt like a roaring ocean, while I was trapped in a boat right in the center of that sea, liable to be swallowed up by her grief at any given second.
During that time, I was filled with sorrow and anguish, yet I had absolutely no desire to shed tears. Even though I usually loved her so deeply, seeing her cry didn’t trigger any urge in me to weep. Back then, my tears simply wouldn’t come out. It felt as though my heart was being pierced by shards of broken glass, yet not a single drop of tear would fall. At the time, I even began to wonder if I had stopped loving her. It wasn’t until later, when Miss Y covered my ears and told me that I was just too tired and needed to take a break, that it finally dawned on me—I hadn’t had a proper rest in a very, very long time. I truly needed to rest well.
The Black Box
I lost all sense of the passage of time. It felt like I had only closed my eyes for a brief moment, yet the sky had already turned pitch black. Miss Y would open her mouth to speak, but I couldn’t hear a single word clearly. I couldn’t eat anything either; I felt as if every single dish was laced with glass. Every swallow felt like swallowing jagged shards of glass, leaving my throat shredded and bleeding, and causing a burning, searing pain when it hit my stomach. More often than not, I would manage a single bite only to throw it right back up until nothing but stomach acid came out.
During that period, both Miss Y and I suffered a severe weight loss of 20 pounds. The two of us looked like walking skeletons. Sometimes when I lay in Miss Y’s embrace, her bones would dig into me painfully, making it not comfortable at all to hold her. Yet, the two of us would still clutch each other tightly every single night. Even though the air conditioner was set to a warm 27°C (80.6°F), I still couldn’t feel any warmth. Miss Y would hold me in her arms, coaxing me, kissing me, and singing to me, but I couldn’t feel a thing. I was like an inhabitant of a tiny black box—unable to perceive light, unable to perceive time, and unable to perceive warmth.
Watching me like this made Miss Y frantic with anxiety. Every day she was losing hair and breaking out in stress ulcers from the sheer panic. Every night she would hold me and cry, wishing I would hurry up and emerge from my own little world. But I was like a hollow shell that had lost its soul, completely unable to hear anything and unable to do anything.
I remained trapped in the world of that tiny black box, curling up in the corner as if I had fallen into a coma. Everything around me was profoundly quiet; I was entirely alone in this entire box universe. I felt myself slowly sinking. I was so tired… truly so incredibly tired… I just wanted to rest and get a full night’s sleep, just a tiny little nap. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, gradually refusing to open. It felt like I was about to fall fast asleep…
Awakening
Just as I was about to completely drift off inside that tiny black box, I suddenly heard a voice.
“Zhang Ruyu! Zhang Ruyu! Zhang Ruyu!”
Through the haze, I caught a sound. From far away came the sharp, anxious voice of a woman. Zhang Ruyu? Who is that? Why is she calling out that name? Why does her voice feel so deeply familiar to me? Why do I feel like she is so heartbroken? Why is she heartbroken? Is it because of this Zhang Ruyu? That Zhang Ruyu is so awful, making a girl with such a beautiful voice so upset. Who exactly is Zhang Ruyu?
As I continued to listen to the voice, a hole suddenly tore through the black box. A beam of light pierced right through the top of the box. My first reaction was how dazzling it was, and my second reaction was a feeling of immense warmth and happiness. Does that Zhang Ruyu get to live in a world this dazzling, warm, and happy? As the light grew wider and brighter, the beam struck my eyes with a pain so intense I couldn’t open them. I lost consciousness entirely and blacked out.
When I finally regained consciousness and opened my eyes, I found a stark white ceiling overhead rather than the pitch-black space of the box. I shifted slightly and felt a heavy weight beside me. I turned my head to look, and with that single glance, all my memories came rushing back. I remembered everything. I recalled everything I had done during that period when I was completely out of it, as well as my memories of being trapped inside that black box. I knew then that I had completely made it through that agonizing, sorrowful time. I’m so sorry, Miss Y. Taking care of a patient like me must have been exhausting, right? I caused you to suffer so much alongside me. You must really regret falling in love with someone like me, don’t you?
The very first moment I saw Miss Y upon waking up, I noticed she had grown white hairs. But she was clearly only 25 years old. Had taking care of me really been that grueling and exhausting? I suddenly found myself wondering: if I had never confessed my feelings to her back then, would her situation be completely different right now? She would still be an exceptional animation VFX artist, but she might have met someone far more suitable for her—someone she could marry and have a child with, or maybe even two. Miss Y absolutely adores babies; she always possesses an extra measure of patience when it comes to little ones. If she weren’t with me, she wouldn’t have had to take care of me, and she wouldn’t have grown white hair at such a young age. If I hadn’t confessed to her, the life she lived would undoubtedly be far better than it is now.
Tears slowly rolled down, tracing paths across my cheeks and shoulders before finally soaking into the pillowcase. While I was still caught up in my melancholy, Miss Y—perhaps sharing a telepathic bond with me—awoke from her sleep as well. Seeing that I was awake, she frantically called for the doctors and nurses. The corners of Miss Y’s mouth were clearly curved upward, yet tears were still streaming down her face. The tears she shed transformed into rainwater, irrigating the long-parched fields of my heart, allowing new branches to sprout. That was hope, and it was my rebirth.
The Weight of Her Love
My dear Miss Y, throughout this long, drawn-out life, I often ponder whether I am truly qualified to stand by your side and hold your hand as we journey through this life together.
This chapter seems to be written with a bit of pessimism that might make people feel sad, but these words reflect exactly what I experienced back then. At the time, Miss Y risked the very real possibility of being fired to take a half-year leave of absence just to take me all over the country to see doctors. Meanwhile, I was completely unconscious of my surroundings. She traveled to unfamiliar cities all by herself, carrying a person who was entirely incapable of self-care. She is normally such a delicate person, yet during that time, she never complained about the hardships or the exhaustion. She bore the brunt of taking me to see doctors completely on her own.
Back then, she had no friends and no family by her side—she didn’t even dare to tell her relatives. She was carrying the entire weight all by herself. I can’t even begin to imagine how incredibly difficult it must have been for her. Looking back on those days, the agony always follows me like a shadow, lingering by my side. I hate my own uselessness, I hate how fragile my psychological resilience was, and I hate myself endlessly for not being strong enough. I hate that I was the one who originally promised to treat her well for a lifetime and never let her suffer, yet in the end, the greatest suffering she endured was caused entirely by me. I began to doubt whether I could truly bring her happiness, until amidst my hesitation, Miss Y firmly took hold of my hand and said:
“I am very happy.”
Four simple words, yet Miss Y expressed absolutely everything through them. She believes that being with me is a source of great happiness. Even though I had fallen ill like that, and even though she had to take care of me under such grueling conditions, she still felt incredibly happy. In that exact moment, all the tears that I had been unable to shed before now flowed endlessly, like the Pacific Ocean, as if they would never run dry.
When chatting with Miss Y about the topic of love—this grand concept of love—she said: “Love cannot be measured. If you have a thousand yuan and give me five, that is entirely different from having six yuan and giving me five. Love means ‘I am willing,’ and it means making sacrifices just to ensure your happiness. Some people are willing to lay down their lives for a partner, yet they don’t actually hold romantic feelings toward them. Some people can only earn 150 yuan a day, yet even if marrying a wife requires 500,000 yuan, they are completely happy to do it because they love her.”
Miss Y turned the question back on me: “So, what do you think is the true criteria for defining love now?”
I want to write about the love Miss Y gives me in even greater, more concrete detail. She has given me so much love—enough to fill the entire universe. The love Miss Y gives me is immeasurable. Her love makes a slouching person gain confidence, transforms a flawed person into someone excellent, and turned a science major into a well-known novelist. She made me a better version of myself. She gave me everything I ever wanted, and in the end, she merely said softly, “I love you.” She doesn’t demand that you love her back with the same method or depth; she doesn’t even require you to love her at all. Her only requirement is that you be happy—even if your happiness isn’t because of her. This is the conclusion I reached after being with Miss Y for a long time. Her love is always so entirely selfless, making my own love seem unpure by comparison. If my love at first sight was merely me being infatuated with her looks, then Miss Y’s love for me grew gradually over time because she slowly discovered that she loved me as a person. It wasn’t because of my appearance; it was simply because of my soul, simply because I am who I am, and she loves this version of me. Miss Y’s love always makes a person feel utterly unworthy.
A Shared Life
Miss Y is the older one in the relationship (the Nianxiang sister). She is full of tolerance, compromise, heartache, and love for me. It seems that sometimes I even take advantage of the fact that she is seven months older than me to tease and bully her, yet she has never left me just because I mess with her occasionally. The reason I don’t explicitly call her “Sister” (Jiejie) is actually because I want to pamper and protect her like a younger sister—but in the end, I realized it was just Miss Y looking at me throw my tantrums with a face full of indulgence, watching me try to coax her. Suddenly, I found a great sense of peace. There are many modes of love: loving each other while constantly bickering, mutual hatred and conflict, a mix of love and hate, a slow and steady stream, or a wild and passionate flame. Which category do Miss Y and I belong to? It seems she and I have carved out an entirely new dynamic—a way of interacting that is uniquely tailored just for the two of us.
I have seen many lovers who are deeply affectionate at the start, yet often end up arguing incessantly by the end. I used to be somewhat terrified of romance, yet simultaneously anticipated the arrival of love—it was a highly contradictory psychological state. In truth, I just wanted someone to love me deeply, someone who would never argue with me or yell at me for a lifetime. Before meeting Miss Y, I firmly believed that I would never encounter this kind of love, thinking it was something that could only exist within my own fantasies. After getting together with Miss Y, I realized that even when she is genuinely angry and brings up breaking up, she still won’t yell at me or argue with me. Instead, she just speaks to me in a highly calm and level tone, advising me to think things over seriously.
You become the kind of person you are around. I used to argue against statements like that, but now when I chat with my friends, everyone remarks that I am becoming more and more like Miss Y. I didn’t believe it at first, until everyone started bringing up examples to prove it, and I realized it was entirely true. I have begun to become emotionally stable, gentle toward others, and my aesthetic taste is gradually improving. I am no longer the person others used to describe as an aloof, gloomy little mushroom; instead, I have grown into a peaceful, resilient, massive tree.
As I write this final piece, I have centered everything around a single word: “Love.” Miss Y loves me, which is why she was willing to risk being fired just to take me to hospitals for treatment. I love Miss Y, which is why I was ultimately able to hear her calls and awaken. Her tolerance, understanding, and compromise have allowed me to gradually merge with her. As the two of us drew closer to one another, I slowly began to resemble another person in this world. In this text, it feels as though I have portrayed my own love as something rather grand while making Miss Y’s love seem small, yet Miss Y insists that our love is entirely equal.
A Fragment of Everyday Peace
To close out this piece, let me share another fragment of our daily life together; otherwise, this chapter will read as a bit too heartbreaking.
Miss Y once took me to an amusement park. During the day, the two of us bought all kinds of delicious treats and rode all the attractions we wanted to try. In the evening, the two of us watched the fireworks right by the entrance of the park. The sky full of fireworks couldn’t even match a fraction of the beauty of the person standing right in front of my eyes. My lover and I made wishes beneath the fireworks. My wish was for my lover to be safe, healthy, and always have money to spend until she is 100 years old. I asked Miss Y what she had wished for.
She said, “Zhang Ruyu has to love Miss Y for a lifetime.”
“Mm, I will. I’ll love you for a lifetime. In this life and the next, I will always love you.”
My dearest Miss Y, meeting you is truly the greatest happiness and luck of my life. In this book of life, the two of us will write countless stories together. We will walk down long paths together, scale high mountains together, admire beautiful scenery together, enjoy gourmet food and fine wine together, and spend year after year side by side. And the conclusion of this book will simply be us living happily together for a lifetime.