At first, I was unsure whether Yun Ke's unwavering devotion to his wife stemmed from a sense of guilt, an obsessive love for her, or from his desire to maintain the image of a good man. However, as our unexpected encounters became more frequent—though these so-called "chance meetings" were, in fact, carefully orchestrated by me, as there are rarely such coincidences in life—and as our phone conversations grew more frequent, I could clearly sense the dual repression Yun Ke was enduring, both mentally and physically. Even from half a city away, that sense of repression would seep into me, disturbing my peace.
I'm unsure whether I am a bad woman, nor can I determine if it is morally wrong to desperately seek out the husband of a woman who is bedridden. Yet, I could not control the overwhelming desire to meet him, to convey to him the aching longing that consumed me, to put it plainly, to become one with Yun Ke, both physically and emotionally. I told myself that Yun Ke was a man in his prime, and that he needed physical release, something his wife could no longer provide. In some ways, I justified it as a form of salvation. I wasn't wrong. With this reasoning, my pursuit seemed justified, and I began to seduce him, unabashedly and with enticing words. But when pushed to the limit, Yun Ke, ever calm and rational, would remind me that his unwavering loyalty to his wife had shaped his integrity, contributing to his successful career. In another light, his wife remained his indispensable partner. If this were a play, even for the sake of the company's future, he had no choice but to continue acting. "Please understand, Yan Yu," he would say, "You're wonderful, I like you, I need you, but I cannot go any further with you, not even by a step. I hope you understand."
When Yun Ke said this, I felt a deep sorrow—sorrow for his wife's life, fading away each day in her bed, and for my own hopeless waiting. I wished more than anything that he would confess to still loving her, still feeling responsibility, still cherishing the woman who had once shared his hardships, still incapable of bearing the guilt of betraying her. Even though the signs of emotional infidelity to me, suggested by his response to my longing, showed how hollow his words truly were, the cruel truth was like the searing sunlight at the equator—burning. It was as if I had been struck by a whip, causing an unexpected sting of pain. This brought a strange sense of melancholy, as if a woman's beauty and desirability faded once her body could no longer satisfy a man. In such a case, his love for her would quietly vanish—sometimes partially, sometimes entirely.
Yet, he was willing to play the role of the lovesick man in front of everyone, to declare his undying love for his wife to all, but would never even utter a lie to me. In this, I found a reason to invest my true feelings in him. He, at least, deserved my love, deserved my sleepless nights and restless longing.
It was indeed a contradiction, I thought.
Thus, Yun Ke and I continued our Platonic love, stretching out for an entire year. During this time, I had fantasized countless times about being physically united with him—unmistakably, I had often imagined his body. These fantasies left me highly aroused yet mentally and physically exhausted. For a time, I even felt like a woman suffering from an insatiable thirst, who, upon seeing any object resembling a man's genitals, would experience a physiological reaction, the virtual scenes of lovemaking with Yun Ke surging violently in my mind. I feared I was losing my mind and even wondered if I should find a man to satisfy my body. As men would say, what difference does it make who the man is once the lights are off? Couldn't I, too, imagine any man as Yun Ke in the dark? Such thoughts excited me, yet filled me with extreme anxiety.
Yun Ke, I hate you! Yun Ke, you are nothing more than a castrated eunuch! I hate you! Every Saturday night, as I felt the lewd atmosphere in the air and heard sounds that resembled cries of passion, I would curse aloud, curling up into a tight ball like a fried shrimp.
This dual physical and mental torment led me to deeply ponder a question: what sustains love between a man and a woman? Is it a physical attraction, or is it an emotional connection? Or does one support the other, with physical love nurturing emotional love, or vice versa? This question left me in a state of mental disarray, as if my soul had lost its way. I longed to find the answer in Yun Ke, though I never truly considered the purpose of discovering such an answer.
I couldn't control myself from teasing Yun Ke on the phone, like some wanton woman. Luckily, Yun Ke enjoyed my attention, and he regarded my every flirtation as nothing more than the delirious ramblings of love. If he had despised me, I wondered if he would have dismissed my teasing as nothing more than the behavior of a shameless woman. Yes, when it's between lovers, every scene is beautiful and vivid, filled with passion and love. Otherwise, it is rape, it is obscene, it is perverse.
But Yun Ke was like a warrior made of special material, impervious to my temptations as if they were but a war of my own making. He stood like a mannequin in a store window—stoic, unyielding, completely unaffected. For instance, when I said, "Tonight, I want you. I want to be your woman, my dear," he responded as though he had just heard, "Tonight, I want stir-fried pork with green peppers." "Oh, okay, I'll hug you, and kiss you," he would say, his indifference cutting through me, leaving me disheartened and annoyed.
Yun Ke would say, "A woman who only attracts a man physically is undoubtedly pitiable."
But—I would reply (for a time, we both liked to say "but," and our conversations often turned into endless counterarguments)—but I think a woman who does not attract a man physically is equally pitiable.
It was then that I suddenly, like Columbus discovering a new world, realized that women subconsciously value their ability to attract men through their bodies. Cosmetics and fashion, which dominate the world of women, provide ample evidence of this truth.
Yan Yu, you are so charming, and charm is what makes love possible, you know. Every time our conversations—filled with verbal duels—came to an end, Yun Ke would generously shower me with compliments. At first, his strategy worked, and I would hang up with a gleeful smile, only to suffer even more from my aching longing and from the increasingly intense dreams of Yun Ke. But as his compliments grew more frequent and his phrases more repetitive, they lost their ability to soothe my desires, and I no longer took them seriously.
I asked, "If you think I'm really charming, then why don't you come over tonight and have dinner with me?"
"You know I always have to go home for dinner unless there's something special," Yun Ke responded, his tone showing impatience, lacking the humor it once had. His earnestness always made my spirits plummet.
"Isn't coming to dinner with me a special circumstance? Can't you make an exception for me just this once?" My voice hardened in response.
"Silly girl, it's late, I need to go home. You should cook something nice for yourself, and remember not to stay up too late. Reading or writing late will make you look tired," Yun Ke said, his gentle deflection always managing to calm me down before I could get truly upset.
But once the call ended, I would be angry with myself. Yes, I did like to talk before making love, but after all this time, with him only ever wanting to talk and never showing any desire to move further, I couldn't help but doubt his masculinity—perhaps it had deteriorated after years of dormancy. Or maybe it was just that my body had yet to become irresistible to him.
At times, I questioned Yun Ke's sincerity, and at others, I questioned my own allure. Caught in this whirlpool of self-doubt, I struggled with the slow, frustrating passage of time.