A Bookstore Encounter and a Surprising Revelation

Once more, it was the delightfully pleasant hour for school to end. Yu Tianman messaged me, informing me that there were no club activities today, and Huang Zhouyu and Gao Qinghong had also made plans to go out with others. Thus, for the first time in a while, I would head straight home after school.

Pushing open the front door, I stepped into the lightless space. The doors and windows were tightly shut, and the magnets on the curtains sealed them perfectly.

I lived in a secluded area outside the bustling city, far from the constant traffic of the main roads. My home was always quiet, and so were my neighbors. They never chatted at their doorways or in the streets; I typically only saw them in their hurried states when I was on my way to school.

The elder sister next door seemed to have only recently graduated from university and entered the workforce. Occasionally, I would hear her crying, lamenting her woes to her mother or a friend over the phone.

This place was truly quiet, perhaps because its residents were all so busy, each preoccupied with their own struggles. They had no inclination to socialize, and at the same time, feared disturbing others’ rest, so they dared not indulge too freely within their homes.

It was a comfortable living environment. After a suitable amount of noise, a fitting silence was naturally required. Returning to solitude was beneficial for reflection, for contemplating all sorts of trivial and profound thoughts.

However, I hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so I planned to save my existential ponderings for after the meal. Since I had eaten lunch at school, the refrigerator at home was rather bare, holding only my father’s beer and a few jars whose contents I couldn’t recall.

‘Tonight, I’ll eat out,’ I decided. After a quick sweep of the floors, I opened the windows to air out the house, then gathered the trash bags from the living room, bedroom, and bathroom. After checking I had my phone and keys, I left.

After tossing the trash bags into the bin at the alley corner, I borrowed a neighbor’s outdoor faucet to wash my hands.

The suburbs where I lived boasted a food street, adorned with dazzling storefronts and a variety of street stalls. I loved going there; it was close, offered many choices, and was my go-to when I was too lazy to cook.

Today was an exception, however, as I had other plans. Since I was already heading out, I decided to take care of my errands first, then grab a meal along the way.

From my home, it only took a few minutes by bus to reach the bustling city center, but walking there would also take about half an hour. My destination, in fact, lay somewhere along that path.

Although it was only midway, it was already on the edge of the commercial district. Shops of all sizes were strung together, forming a vibrant shopping street.

Most were apparel and gift stores, occasionally interspersed with small eateries selling braised delights and pastries. I recalled a tiny stall here that used to sell sugar-roasted chestnuts, where I’d sometimes eat alone, but it seemed to have closed down.

I looked left and right. While this street was predominantly filled with clothing stores, the crowds flocking to the street food stalls were immense, making it quite lively.

On the way, I received a message from Huang Zhouyu. He sent me a picture of a shiny Gardevoir he had just hatched in Pokémon (for those unfamiliar with Pokémon, a shiny Pokémon is a special individual with a 1 in 4000 chance of appearing).

He was boasting on WeChat, sharing a photo of his character alongside the Pokémon, not only sending it to me but also posting it on his Moments and QQ Space.

[After so many days of grinding, it finally appeared. Gardevoir is truly adorable, a waifu Pokémon. If this generation had Mega Evolution paired with a shiny, it would be an absolute killer, but alas, it doesn’t.]

This game had a certain type of player who loved to ‘grind’ for specific random attributes in Pokémon, such as shinies, size, gender, or marks. I wasn’t sure what motivated them, but dedicating such vast amounts of time to obtain something they desired was, in any case, commendable.

So I replied, [Congratulations.]

[Congratulations on what?] He was displeased. [The shiny appeared, but it’s male. I have to keep grinding.]

[A male isn’t acceptable?]

A Pokémon’s shininess, gender, and size do not affect the battle system; they are purely collectible elements.

[Of course a male isn’t acceptable! Gardevoir, as a waifu Pokémon, absolutely must be female. Imagine sending out a shiny Gardevoir in battle, only for your opponent to see it’s male—they’d laugh me to death!]

[Gardevoir isn’t viable in the current competitive meta.]

[That’s not the point… never mind.]

I couldn’t grasp his particular pursuit. Yet, if he was willing to spend so much time for a female shiny Gardevoir, it must hold some unique personal significance for him.

My luck was terrible; I had never hatched a shiny Pokémon from an egg, nor had I ever deliberately ‘grinded’ for one. Still, I understood how minuscule a 1 in 4000 chance was, and I admired his dedication.

[Good luck.]

With that, I continued toward my destination, brushing past men, women, the elderly, and the young on the street. There were those toiling in haste and those enjoying leisurely strolls. They passed me by, and I passed them by.

All were fleeting passengers in life: alluring women in provocative attire, sharp-suited, clear-eyed professionals, and graceful young maidens still radiating youthful innocence.

We inadvertently cast our gaze upon someone on our path, and once they vanished beyond the periphery of our vision, they would disappear from our lives without a trace. Later, when we recalled them after a long time, even the truth of their existence would be unconfirmable.

Indeed, others are but transient guests in our lives, just as we are in theirs. What does a meeting of eyes signify? What does the convergence of relationships mean? People cannot walk side-by-side indefinitely; no one is indispensable to another.

We know this in our hearts: loneliness lingers, solitude endures eternally. Yet, we still need to meet people, miss them, and part from them—for these are the only solace in our solitary lives.

****

The journey took precisely as long as I expected. Half an hour later, I arrived at my destination: Xinhua Bookstore.

Today, I had a rare abundance of free time. I had promised to give Dorothy a copy of ‘Love in the Time of Cholera.’ I had, of course, heard of this masterpiece, though I hadn’t yet read it myself.

My interest was piqued; the myriad forms of love depicted in various books, and the exploration not just of romantic emotions and relationships, but more profoundly, the fundamental narratives of the human soul.

Upon entering the bookstore, the entire space felt open and bright. The bookshelves were symmetrically arranged, and the environment was clear and vibrant. Directly facing the entrance was a circular display table, laden with “red books” that evoked a strong sense of national pride. I bypassed these directly, not out of disinterest, but because I had already purchased and read them.

The first floor primarily housed magazines, promotional publications, and new releases: science fiction and speculative novels, autobiographies by successful individuals, exam prep guides explained by renowned teachers, and theoretical books addressing various contemporary societal issues.

The second floor offered an even larger space, a more clearly and comprehensively categorized area for books. Noticeably more people were reading upstairs.

The central public reading area was designed quite elaborately, featuring a sunken platform with various steps of differing heights within, where people sat along the edges and steps to read.

Of course, there were also regular seats, but I saw many uninhibited individuals sitting directly on the floor, their heads bowed, completely absorbed in their books.

I ambled towards the foreign literature section, slowly browsing. From time to time, I heard hushed whispers between students.

The bookstore was generally very quiet, with everyone striving to avoid loud noises, so even faint conversations were audible. Additionally, there were office workers and university students drawn by the ambiance, carrying laptops, their keyboard clicks a soft patter as they worked and processed documents.

I had read many of the works on the shelves, not because I was particularly studious, but simply out of sheer boredom. Some less-than-thrilling books I would still finish just to pass the time.

After a few glances, I located the book. It was quite substantial; truly deserving of its reputation as a long novel, both in content and word count.

Logically, the next step would be to head downstairs to the counter, pay, and go home. However, I seemed to be swayed by the ambiance, feeling a slight urge to absorb the essence of the words. So, I opened the book Dorothy wanted to read.

As I read, I simply sat down on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf.

The opening naturally used various scenarios to depict the characters’ personalities, living environments, historical backdrop, and social relationships. The beginning wasn’t particularly captivating, though I didn’t expect a work to be brilliant from start to finish.

I had read many books that built up for a long time just for a spectacular climax. Some even remained unremarkable throughout, only for the ending to tie everything together, leaving a profound aftertaste.

“Oh, you are…?”

The voice was very close, as if speaking directly to me. I looked up and saw a girl in a Lolita dress, someone who seemed vaguely familiar. I studied her face, trying to search my memory.

“Ah, you’re the one from last time…” I closed the book.

This was the girl I had encountered by chance on the street when I went out to eat with my father, the one who had helped me pick out the Lolita outfit for Mei Ruolan.

Her current style differed slightly from last time: a one-piece, pure black dress, devoid of other embellishments or patterns. The pleats were more subdued than the previous garment, making it feel more suitable for everyday wear, though the sleeves and high collar still retained a touch of courtly elegance.

“It really is you!” the Lolita girl exclaimed, a smile gracing her face at the unexpected encounter. “So, how did it go? Did your girlfriend like the outfit?”

“Not a girlfriend,” I clarified, sensing her misunderstanding. “It was just a gift for an acquaintance.”

“Eh?” She seemed even more surprised. “Such an expensive outfit—I couldn’t even bring myself to buy it—and you just gave it to an acquaintance?”

“It was quite expensive,” I recalled the scene of buying the dress. “I had to borrow a bit of money from my father.”

The girl chuckled, covering her mouth. “If taking money from your family counts as borrowing, how long will it take to pay it back?” She then sat beside me, placing her handbag, which matched her outfit’s style, on the table.

“Probably never in a lifetime,” I mused. It was only when she was closer that I noticed two moles near her left eye: one just to the side of her eye, and another slightly below and to the left.

“Are you here to buy books today too?” the girl asked, looking at ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’ in my hands. “Is this one good?”

“I’ve only just started it,” I replied, turning to the page I had been on.

A slightly awkward silence descended. Had I not responded well, leaving her unsure how to continue? I turned to look, only to find her smiling at me, seemingly unfazed by the quiet. On the contrary, she appeared to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere.

“I’m here to buy books today,” she finally said, waiting until I had finished the first chapter. “I came for ‘Lolita’.”

The ‘Lolita’ she spoke of was not the name of the attire she wore, but its origin: the novel by the renowned Russian-American writer Vladimir Nabokov.

“You see, even though I love Lolita fashion, I’ve never really understood its originating work, so I wanted to come and check it out.”

“That style of clothing has little to do with the original novel, you know.”

“Really?” She tilted her head, confused. “What’s the story about?”

“Hmm… let me think,” I mused, finding it difficult to describe the work in a few words. “It’s about a middle-aged man who becomes infatuated with a twelve-year-old girl.”

“Eh!” She suddenly exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of those around us. This made her shyly lower her head and lean towards me. “With a twelve-year-old? Isn’t that pedophilia?”

She truly seemed to know nothing about the work.

“The protagonist is indeed a pedophile. Due to his childhood experiences, he can only feel attraction towards young females.”

“So, did the male protagonist act on it with the female protagonist? She’s only twelve—isn’t that a crime?”

“The story actually begins with the male protagonist on trial in court,” I said, realizing I might have revealed a bit too much, even if it was just the general plot. “You can read the rest yourself.”

Personally, I believe the themes of ‘Lolita’ are incredibly complex, encompassing reflections on life, time, love, beauty, and human nature.

It’s not merely a combination of lust, cruelty, hypocrisy, exaggeration, and perversion; it’s also a profound introspection on love itself. Every piece of information, every plot point in this novel, expresses a questioning and excavation of the real world.

What most profoundly struck me, of course, was the protagonist’s immense emotional power, and the willing foolishness that accompanied it.

Yet, whenever I recalled discussing this work online, others would often criticize it as morally corrupt or against human ethics. Was this novel actually unpopular, or perhaps simply not accepted by mainstream reading habits?

“This novel,” she said, “sounds really interesting!”

People truly are different. While I didn’t know ‘Lolita’s’ reputation among the modern public, or how moralists criticized it, at least the girl before me wasn’t one of them.

Having spoken, she enthusiastically rose to search the bookshelves. Compared to the towering shelves around her, the girl appeared even more petite and charming.

Even her casual stance was remarkably poised, feet together, one hand clasping the other arm behind her back, standing gracefully. Her large eyes intently scanned for the book.

I put my book away and joined her. While searching earlier, I had glimpsed the ‘Lolita’ she wanted. I quickly found it based on my memory, right above her head.

The girl wasn’t tall, and her lower line of sight made it hard to read the titles above even when she looked up. So, I rested a hand on her shoulder and reached out with the other to pull ‘Lolita’ from among the many books.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the book and looking up at me. “Being tall is really convenient.”

“Not entirely,” I replied. “Washing dishes is exhausting; you have to bend down really low.”

“Haha, then your kitchen facilities must be too short.”

We descended the stairs with our respective books, ready to pay. I wasn’t sure why we had ended up walking together; neither of us knew what the other planned to do next, nor had we suggested doing anything together. It just happened, imperceptibly.

“Would you like to get a drink together?” she asked, pointing to the coffee shop on the first floor. “Their coffee here is freshly ground; it has a wonderful aroma.”

I nodded. Although my original plan was to go eat, I wasn’t particularly hungry at the moment, so I agreed.

Since I didn’t know much about coffee, I casually ordered a cappuccino. Just as I was about to scan the QR code to pay, the girl stopped me.

“Let me pay, as a thank you for earlier,” she said with a smile. “And don’t let my age fool you; I have a legitimate income, you know.”

I had no objections and let her pay. It made me wonder if I, too, should find an opportunity to argue over the bill, seeing how often my parents and friends did.

“I’m going to the restroom first; could you save a seat for me?” she asked after paying. “Oh, and please watch my bag and shopping bags too.”

I took her handbag and the queue number slip from the waiter, then found a corner table by the floor-to-ceiling window. I placed her handbag on the seat opposite me, and the two plastic bags containing books beside the table’s edge.

I didn’t know the girl’s name. I hadn’t asked, despite having ample time. I felt that our interaction just now had been natural, our conversation normal. Although we didn’t share many common topics, these two chance encounters had forged a slight connection.

‘Should I proactively ask for her contact information?’

‘But what if I did? Our meeting was merely by chance. Our residences, living environments, and daily routines were surely vastly different. Even living in the same city, if I saw her from afar someday, what reason would I have to greet her?’

‘Yet, ending things like this felt somewhat unsettling. After this parting, would our paths ever cross by chance again in life? We had shared this brief time, only to be fated never to meet again, eventually fading from memory.’

It truly left me in a dilemma.

The café counter had already brought out our ordered coffees, along with complimentary shortbread and the two mousse cakes the girl had bought. I placed the food on the table, but the girl still hadn’t returned, and a strange unease stirred within me.

I looked towards the restroom, only to find a crowd gathered there. My curiosity and unease mingled, prompting me to go investigate.

People swarmed around the entrance to the men’s restroom, blocking it completely. They pushed forward, one person leaning on another, their gazes uniformly fixed on the washbasins. Some even held up phones to take pictures.

I couldn’t push through them, but from their phone screens, I could vaguely discern a figure. Was some celebrity in the restroom?

The crowd suddenly scattered, leaving me bewildered. It turned out the person inside had emerged.

“Oh, you were waiting for me here? How thoughtful.”

A slender figure, adorable attire, long black straight hair, and those memorable beauty marks. The person who emerged from the men’s restroom was none other than the Lolita girl.

“You,” I said, a possibility dawning on me. “Did you go into the wrong restroom?”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied, tilting his head with a faint smile.

Most of my entertainment in life came from the internet. Even with my limited interests, I still came across various tidbits, and certain popular online terms had a concept in my mind.

The Lolita girl before me, they must be… no… he must be…

“I’m a boy.”