The Stolen Lover

Untitled Episode 6

"So what is this 'unknown self'?"

"Well, as the saying goes, 'You don't know yourself, so you are yourself.' It's a concept in Christian theology, and Buddhism has a similar idea—that enlightenment is something you realize, not something you cultivate. 'The true nature is without hindrance' is the Buddha. Without getting too esoteric, it means each person is composed of a self and an id. The self is knowable, while the true self remains unknowable. Simply put, everyone is driven by their subconscious or unconscious mind to act in certain ways. For you, this manifests as your subconscious emerging in the characters you create. That's why they take on those specific forms—they don't reflect the reality or logic you consciously observe."

Nan Ge took a sip of tea and continued, "This character Gazi in your book is your subconscious. She merges you with the Gazi in the story—it's the version of you she chose. But you yourself aren't aware that you are Gazi, or rather, you haven't evolved into the person she expected you to become. So in the end, she feels she'll never get the person she wants." Look, your story isn't complicated. Cui'er fell ill. At her most agonizing moment, her father ordered Gazi to kill her. He couldn't bring himself to do it. In the end, Cui'er begged Gazi to end her suffering. After killing her, Gazi couldn't go on living either. He ultimately killed himself, smiling. Every twist and turn in this Gaizi's story mirrors the world you perceive, the self you know. Yet when he smiles in death, it reveals the so-called "unknown you"—because throughout the narrative, you never foreshadow this smile. The ending transcends itself. If you don't understand why Li Xiaoyan cried with a smile, you can't explain why Gazi died laughing. Saying it's liberation, enlightenment, letting go, or hope is all one-sided, because this emotion itself is constantly shifting. You can freeze it in time, but you can't decipher it. I suspect Li Xiaoyan hoped to explore this ultimate emotional question with you, but these past years you've been writing web novels just to scrape by. You were f*****g meant to be an artist, got it?"

After delivering this lengthy speech, Brother Nan let out a long sigh himself.

Xiu Cai pondered it over and over. "Brother Nan, I think I grasp a bit, but it's still not clear."

Brother Nan snapped impatiently, "It's simple: her love was deep and complex, while yours was shallow. She thought you could keep growing deeper, but when she saw you couldn't, she gave up. That's all there is to it!"

"Is there any way to salvage things?"

"Of course there is! Once we pinpoint the root cause, we can fix it. Let's talk to her about love. Show her you're back, and hope will reignite. Add to that all those years of emotional foundation between you—let her see she can rely on you for daily support and find solace in your company. Besides, you're her only one. How could she not come back?"

"Let's talk to her right now!"

"Hold on, hold on. Give me a moment to catch my breath. You're wearing me out."

Brother Nan's understanding of emotions differed from most people's. His outward cynicism was merely a mask. He immersed himself in every relationship, only to be repeatedly wounded by them. Beneath his rough exterior lay an incredibly sensitive soul. His acute awareness of the subtle shifts in affection was like a dandelion in the wind—not merely swaying with the breeze, but swiftly becoming the wind itself.

His certainty about Li Xiaoyan's psychological shifts stemmed from being that kind of person himself. Love was both a mystery and a creed to him. Finding someone to explore the profound intricacies of these emotions together, to savor the full spectrum of love and hate, was his deepest desire. Yet to ordinary eyes, this obsession looked like a suicide mission. He had no equal, alone against the world's cruelty, fighting back only with unbridled recklessness.

Brother Nan pondered. Dragging things out with the scholar wasn't a solution; this clearly wouldn't be resolved overnight. Considering the daily rounds of drinking and dining, he proposed, " "Alright, pair your phone with my fitness watch. Call customer service to activate a virtual number. That way, both WeChat accounts can sync. I can message her anytime, anywhere using your account. Whatever I send, whatever she replies—you'll see it all in real time. If you have any thoughts, we'll chat privately. For now, don't message her on your own. I've got a lot of events coming up, and you're not in the mood to join us anyway. We'll stay in touch."

Xiu Cai thought it made sense. He couldn't keep draining Brother Nan like this day after day, and being entangled in his circle made him uncomfortable. Following Brother Nan's suggestion, Xiu Cai paired his phone with Brother Nan's fitness watch. Seeing the sync confirmation, he thanked Brother Nan and headed home alone.

Brother Nan rubbed his temples. He needed to shift his perspective. Getting stuck in this two-person drama wouldn't work. He had to step back to find a truly effective solution. So he packed up his tea stall, changed clothes, and went for a run around Xuanwu Lake.

Xuanwu Lake was at its most enchanting this time of year. Around four or five in the afternoon, the setting sun lingered over the lake's splendor, reluctant to descend. Stories rippled slowly across the shimmering water. The evening breeze shook loose golden and crimson leaves, like fragments of conversation dropped by couples along the path—only those with open hearts could discern their whispers.

As he ran, Nan recalled the scholar's state back then and the stories he had recounted in his book.

As a child, the scholar lived on a farm beneath a county town in Heilongjiang. His parents' generation had migrated there at sixteen or seventeen, following their elders. Had he not studied diligently enough to finally escape, his greatest achievement in life would have been operating a combine harvester called a "Kangmaien." Nineteen years of rural life provided the scholar with weighty material for his writing. In the hands of the "King of the Northeast," it would have been a farce of rural romance, but in the scholar's eyes, he saw humanity shining brightly amidst the suffering. After graduating from Nanjing Normal University, he stayed in Nanjing to make a living. The city's fleeting warmth and coldness felt like the cold sweat after waking from a nightmare—wiped away, leaving only profound relief. His actual job bore no relation to his major. As a salesman for a small company, he spent most of his time clutching various transportation tickets, shuttling between city buildings. Yet this routine afforded the scholar ample time to write. His book about Gazi was penned over two or three years of such commutes, accompanied by the aroma of instant noodles.

The first time Brother Nan squatted on the toilet reading Scholar's book, he thought the kid was pretty interesting. But he'd long forgotten the specific chapters. Today, reading it carefully, he found some genuinely surprising parts.

"Everyone was whispering that Cui'er's illness was hopeless, but Gazi refused to believe it. He'd walked these ten villages and eight townships countless times, knew the length of people's tongues and the depth of their pockets. What good words could those crooked-mouthed, squinty-eyed folks who spent half the year rubbing their heels together possibly utter? How far could they see? Take that old fool from the front village—he still couldn't figure out how his wife died, and before he knew it, his mother-in-law had turned into a duck. These past two years, he'd been doling out prescriptions to anyone who'd listen. And people actually trusted him like he was a god. Sure, he'd cured a handful, but the rest? That was fate, wasn't it? When he couldn't explain it, he'd just mumble something about their time being up. Could anyone take his word for it? Gazi mulled it over. If the county town wasn't up to the task, then he'd go to the provincial capital. No matter how much hardship it caused, he'd get Cui'er treated. If the doctor refused to prescribe anything, he'd kowtow to him. Could a man's heart be harder than the bricks paving the ground?

For years, Gazi kept sneaking over to Cui'er's place. Her father couldn't stand the sight of him. More than once, just as Gazi waved to Cui'er over the courtyard wall, her father would bang his broom handle on the living room table, shouting curses: "You're a widow! If you don't pull yourself together, I'll lose all face!" He always says the same thing. Gazi would hear it and run away quietly. But this time, her dad actually pushed open Gazi's fence gate. Big Yellow saw her dad and hid in his kennel, too scared to even bark."

Cui'er hadn't been able to leave the house for days. At night, she'd howl in pain, and even after taking medicine, the relief lasted only as long as it took to smoke two pipes. When Cui'er saw Gazi come to her house, she endured the pain without crying out. She only asked if the light bulb could be replaced with a brighter one. Cui'er's father tapped his tobacco pipe again and said, 'We've borrowed so much from others during this famine. How can we let our house be so brightly lit that people point fingers at us?' Cui'er looked at Gazi and said, "Then why don't you come over when you're not busy? I think your presence might bring some light." Hearing this, Cui'er's father retreated to the outer room.

"Cui'er said, 'Gazi, don't blame my dad. I asked him to beg you. These past nights, I keep seeing Mom drifting before my eyes. She's calling me. If I had the strength, I wouldn't ask you to get involved. I know you're clean.'"

Gazi sat on the well rim, trying to cry but no tears came. As he sat there, he started laughing instead. Then, with a splash, he was gone.

To be honest, the chapters written by the scholar in his early years bore no resemblance to the man he was now. Back when this book was launched, the publisher had invited two or three dozen people. Posters, flowers, a host—everything needed was arranged. But after the scripted, tedious speeches, when it came time for the signing, the crowd clutched cheap champagne like high society, exchanging polite pleasantries. The complimentary books lay in a messy pile nearby, and not a single person approached him for an autograph. He sat at the signing table like a decorative ornament, feeling like he wanted to die. Only Xiao Yan waited patiently. Seeing no one else approach, she held her book out to him with both hands. "I bought this myself. Please sign it properly—don't make it too sloppy."

The scholar's eyes welled up like springs, but he fought back the tears. Seeing him struggle, Xiaoyan couldn't help but giggle. If anyone remembered this chapter and verse, it would be the scholar and Xiaoyan.

Nan ran while piecing together fragments of their past in his mind. The memories were scattered, and he felt something was still missing. After jogging seven kilometers, he paused to catch his breath and lit a cigarette. By the time he finished the last two kilometers, the sky had grown heavy and dark.

Nan Ge texted Feifei: "What kind of setup is this, eating French food? Are you trying to take me down?"

Fei Fei replied quickly, "Stop overthinking, you sensitive soul. It's a bunch of media folks—you know several of them."

"Changing clothes, be right there."

On the way back, Brother Nan scrolled through Xiaoyan's social feed. The watch screen was small, making it hard to see clearly. Xiaoyan didn't post many selfies—after scrolling for ages, he found only three or five photos that revealed nothing. Occasionally there were one or two snippets of text, but they were disjointed and made no sense. The rest was all work-related. He scrolled through a year or two's worth of posts and still found nothing. Seeing the time was almost up, Nan Ge lost interest in pondering it further. He quickened his pace back home, washed up, changed clothes, and headed over to Feifei's place.