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墨書 Inktalez
On the third day, early in the morning, I stepped out of the public restroom with my hair resembling a chicken's nest. As soon as I opened the door, he was standing outside yawning. For a moment, I froze, then quickly pretended nothing had happened.
"Hello, I drank too much last night. Sorry if I did anything inappropriate?"
"No, you were quite composed," he replied.
"That's good. You should freshen up; I'll go back to my room and tidy up."
We brushed past each other, and I thought that the events of the previous night would dissipate with that brief encounter.
"I used to work in that line of work—the kind you’re thinking of. I started before college after graduating high school. Once I got to university, I didn’t want to ask my parents for living expenses, and I wanted to live a lifestyle similar to my classmates. To put it bluntly, it was vanity that led me to a small KTV in Shibei where I worked as a hostess, not going out with clients."
He ordered takeout—two portions, one for him and one for me. Our tastes were completely aligned. He knocked on my door to deliver the food, and we sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over the table to eat.
"I know about those places; I've been there with friends, but I didn’t adapt or enjoy it, so I only went once. Places like foot massage parlors are quite boring."
"You can look down on me if you want."
"Why would I look down on you? Because you sell your body? That’s your choice; it’s your body after all. Besides, who doesn’t have vanity? How many saints are there in this world? I'm honored that you chose to confide in me."
He gently patted my back with his left hand.
"From my freshman year to junior year, I hardly attended classes because the school was in a remote area. I spent most of my time in various nightlife spots in the city."
"Does your school not take attendance?"
"They do. I had my classmates mark me present. During exams, I'd rely on my brain—just skim through the books half an hour before and manage to scrape by without failing any courses."
"Even Advanced Mathematics?"
"Yes."
"You're quite smart then."
"I think so too," I said as I took a bite of the spicy hot pot noodles. "Continuing from where we left off, I've gone out with clients occasionally—those who are good-looking and pleasant enough not to pressure you into singing or drinking. Such clients are rare. I've developed some bland feelings for them; when they handed me a stack of cash, it instantly lost its appeal. There was one client who was nice but not my type; he chatted with me about his heartbreak and how much he missed his ex-girlfriend due to various conflicts. I listened attentively, occasionally offering words of comfort. Then he suggested supporting me financially—fifty thousand a month along with luxury gifts. I tried it but couldn’t go through with it; it made me feel sick, so I declined."
"Do you regret it? After all, fifty thousand a month is tempting."
I blinked. "A little. Once you're out in society, you realize how hard it is to survive. But if given another chance now, I'd still refuse; that physical disgust is something you can't ignore."
"In three years, didn’t you save any money?"
"No, I spent everything I earned as soon as I got it. It was almost like a form of revenge against myself—I felt unworthy of an eight-dollar cup of water, so I bought all kinds of crystal cups instead. My meals consisted of just steamed buns and cabbage; whenever I made money, I'd treat myself to hot pot every day. When going out, I'd rely solely on my legs or an electric bike; once at university, I'd hail a taxi instead of waiting at the bus stop. I wanted to make up for everything I'd missed before, but the more I tried to compensate, the emptier I felt inside—like walking on thin air, unsure when or where I'd crash onto the concrete pavement."
"I can understand."
He took two tissues from the box on the table and handed them to me. I wiped my tears, blew my nose, and then tossed the tissue into the trash can with a soft thud.
"What happened to the scar on your arm?"
"I did it myself; it became hypertrophic."
"Was it during college?"
"Seventeen, the year I graduated high school. It was no big deal. I attempted suicide for the first time in junior high school. At that time, the school had a health office, but the management was neither strict nor formal. Every night, I would go there and say I couldn’t sleep because it was a boarding school. I had been in boarding schools since elementary school, so the female doctor in the health office knew me well. Each time I went, she would give me two sleeping pills. I saved them up in a small bottle. After a month, when I was still short of the hundred pills I needed for my ideal suicide, one of my dorm mates found out and reported it to our homeroom teacher. During a parent-teacher meeting, she pointed at my head with her index finger in front of all the parents and said to my mom, 'Your daughter is just a lunatic!' I will never forget that moment. She was a Chinese teacher who read my essays as examples every day, yet she still hated me. She probably thought I was a nuisance."
"She was just an incompetent teacher and had no right to deny your existence as a whole. But why did you want to commit suicide back then? There must have been a process from having that thought to actually attempting it. What led you to consider suicide?"
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