Chapter 4 Part 1: How We Used to Learn to Love Sugar Pie

The first part of how we once learned to love sugar cakes (1) The past of sugar cake No one is born a rock singer.In the engineering university of T University, my name is A Fei, and my student number is 960302.Teachers graded under my student number, but I can't.Like all seventeen-year-old freshmen, I didn't know what I was going to grow up to be.I was one of the most average students: I didn't have particularly good test scores, but I didn't have to make up the exams, so I didn't let the professors worry about it.They are definitely not student cadres, activists, or literary and artistic backbones, so they are not easily hated by others.Occasionally, I skip a class or two innocuously, and I am not very enthusiastic about any activities organized in the school.I'm not withdrawn, and I'm definitely not the crowd-pleaser.Read professional books every day, go to the laboratory to do experiments all day, and listen to on-demand programs on the Walkman.She doesn't know how to make up, doesn't twist her butt, doesn't smoke, doesn't drink alcohol, and doesn't even listen to rock music.Not ugly, but no one is amazing to me.Occasionally danced on weekends and met some boys, but none of them were interested in continuing to date.For many years, I have been doing nothing and wasting my years.My ambition is nothing more than this: After graduation, I will be a neatly dressed white-collar sitting in an office building, learn how to send faxes and typetypes, fall in love with male colleagues or bosses, and finally marry myself, and become a clean-cut, burned-out woman. The little woman who cooks with water.When I have enough money, I will buy a bright red Tianjin Daihatsu, wear black stockings with mesh holes to go to work, do beauty treatments, check my husband’s pockets from time to time, and occasionally scold the neighbor’s cat.

As time passed and I got older, I gradually realized a truth, that is: I can only be a worthless person. Of course, no one is born worthless. As early as in kindergarten, a gifted child had already appeared: because I was often isolated by the local children, I could write more words than other children, I could use addition to subtract, and I could use addition to multiply. Can recite English letters, sing numbered notation, draw black and white keys of the piano on paper and play by myself, and write songs to pass the long afternoon.This is almost all learned by myself.So, I can indeed be called a gifted child.Not only that, but I was once a very ambitious kid.Because it was an honor to be a teacher at that time, I determined to be a primary school teacher; later it seemed that the cleaner was also very honorable, so I determined to be a cleaner.When I articulated the latter ambition, my working mom blew up.But she couldn't explain why it was not good to be a cleaner.There was a time when my ideals were in great conflict, because I didn't know whether it was better to be a singer or a dancer when I grew up.Later, I finally reluctantly gave up being a singer, because when I was a dancer, I could wear a glittering golden dress.But the truth is, I neither sing nor dance, for I am a timid child.

When I was a child, I liked to pick up rubbish in the trash: a glass bottle, a bottle cap, a small piece of string, a piece of aluminum foil or candy wrapper.I thought that as long as I persisted in looking in the garbage dump, I would definitely find the small set of plastic cutlery I was looking for.But there would be little clean local girls who would laugh at me and call me a "sloppy cat," which is the worst word for a child, usually a little boy who wets the bed and has a runny nose.My strange self-esteem was a pain that was secret: I couldn't speak, and I didn't dare cry.During my childhood at that time, a girl named Zou Qiuyan became the most important support in my life: she also liked to pick up rubbish in the garbage dump, and she was much messier than me.I never laughed at her, because she alone never made me feel inferior.From time to time my mom finds little things I pick up and she doesn't hesitate to throw them away.I could just watch in silence as she threw away the treasure I had spent days trying to retrieve.So, when I was a very small child, there was a generation gap with my mother.

As early as when I was a little over three years old, I dreamed that I was wearing a red dress and a phoenix crown and married the most beautiful boy in the kindergarten.I happily told my cousin and my mother about the dream, although they are both women, they don't respect the secret wishes of a three-year-old woman at all, they laugh at me loudly, and laugh at me whenever I think of it, I'm sorry It's easy to wait until they forget.So, I became a child who didn't easily tell my wishes.When I want to eat nickels, I look at them through the glass case for a long, long time, and never say a word.My love for sugar cake lasted for a long time, and I almost thought it was the best sugar in the world.I still clearly remember the eyes of a little girl, passing through the cold glass, and falling on the silent white sugar cake.In my adolescence, I loved a boy the way I loved sugar biscuits. I just watched him endlessly in my heart, and never said anything.

I am a very well-behaved girl, because I don't talk or move around in class, and my favorite thing is the exam.I always do so well in exams that the teachers don't even bother to praise me.Boys especially like to bully me because I have long pigtails.And I never told the teacher that someone pulled my braid, nor did I tell the adults.Because even if you tell the adults, they won't care.So boys like to bully me.But I often tutor those naughty boys. I can teach homework almost as well as the teacher. I am always very patient and persuasive.In fact, I just hope that they will stop bullying me because of this.This method really worked, and they really didn't bully me anymore.So I summed up an experience: If you want others not to bully you, you have to be nice to others.Because they have been helped by you, they will not bully you.This experience was later proven wrong in the adult world.Especially when you are in a relationship, don't think that if you are nice to others, if you are patient and forbearing, others will not bully you.Not at all.

When I was nine years old, I began to have a crush on a black-faced little boy in my class. Throughout high school, I ignored all the love letters from the boy at school. I just maintained long-term correspondence with the little boy and seriously discussed the design of perpetual motion machines.Despite my best efforts, it failed because it could not overcome the friction of the air.Because I love him, I decided to be a loyal woman. Until I was nineteen years old, I found that the boy I had a crush on had become very, very fat, completely unsuitable to be the image of a dream lover. I think it may be time The problem makes me feel that I gradually don't love him anymore.After the boy became fat, he showed me his diary in the fifth grade of elementary school. It was roughly written like this: Today A Fei punched me, and after a while, she punched me again.I didn't fight back, then she cried, I don't know why she cried.

Finally arrived in the third year of high school.Inexplicably, I got a disease of insomnia.What vitamins, sun gods, injections, and ideological work will not work.Then I kept reading "Andersen's Fairy Tales"—very melancholic fairy tales, just fine.Anyway, the college entrance examination was not delayed.At that time, there were three paths in front of me: the first was to become a nun, the second was to study composition, and the third was to go to university.The first one is because I want to get up every morning to cook a big pot of porridge, then go to play badminton during the day, eat porridge when I’m hungry, and chant scriptures at night, which is obviously very unrealistic; my head teacher is very annoyed about the second one, because He thought I was a mischievous student: raising chickens in the dormitory, putting mice in the boys' drawers, and sticking "kiss me" notes on the back of the English teacher. This choice is undoubtedly the result of mischief, so he gave me I did ideological work.He asked me, what would you do?I said I don't know anything, and I was too timid to even open my mouth to sing.I had to go to college.

In T University, I finally grew into a mediocre woman.My IQ started to drop-I couldn't learn anything, even the guitar was half a bottle of vinegar.I once aspired to be a poet, but I really don't have much talent for writing poetry.In the fourth grade of elementary school, the book I was looking for repeatedly was "Qin Keqing's Obscenity in Tianxianglou". Before I was twelve years old, I finished reading the pirated version, and I was obsessed with the love and hatred in the Hong Kong police film.After watching Kawabata Yasunari and Sade, I determined to write the most pornographic novels, but even the most innocent girl in the room felt very innocent after reading it.Later, these novels were basically novels of dead people, and when it was too late to write, my protagonist would lose his head, usually the quickest way: jumping off a building or being hit by a car to death.

Part 1: This is how we once learned to love sugar cakes (2) Finally, after graduation, the habit of picking up trash when I was a child has suffered due retribution. I am doing a project on solid waste treatment - feasibility analysis of urban waste incineration in China.So I went to the big garbage pile to pick up garbage every day. I picked up a total of 121.2 kilograms and transported it back to the laboratory bit by bit. The smell caused everyone to complain.I scientifically divided these rubbish into twelve categories. Each category was carefully weighed, dried, weighed again, dried again, and measured for moisture content, specific gravity, calorific value, etc. All my life Understand so thoroughly.I used detailed data to illustrate the economic benefits of incinerating garbage: incineration can generate electricity, heat, and save coal and electricity.The hot water can be used to open the bathhouse, and the ticket is one yuan per person.You can also open a coffee shop for two yuan per cup of coffee.Despite the truth and solid data, I pissed off the professors in my department.Because everyone is engaged in landfilling, if the garbage is incinerated, no one is willing to landfill it, and they will lose their jobs.In particular, an old lady who was born as a technician was filled with righteous indignation. She had been raising earthworms for more than ten years-letting earthworms eat garbage was really a pity she could think of.She simply does not believe that third world countries can implement large-scale incineration of garbage.

As long as I don't speak, everyone will think that this is a very quiet southern girl.However, it didn't take long for me to transform into the thin-voiced, blurred-face female lead singer of "Happy Avenue"-even I didn't believe this fact.Even though my work wasn't that good, I was still one of the most humble and respectful female students in the department.This transformation process is very complicated, but in a word, it is nothing more than time and fleeting years.When I was still very young, I met a man named Xiaolong.There is nothing strange about being called Xiaolong, but I fell in love with him.It's not surprising to fall in love with someone, but my life has changed drastically since then.I expended all my energy and talents to win over this man named Xiaolong.I know that I am just an ordinary person, and even the United States can be bombed. I don't believe that the sorrow and joy of an ordinary person can bring much emotion to others.Whenever I sing to a small audience in a dark bar, I always think of the eyes of a little girl when I was a child.It passed through the cold glass and landed on the silent white sugar cake.She refused to say she would.

The Dolphin Hotel and the Wei, Jin, Southern and Northern Dynasties In those years of youth like boiled water, I often sat in the collection room of the library, flipping through old books from the 1920s and 1930s that had turned yellow.About Hu Shi, Chen Duxiu, Liang Yuchun, Zhang Henshui, Ye Gongchao, Li Jinfa... People in that era dared to state various opinions, about art and poetry, love and revolution, with wit and enthusiasm.I often sit there all afternoon, copying notes, or staring blankly for a long time.I am not a person who likes to use my brain. My mind is often empty, just sitting there quietly and killing the long afternoon.The librarian was in his forties, tall and slender, with slightly curly hair.She's a bit older, but still beautiful, even sexy.For the first time I saw a woman so beautiful over forty.The books can be photographed, she said, but not photocopied.Her voice is soft and polite, like an intellectual.She should have a lover, a lover who is perfectly worthy of her: a high-ranking professor, full of children and grandchildren, gray hair on the temples, but still with a steady step and a loud voice.I used to imagine them hugging, caressing, kissing eagerly in the dark corner of the big house where no one saw, among the books of the forgotten dead, lamenting the hardship and hard-won of this twilight love.And the dead man's book stood quietly on a certain bookshelf. This library has a long history, with red brick walls throughout.The color has faded a bit due to time.The walls are covered with ivy, layer upon layer, until the winter will not fade the dark green coat.The library is like a taciturn old man, often silent in the afterglow of dusk.Through the window, I often see the residual glow on the roof in the distance, and birds with black feathers streak across the gradually dimming sky. There are more than 20,000 students in this school, but most of them are in science and engineering. These dead books are not practical for them, so there are very few people here, usually just me and one or two old men.Sometimes an administrator would wash clothes in the reading room while there were few people.I sat in an armchair in a heavy cotton dress—brought over from the South, with glasses, and my hair pinned up with a red hairpin.Books in this library cannot be borrowed, they can only be read here.I sat there quietly all afternoon, until the beautiful administrator said: Classmate, the library is closed.I returned the book to her meekly, took back my student card, packed my schoolbag and left.Every day, except Saturday and Sunday. Spring is here, and notices are posted on the roadside at the entrance of the library. The weather is getting warmer, please pay attention to the fine dust and pollen in the air.Thirty students have been admitted to the school hospital due to pollen poisoning.Please stay away from all flowers that produce pollen. I hid in the library and watched Murakami's "Dance, Dance, Dance", away from the pollen flying silently in the air. I always dream about the Dolphin Hotel. Those words were indeed familiar to me. Spring is always busy.Working part-time, attending classes, buying cotton shirts and Murakami books. The caretaker does laundry in the corner. Today is Friday.The doors are closed on Saturdays, and they are also closed on Sundays. A strange girl came to the library in the afternoon.She has a melon-seeded face, delicate features, and her hair is neatly tied behind her head.She had to finish her elective homework, so she struggled to copy books.She is a beautiful girl with long legs.There are always countless beautiful girls in this world. The strange thing is that none of the women Xiaolong fell in love with were beautiful.It stands to reason that Xiaolong should fall in love with me.but.The first time I saw Xiaolong I knew he would never fall in love with me.And indeed it is.Maybe it's because you love someone too much, but it's hard to get what you want. The first part of how we once learned to love sugar cakes (3) At three o'clock in the afternoon, call Xiaolong. The answering machine on the phone said, Hello, I am Xiaolong, our band has gone to Zhuhai, please leave a message if you have anything, thank you. I threw in a few coins and struck again. Hello, I'm Xiaolong... I said softly: "Xiaolong, it's me." ...Thanks, the answering machine said. I silently hung up the phone.The coins fell with a "crash" and there was no more sound. I don't like Zhuhai. When I was not very sensible, I had a good time with a boy there.He is a company employee, almost two years older than me.In fact, he is very rich, probably because his family is an official.But I didn't know he was rich at the time.He put two hundred yuan on the table every day before going to work, but I never took it.He is very handsome and has a very gentle temper. I like his blue washed cloth shirt, which is very old and has been washed and put in the closet.I like wearing that shirt, and then wearing a short gray plaid skirt, wearing slippers to hang out with him on the beach road.When I went to Zhuhai for the second time, he proposed to have sex with me.He still begged me the next night.I hesitated for a while and then complied, probably because I never had the habit of refusing.He didn't kiss me or stroke my hair.Sweat profusely.I heard voices outside, blunt and vulgar Cantonese, it seemed that someone was playing the Internationale, and a peddler was outside shouting to sell cotton candy.Waking up in the middle of the night to the rain rushing across the roof.And Schubert, who died young.I sit up and put on my glasses.In the dark, he was vaguely seen in pajamas, sleeping soundly like a child.I feel scared, but I don't know why.A few months later he told me on the phone that he already had a girlfriend.I said, how many times have we done this?How much should each time be?He said shameless and hung up the phone.I never had a chance to say that I didn't actually want to have sex with him. The peach blossoms are blooming, and they can be clearly seen through the library window. They are exactly the same as last year.Peach blossoms should not appear in my novels.Avoid dust and pollen in the air. For a long time, I have been planning to write a novel called "Wei Jin Southern and Northern Dynasties".About alchemy, writing poetry, and indulging in pedophile love.About the Sima family, Guangling San, and the icy concubine dancing alone.He was plundered from the barbarians by a brave general, and the price for this was war and the disaster of genocide.That tribe has disappeared in the long river of human history, including its name.I am its only descendant.The reason I know this so well is because that unsmiling alien woman is my father's mother, who ordered her to kill herself because she couldn't get her love.My father fled south to escape the massacre of the Sima regime, and he lost his poems and books that can be handed down to future generations.So if you open the Jin Dynasty Volume 1 of the Twenty-Four Histories, you can see that the records about my father only read: Three Volumes of Lost Poems.Since then, no one in our family has written poetry.After his father fled to the south, he fell in love with a Yi woman.At that time, she sang while picking tea on the mountain.She is dark-skinned, full of the charm and wildness of a barbarian woman.She shouldn't have smiled at her father who was fleeing in embarrassment, it was doomed that she would suffer physical humiliation and death.He longs for her.So he lost his pale and elegant demeanor, followed her, and raped her.Forgive me for using the dirty word, it has been said that all women desire to be raped.Maybe this is true, but in fact it is more of a cold and vicious imagination of men towards women.The father exchanged fifteen pieces of silver for the fifteen-year-old woman from her snobbish parents.She died soon after, perhaps from falling in love with someone else.She dared to flirt with an illiterate hunter, and sang to him a folk song from the Southern Dynasties—far more passionate, coquettish, and full of erotic bitterness than recorded in history books.The jealous father drew his sword and killed her.But he soon regretted it, and he tried everything possible to plug the wound he stabbed himself.The blood flow was slow, so she died slowly, which was actually more painful.Strangely she would not moan or cry.Despite her natural gifts, she hadn't learned enough words to write poetry as her father expected, just like everyone else in that dynasty.She was killed silently without being recorded in the history books.So she died before giving birth to me.So where do I come from?I am full of curiosity about my life experience, which woman is related to me by flesh and blood?During my doctoral study, I regularly visited a professor who studied the history of the Wei and Jin Dynasties.We have become friends of the year, and we will fall into ecstasy every time we discover a little detail that has been overlooked in the history books.He thought that like him, I was full of fanatical and rigorous love for the history of the Wei and Jin Dynasties. In fact, I just wanted to find out my own life experience.Despite all the efforts to find all the clues, they will always be interrupted inexplicably because of the overly concise records.At last I gave up this vain search.I understand that those historians who are burdened with the great sorrow and sorrow of history and have a clear style of writing don't really care about fragile and violent individuals.The lust and violence of that dynasty are completely omitted, leaving only regime change, strife, war, massacre, natural and man-made disasters, grotesque and ambiguous hints.I later found out that all the women I knew in my family were killed, and all when they were very young, when they had just fallen in love with a man.Their lives are short and tragic, and that trace of blood is always ruthlessly covered up and obliterated by history.Finally I discovered a secret, but I don't have enough evidence to reveal it, maybe it's just another daring delusion on my part.When I was a lonely girl, the school doctor had to inject a colorless and transparent liquid into my tiny vein because I couldn't sleep because of my inexplicable lust.All the girls in the boarding house looked at me expectantly, wishing me a good night's sleep.But I would still get up quietly in the middle of the water-like night, sit in the middle of the yard, bury my head in my arms, and cry softly.That was the only period when I wrote poetry.I wrote with a blue ink pen: kill peach blossoms, peach blossoms kill me.Therefore, you have existed for a long time, and I was your woman long before I knew you.Let me continue with the previous secret.The alien woman who was taken captive, that is, the father's mother, the Yi woman who was raped and killed by her father, and the woman sitting in this room doing secret and hopeless writing, they are very likely to be the same personal.They die young, come back to life, and then, hopelessly repeat the same fate, killed, resurrected, killed, resurrected.In the end, their lives will end with me—a southern woman who constantly seeks the mystery of her life experience but finds nothing.Likewise, I am also a woman of a different race, familiar with the language, songs, legends and secret sacrificial rituals of our tribe.Modern society has compiled a whole set of customs, history, language, clothing, myths, and folklore for us, but I know that our historical background is doomed, so we must be extremely fragile, extremely tolerant, gentle, and fateful.I willingly accepted a powerful fate.When I fall in love with someone else, I will be killed. Wearing a thick cotton skirt, wearing glasses, and pinning my hair with a red hairpin, I sat in a dark library, painstakingly working on this novel called "Wei, Jin, Southern and Northern Dynasties".I hope that the shocking lust and death will appear repeatedly in the writing, shocking the world and the world, and passed down through the ages.For all my vigilance, the vulgar word "love" came up so often that it made me tense, ashamed, and clumsy.This means that, firstly, I am old or growing old; secondly, this is destined to be an extremely vulgar novel, which will turn the excellent novel I have worked so hard on for a long time into a erotic dream again.In order to ensure the seriousness and artistry of the novel, during the final revision, I will use the powerful functions of text software to search for and delete any details related to this inappropriate word. Spring has fully arrived.I finally realized that my inability to express myself accurately had nothing to do with grammar, diction, or tone. It had nothing to do with my suspicious and silent nature, which made me tirelessly try to conceal my insatiable desire for love and adventure. The beautiful long-legged girl sat across from me, hard at work copying a book.Sunlight poured in from the window and fell on the ground beside her.Her hair was combed back neatly and meticulously.I suspect that if only me and the copying girl are left in this world, Xiaolong will still love her instead of me.So what if I am the only girl left in this world?Will Xiaolong fall in love with me? In fact, it is impossible for me to be the only girl left in this world.Therefore, Xiaolong will not fall in love with me. I lost my copy of Dance, Dance, Dance.Probably a certain girl salivated after borrowing it and refused to return it.I can't remember who it is, and it seems that I have never had this book.I didn’t have a lot of money to buy books before. Murakami’s books were saved one after another after working part-time. Maybe I forgot to buy this one. I even forgot what story it told. I may never have owned it. over it.I would sit in the dim old library every Monday through Friday afternoon and read Dead Man's Books and Dance, Dance, Dance.The administrator silently washes clothes in a corner of the reading room.It's closed on Saturdays, and it's also closed on Sundays. When I walked out of the library, I saw the bulletin board on the roadside again.It reminds us to pay attention to the pollen flying silently in the air this spring.