Wang Tianzhuo was in Shenzhen. The high-speed railway connecting Guangzhou and Shenzhen stretched for a mere two hundred *li*, a journey of just an hour, and the fare was astonishingly less than the cost of a single breakfast.
This was not ‘Dalina’s’ inaugural visit to Shenzhen.
Shenzhen evoked a distinctly different sensation from Guangzhou in her; it was a city that seemed to possess no past.
Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Zhuhai—these three colossal cities of Guangdong Province formed a vibrant urban triangle, a veritable cornucopia of wealth and activity. It stood as one of China’s most bustling and densely populated regions. Venture merely fifty kilometers beyond its perimeter, and one’s monthly income could plummet by two thousand yuan.
Even within the same province, the cities in northern Guangdong appeared as desolate as her own hometown. There, the ‘commercial streets’ still harbored cheap milk tea shops, and ‘Western restaurants’ served marinated, rubbery steaks, whose freezing duration remained a mystery, tasting more of an industrial product than actual meat.
The intricate tapestry of human connection often wove itself in such miraculous ways. Without the internet, she and Wang Tianzhuo would have remained denizens of entirely separate realms, their lives tracing parallel paths, destined never to converge. Despite Wang Tianzhuo’s undeniable philandering nature, a peculiar affection had blossomed within ‘Dalina’ during their month together.
She found solace in his presence, delighting in the cheerful countenance of the slightly plump Wang Tianzhuo, and cherishing his candid nature. It felt as though she had truly fallen for him. Though Wang Tianzhuo possessed a libertine streak, he nonetheless regarded her as a human being, not merely a plaything to be used and cast aside at his whim.
Wang Tianzhuo would readily share the joys of his daily life, recounting amusing anecdotes he had just encountered, and regaling her with tales of his time studying in America, rambling on about the most insignificant, mundane details.
He spoke of the underage taco vendor from Cuba, who, despite saving for college, ultimately married; of the ‘three-no’ white trash from Tennessee, eager to assimilate into a ‘trendy’ crowd, who roamed the streets in triple-layered trousers; and of gas station hot dogs that carried a distinct hint of gasoline.
Wang Tianzhuo also made a point of surprising her with small gestures. He would meticulously introduce his cherished collection of movie cassettes, explaining each one with boundless patience. Even the discovery of a rare five-leaf clover would fill him with delight for a considerable time.
These were moments without monetary value, utterly priceless, yet Liang Huaiyu etched each one into her memory with crystalline clarity.
She might easily forget the designer handbags gifted to her—be they Chanel or Hermès—for in her eyes, all luxury leather bags blurred into a monotonous sameness. She might even forget the distinct flavor of the yellow croaker dish from Bingsheng Private Kitchen, its salted lemon seasoning an acquired taste she found unpalatable, reminiscent of a putrid *Pang Da Hai* fruit. And the dazzling, opulent halls of ‘Night on the Seine’? Those too might fade from memory, for such venues, with their endless parade of young women, all seemed to be cast from an identical mold.
Yet, ‘Dalina’ believed she would never forget Wang Tianzhuo. His recounted experiences brought her genuine joy, as did the simple four-leaf clovers he casually plucked for her—a happiness as indelible as the earthy scent of her hometown’s verdant vegetable patches. It was as if she had been transported back to her childhood, to a time when a generous bowl of noodles on the town’s main street cost a mere one *kuai* fifty, its pristine white strands adorned with tender, stir-fried scallions and shredded pork, and a hint of chili that would leave her happily burping.
These gestures, utterly without monetary cost, possessed an immeasurable, hundred-fold value in her estimation, as priceless and cherished as the memories of her own childhood.
‘Dalina’ occasionally found herself overcome with a profound sadness. Though not yet twenty-five, she felt an unsettling premature aging, evidenced by her burgeoning nostalgia for a childhood steeped in poverty. Back then, her pockets held mere *kuai*; a stark contrast to her present reality, where every item she wore or used bore the hallmark of luxury brands.
She had long forgotten the visage of her mother before her passing, and at times, even her own face prior to cosmetic surgery. She had undergone procedures to heighten her nose bridge, shaping it to resemble the prominent noses of those she considered ‘foul-smelling Caucasians’.
And what of Liang Huaiyu? Her nose, though slightly flat, possessed a charm that grew on one over time. Why had it vanished?
While everything around her seemed exquisitely refined, ‘Dalina’ frequently found herself consumed by a profound bitterness. It was as though something she once held dear had perished prematurely within her heart, decaying into mere bone. Yet, even contemplating this inner skeleton, an unstoppable tide of sorrow would wash over her.
Wang Tianzhuo and she belonged to disparate worlds, yet he treated her as a genuine person, not merely an inert ‘Fiji mermaid’ with grafted limbs.
‘Dalina’ wrestled with an inexplicable paradox: adorned in designer labels, indulging in food and luxuries her past self, subsisting on meager mixed-meat noodles, could never have dared to dream of, let alone imagine, she ought to be brimming with happiness, contentment, and fulfillment.
Yet, why did she persist in feeling such discomfort? Why did an unyielding emptiness gnaw at her soul? Why did she constantly sense herself teetering on the precipice of a cliff, poised to plunge into the abyss at any given moment?
According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, once an individual’s most fundamental survival requirements are met, the pursuit of social connection and self-actualization should naturally follow. However, ‘Dalina’s’ social landscape was cruelly circumscribed, confined between a cohort of self-abasing women and a clientele of outwardly righteous, yet inwardly depraved, patrons.
In an environment where every interaction was a calculated performance, the concept of a true confidant, a friend worthy of trust, simply did not exist.
While some of these women might indeed harbor tragic pasts, every ‘girl’ peddling lies would invariably recount a sorrowful history. Yet, were they genuinely offered the choice to revert to those ‘tragic pasts,’ how many would choose to remain silent?
In her time within this profession, Liang Huaiyu had been privy to an endless torrent of boasts. A mere two *liang* of cheap liquor would loosen tongues, prompting men to grandiosely inflate their connections, capabilities, and family fortunes.
She had learned early on to dismiss such pronouncements as mere jests. When a man descended into such pathetic incompetence that he required alcohol to unleash his frustrations upon an escort, his words held no more substance than those of the ‘girls’ themselves, light and ephemeral as a decaying blossom.
Thus, despite Wang Tianzhuo’s perpetually jesting and unserious demeanor, Liang Huaiyu found herself irrevocably falling in love with him.
Only a single month remained—a painfully brief span, insufficient to truly ascertain if a person merited the lifelong devotion she yearned for. Liang Huaiyu craved more time, and this longing tormented her. She understood with stark clarity that the genesis of her fleeting happiness was nothing more than a contractual arrangement; once its term expired, everything would revert to its original, bleak state.
All suffering, she realized, sprang from the torment of lucidity. ‘Dalina’ harbored a faint resentment for her education, for knowledge begat wisdom, and wisdom, in turn, compelled one to think.
She would incessantly ponder the trajectory that had led her to this desolate juncture. To immerse oneself in illusory happiness, foolishly mistaking it for eternity, was to live like a swine—to simply vanish when one’s time was up, mirroring the annual exodus of girls from those establishments, who, crestfallen, retreated from Guangzhou’s dazzling prosperity to their own somber hometowns.
The very moment she awakened from this dream would inevitably be the moment of her shattering.
What transpired next was, in retrospect, entirely inevitable. ‘Dalina’ gradually succumbed to an irresistible immersion in the role-play of Wang Tianzhuo’s ‘girlfriend,’ unable to extricate herself. Alas, while her heart was willing, his remained utterly indifferent.
Wang Tianzhuo was a quintessential wanderer; he would never forsake an entire forest for the sake of a single tree, let alone a single woman. Furthermore, she was hardly a woman of respectable virtue.
An inherent chasm existed between them; their lives were never destined to intertwine.
Regardless of Wang Tianzhuo’s character, at best, he would consider her a fleeting companion, perhaps affording her ample respect, but never extending any deeper affection.
Ultimately, theirs was nothing more than a transaction.
Liang Huaiyu felt a wrenching ache in her heart. Though it continued its relentless rhythm, the pain was excruciating.
To await the day of her inevitable shattering in a state of numb detachment, or to consciously endure the torment of a thousand cuts—she could not discern which fate was the more cruel.
She struggled to comprehend how ‘Dalina,’ or more accurately, Liang Huaiyu, had plummeted to her current predicament. In her humble hometown, she had, by all accounts, taken every correct step: gaining admission to a prestigious university and a highly sought-after major in Guangzhou, a brilliant future seemingly laid out before her.
She might have encountered the love she had always envisioned: a shy, earnest young man of comparable education, who would never boast of his accomplishments or family wealth, but would instead steadfastly accompany her through every step of life, until its very end.
Alas, there were no ‘what ifs’ to be found.
Before Wang Tianzhuo and the police, she laid bare every facet of her life, confessing all. She exposed every single payment record and contact, a self-inflicted wound akin to plunging a knife into her own belly, utterly humiliating herself before the man she loved and two unfamiliar officers.
Like a woman possessed, she declared to Wang Tianzhuo that she was impure, that she had willingly succumbed to degradation, that she was nothing more than an absolute mockery.
Wang Tianzhuo and the two police officers were utterly bewildered, unsure how to react, completely failing to grasp the motive behind her drastic actions.
Yet, she understood her own reasons with crystal clarity. She yearned to sever all ties with the person she had become.
Her actions ultimately led to a twelve-day detention. The authorities, of course, would not recognize a pseudonym like ‘Dalina’; she was formally detained under her true name, ‘Liang Huaiyu’.
The moment she heard the three characters ‘Liang Huaiyu’ echo within the confines of the detention center, she froze, utterly stunned.
This was her birth name, the name she had borne for nearly two decades. How, after only a few years of disuse, had it become so utterly alien to her ears?
During her detention, which stretched beyond ten days, she wore no makeup, for such adornments were forbidden within those walls. She gazed upon her unpainted face, a woman of only twenty-four, an age typically radiant with collagen. Why, then, did she appear so profoundly haggard?
On September 19, 2013, she was finally released.
She purchased a bottle of Jingzhi Baiqian, a potent spirit from her hometown of Weifang. Upon reaching her rented abode, she proceeded to drink, glass after glass, without pause.
The liquor held no spice, yet it seared her throat, unleashing an uncontrollable torrent of tears.
She didn’t know what to do next, but she knew with certainty that she no longer belonged in Guangzhou.
As she drifted into a hazy stupor from the alcohol, a thought surfaced: it was Mid-Autumn Festival today.
She retrieved her phone, intending to compose a message for Wang Tianzhuo.
“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival. It’s getting cold, remember to wear more clothes.”
Yet, as she poised to send it, she hesitated.
Ultimately, she did not send the message to Wang Tianzhuo.
A bitter smile touched her lips. The clarity she now possessed was agonizing; she understood the absurdity of self-pity.
She eventually sent the message to her father, then drifted into a heavy, drunken sleep.
Awakening the next morning, she saw the reply on her phone.
“Got it, thank you, my daughter.”
She couldn’t help but burst into tears.
The liquor from yesterday had been too harsh; even after a night’s rest, her eyes still stung.
She no longer wished to remain in Guangzhou; she yearned to return to Weifang.
She took all her luxury possessions to the pawn shop, pawning them outright, leaving not a single item. Clothes, bags, skirts, shoes, cosmetics, watches, earrings, necklaces—everything was sold off, leaving her utterly unburdened.
She would never again be called Dalina; she had but one name: Liang Huaiyu.
Now, at last, she knew what she had to do.
Whatever it took, she simply had to leave this place.