The Philosopher’s Dilemma

Ling Chen sipped his porridge, his gaze fixed intently on my reactions.

His knowing gaze, like that of an all-seeing father, made me squirm with discomfort.

Ling Chen was likely a nemesis sent by the heavens to rectify my twisted thoughts, and just as I suspected, such ‘accidental’ encounters were bound to become frequent occurrences.

This simply wouldn’t do. Being caught in the act meant the driver was utterly unprofessional.

I knew my skin was too thin; thus, I often panicked when confronted with embarrassing situations.

Shame was an exceptionally complex emotion, one that could only arise in self-aware beings and was always predicated on societal norms. It represented a classic example of society’s control over the body, a unique cultural development essential for survival throughout humanity’s long history.

We shouldn’t stigmatize sexuality, but rather analyze it with a calm perspective, demystifying traditions.

Shame was a weakness. In a dog-eat-dog world, a sense of shame offered no advantage. For instance, some staunch ‘real men’ might scorn those who sought to be kept, yet their own shame prevented them from realizing that being kept was often the optimal solution for the vulnerable to survive.

Of course, you might ask, ‘Isn’t it contradictory to want to be self-reliant one moment and then wish for a rich loli to keep me the next?’

Allow me to explain. As a pragmatist, skillfully employing doublethink is standard practice. Isn’t it satisfying to hold others to strict standards while being lenient with oneself?

In essence, my actions should not be a premise for shame, for this is an emancipation of nature, an awakening and rebellion of individual consciousness. I am a glorious pioneer.

My cultivation would reach a minor pinnacle, achieving a state of unity between self and object, mind and matter, when I could openly indulge whenever and wherever I pleased, even coolly declaring to my family that I needed to lock the door to ‘go at it.’

“Sister,” Ling Chen stated with an air of nonchalance, “there’s really no need for you to rack your brains trying to rationalize your behavior. I won’t dislike you for your adolescent curiosity. Or is it that you’re uncomfortable if you’re not playing a shame-inducing game?”

I set down my chopsticks, my voice sharp. “Ling Chen!”

“Sister, what’s wrong?” My curt tone made Ling Chen look at me with a hint of grievance. “Is there something wrong with the meal I cooked? Please point out any issues so I can improve.”

I wore an expression of exasperated disappointment. “Your breakfast is excellent, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Knock! Knock! Can’t you show a little respect for my privacy?”

“Yes, it was my fault this time, Sister. I’ll be sure to pay attention next time.”

Ling Chen’s perfunctory attitude deeply displeased me. It felt as if he completely disregarded my embarrassment, instead viewing this morning’s events as commonplace, like ‘spring has arrived, and it’s mating season for animals again.’

Hmph, you’ve only been away from me for a day, and your wings are already so stiff? If it were longer, would you start treating me like an ant?

I’m a lecherous high school student, and I apologize for that!

I scoffed coldly. “Can’t you show a little consideration for my sense of shame as a girl?”

“At this moment, Sister considers herself a girl again? Has Sister come to a realization?”

“Something like that.” I straightened my expression. “Ling Chen, do you know the book Gender Trouble?”

“That would be the book written by the postmodernist thinker Judith Butler, wouldn’t it?”

“As expected of my brother—as knowledgeable as I am!”

“Of course I know what you know, Sister. So, are you trying to subtly praise yourself?”

Cough, cough.

I coughed, feeling a little guilty, and continued my lengthy discourse:

“Anyway, during my struggles with feminism—or rather, with rural feminism—I learned about Butler’s ideas and found her views quite interesting.”

“She believed that gender isn’t the result of gender rules or customs acting upon the body, as gender constructivism suggests, but rather the effect of the body repeatedly performing a certain gender role through self-salvation.”

“Simply put, both gender and subjectivity are illusions. Gender is essentially a performance, not determined by your biological s*x, nor entirely by your cultural environment, but by your current cognition.”

“Whether it’s a cross-dresser or a transsexual, through performative acts like wearing women’s clothing or taking hormones, they transform from physiological males (s*x) into social females (gender).”

“While Butler’s ideas lack empirical evidence, they are incredibly practical for me. My physiological s*x is female, my psychological gender is male; seemingly irreconcilable, yet the gender I perform in society ultimately depends on my perception of gender.”

“If I choose to perform as a girl, then I am a girl. If I wish to retain a male mindset, then I am still the Ling Chen I once was. Therefore, there’s no need for me to keep agonizing over this; I’ll simply adopt whichever identity is more suitable for daily life.”

After hearing my words, Ling Chen nodded.

“It’s wonderful that Sister has come to terms with it. But how did you arrive at such a solution?”

I felt my cheeks, all the way to my earlobes, flush with heat. I nervously brushed away a stray lock of hair, stammering my reply:

“Just now, when you burst in, and my mind crashed.”

Ling Chen exclaimed admiringly, “I see! Is this Sister’s self-preservation mechanism? Not only is Sister adept at comforting herself with the Ah Q spirit, but she can also achieve self-consistency with complete logic. It seems Sister’s years as a shut-in weren’t wasted after all.”

I retorted, “What Ah Q spirit? I would never deceive myself. That’s called revolutionary optimism, alright?”

Ling Chen shrugged. “Hmm, Sister is very optimistic, which is why she occasionally acts erratically.”

In truth, after chatting with my best friend last night, I had a sudden epiphany and finally understood my current situation.

I suddenly saw things clearly. My internal struggle over whether I was a man or a woman was, for all intents and purposes, just creating unnecessary trouble for my daily life.

As a shut-in, my social circle was limited, and my range of activities even more so, making me a paragon of energy conservation.

On this foundation, my interpersonal relationships were already established, and the impression I left on others hadn’t changed much. I merely needed to maintain my original behavior and personality to seamlessly reintegrate into my routine.

The substantial impact of this transformation wouldn’t manifest itself for a while, at most causing minor inconveniences.

Regardless of how long my transformation might last, even when it came to marriage, there wouldn’t be much to worry about.

As the saying goes, ‘one shouldn’t let fertile water flow into outsiders’ fields.’ At worst, I’d just marry my best friend…

Hold on, don’t question it yet. This is also a conclusion I reached after careful consideration.

Marriage is a contractual relationship, a consequence of private ownership.

If love is a beautiful fantasy, then marriage is a pragmatic compromise with reality.

If I were to fall in love, I would undoubtedly choose the Goddess, but considering practical factors, she wasn’t the perfect marriage partner.

Conversely, my best friend, Sun Xiaochuan, was far more suitable for a shut-in like me.

I knew my best friend inside and out. Although he was a fat otaku, he was refined and easygoing, and emotionally very responsible. While I changed my waifus every quarter, he had remained loyal to the same one for many years.

He was definitely not the type of person women would be interested in, but he would eventually find a wife and marry. As his best friend, rather than watching him become a ‘cuckolded nice guy,’ I might as well make do.

Thinking it over, his family was wealthy, but he was utterly useless. Wouldn’t I, someone capable of managing finances, effectively become the head of the household? Moreover, his aunt and uncle were very familiar with me. When I used to visit their home, they would often say that if I weren’t their son, they would have treated me as their own, wanting me to be their daughter-in-law and inherit their fortune.

The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became. Why did I have to become a girl? It would have been so much better if that fat slob had turned into a beautiful girl!

Wouldn’t I have gained a beautiful childhood friend and become rich in the process?

Could it be that the fat slob was the true winner in life?

Ugh, get out of my head. Never mind, no need to disgust myself.

In any case, marriage isn’t something that can endure based solely on momentary impulse; it’s a marathon. Every real-world factor can make you give up midway. After all, life isn’t just about poetry and distant lands; it’s also about daily necessities like firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, tea, a house, a car, retirement, and raising children…

In ancient times, there was the saying ‘matching doors and households.’ While my Goddess was low-key, I had meticulously discovered just how powerful her family was. Even if she were willing to be with me, her family would never agree unless I could offer capabilities and resources worthy of her.

Thus, when I realized the almost insurmountable chasm between the Goddess and me, I abandoned my plan to confess to her. Only then would I avoid causing her trouble.

Being a simp was my final act of stubbornness. Maintaining this distant, yet close, relationship with the Goddess was the best choice, as it wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Therefore, I could once again make a crucial decision: to accept my new identity, both physically and mentally. I was a beautiful girl, and the Goddess was my best friend. Instead of remaining a humble simp, wouldn’t it be better to be ‘plastic flower sisters’?

That’s probably it. I’m almost moved by my own sacrifice for love.

Getting close with the Goddess, hurray!