Mrs. Yun Ke is undoubtedly beautiful and content, and that beauty and happiness are vividly preserved from the moment of their wedding anniversary celebration, reaching back through the days they met, knew each other, and fell in love.
However, beauty and happiness can sometimes vanish unexpectedly, like a shooting star—quickly and without warning, leaving no time to prepare for the loss.
If someone were to claim that a woman, even after losing her legs, remains beautiful and happy, I would believe that person to be either an extreme romantic idealist or an exceedingly hypocritical individual, one who speaks from a place of privilege, unscathed by the trials they speak of. I dare them to sever their own legs and see if they still have the audacity to utter such words about beauty and happiness.
Upon hearing about Mrs. Yun Ke's situation, I often wonder—what kind of cruelty is it to sever the long legs that once sparked the desires of countless men? To tear away such a mesmerizing part of her, an act so devastating, so tragic, it feels like the terrifying sound of a saw cutting through flesh. Each time I think of it, I shudder, and I can't help but want to slap myself for the callousness of past thoughts.
It is said that Yun Ke wept bitterly while holding the legs that would no longer move or bring him physical pleasure, and his cries moved everyone present to tears. I cannot confirm this with Yun Ke himself, for to investigate such a matter would be too painful. Though I am a woman filled with curiosity, I dare not probe into such depths.
I've come to realize that love, no matter how attentive, cannot guarantee absolute happiness. This is the conclusion I draw from Yun Ke and his wife's love story, a conclusion that once led me to view love and marriage through a lens of tragic inevitability.
A woman's world can become as narrow as a bed, a window, or the solitude of an evening wait. As for how this once-beautiful, intelligent, and graceful woman, who had once captivated all, would change in such a desolate world—how her heart might evolve—I cannot fathom, nor dare I imagine, for such imaginings would bring with them a sorrow I could not bear.
It is said that in Yun Ke's company, his wife's office remains untouched. The cleaning staff continues to maintain it daily, as though the lady of the house still works there. In the meeting room, her seat remains empty, and no one dares to sit in it. Once, a female employee, in a careless moment before a meeting, sat in the chair, and Yun Ke, enraged, slapped her and nearly had her expelled from the company. No one knows why she was allowed to stay after that.
Is this Yun Ke's way of memorializing his wife? A sign of respect or longing? Or is it simply a ritual? No one knows, and no one dares to inquire into such private matters. There are whispers among the staff that they sometimes see Yun Ke lost in thought in his wife's office for long stretches, sometimes an hour at a time. Eventually, they realized that when Yun Ke is in her office, he is confronting a particularly challenging issue.
This has only deepened the staff's yearning for the once wise, beautiful, and warm woman, and it has made me more curious and filled with a mix of other, inexplicable emotions.
One evening, knowing that Yun Ke had flown to Beijing, I could no longer restrain myself and visited the neighborhood where he lived. As I lingered downstairs from his apartment, my mind raced with possibilities. I briefly considered posing as a saleswoman or a visiting friend, anything to knock on his door. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was likely to be the housekeeper or another member of the household who would answer, and they certainly wouldn't let a stranger in. Without entry, I could not meet Mrs. Yun Ke—what would be the point? I might as well not even try. If I were to claim I wanted to visit her, what would I say? She has been paralyzed for almost three years, and how many visitors does she have left? What could I possibly say that wouldn't make things awkward, or worse, cause trouble? With guilty thoughts swirling, I paced the neighborhood, and when the evening grew late, the security guard's gaze began to resemble that of a thief-catcher. Reluctantly, I left.
There were times later when I felt compelled to visit again, especially during the colder times when Yun Ke's indifference made me want to see his wife even more. I knew that my desire to visit had evolved from mere curiosity to something more, something like a hidden competition. To think, I was foolish enough to consider competing with a woman confined to her bed. It was clear how little confidence I had in the face of Yun Ke.
But no matter how hard that impulse tormented me, it never materialized into action.
Human beings are strange creatures, where emotional impulses often dominate in an imagined world, only for reason to crush those very impulses in the realm of reality.