The Extraordinary Sighing Bottle
After eight years of separation, on the first night back in City C, Qin Mo dreamed of Lolita.
The little girl was wearing a red long dress, her hair was high up, and her eyebrows were shining brightly as she stood behind the white window screen smiling at him.
He knew it was a dream, remembering that the little girl he treasured in his memories had been gone for a long time. But she looked so lovely when she smiled, and he couldn't help but reach out his hand. The sea breeze suddenly came over, messing up his hair, her giggles echoing in the waves crashing against the shore, being carried away by the water layer by layer into the distance. He grasped the swaying window sash and pulled it shut, and her figure vanished instantly. Her silvery laughter lingered in the damp air before stopping abruptly. His fingers touched the closed window, and he saw the curved coastline behind the glass, stretching all the way to the horizon. In the slapping waves, he seemed to hear her whispering softly in his ear: "When I think of you, I couldn't help but let out a sigh... just a sigh... just a sigh..."
Qin Mo suddenly woke up. The room was filled with the darkness of night, he turned on the bedside lamp, lit a cigarette, and as the sparks flickered, memories came flooding back. Lolita, sharing the same name as Nabokov's heroine, he remembered how she had been particularly troubled by this name, quarreling and demanding to change it in her lifetime, giving the reason that she had a premonition that she would be cursed because of this name, growing up to marry an old man or uncle, and possibly dying young. He found such righteous indignation amusing, never expecting that every single one of them would come true within less than a year - he fell in love with her, and she died at the age of eighteen, just after coming of age.
Qin Mo first saw Lolita in the summer of his 23rd year, during the last year of his master's program, when he took a leave to accompany his mother back to their hometown for recuperation. In the coastal city of S, the early summer morning was filled with an indescribable beauty, and he rarely got up early, finishing reading the newspaper before picking up his easel to paint the sunrise on the beach near his residential area. Not far away, palm trees were thriving, covering the entire beach with soft white sand that still retained a warm, damp feeling underfoot. He found a good angle, set up his easel, and saw in front of him a little girl squatting on the ground building a castle with water and sand, as the sun slowly rose above the horizon, at the end of the sea, the sky was filled with golden light.
At first, he didn't pay much attention to the little girl playing with sand. But after three or four hours passed, he had packed up his easel and glanced over, only to find her still squatting in the same spot, hunched over low, without even changing her posture. He wasn't in a hurry to leave, so he left his easel on the beach and walked over to see what she was building. He stood beside her for half an hour, but the little girl was completely absorbed, oblivious to his presence, furrowing her brow as she studied the sand and water, trying to figure out the right ratio to mix them in order to build a castle successfully. She was known for being focused, but not to this extent - not only focused, but also persistent, failing repeatedly, yet trying again and again. In the half hour he watched, she failed four times in a row; who knows how many times she had failed before that. Just then, someone came over from afar, and he turned back to pick up his easel and head home. As he looked back, he saw the little girl being pulled up by a boy, and only then did he realize that she was actually quite tall, not as small as she had seemed.
After lunch, he took a walk with his mother and saw the little girl again, still squatting in the same place as this morning, with a small shovel and a small bucket beside her, and a small straw hat on her head. He burst out laughing. His mother asked him what was so funny. He shook his head: "Nothing." It wasn't until they had walked very far that he said seriously: "I saw the foolish old man who moved mountains in the new era."
It wasn't two days later, one evening, his mother asked him: "Do you still remember going to the orphanage with me when you were a kid?" He was engrossed in reading a detective novel and raised his head carelessly saying: "What?"
"Can't remember? You were seven years old then, your Uncle Luo and Aunt Li wanted to adopt a child, I took you with them to the orphanage, you spotted a little girl sucking her thumb on the edge of a crib, ran over and hugged her tightly, refusing to let go..."
He exclaimed: "Really? How come I don't remember such a cool thing at all?" After the surprise, he continued reading: "Then why didn't you bring her back to be my daughter-in-law?"
"Mother sighed: "It's all because you, Aunt Li, acted too early." After sighing, she smiled and said: "But it doesn't matter, tomorrow your wife will come to our house to see you."
He smiled and shook his head, continuing to read with his head down.
The next day, the little girl from his mother's mouth arrived as scheduled, following behind her mother. He inadvertently saw her from the window of the living room and did not expect that the little girl would be the foolish old man he met on the beach a few days ago.
Lin said, you stand on the bridge to watch the scenery, and the people watching the scenery are upstairs looking at you. Yu Gong sat on a small stool carefully admiring their old clock, with a devout and serious expression, just like a few days ago when she was squatting on the sandy ground studying the ratio of water and sand. He stood on the stairs sizing up this little girl, finding that she had curved eyebrows, big eyes, double eyelids, a straight nose bridge, red lips, and looked very pretty. But this pretty little girl seemed to be full of hostility towards him. His mother called his English name Stephen, and she lowered her eyelids trying to express disdain: "I know Stephen Hawking, Stephen Lee, Stephen Spielberg, and Stephen Jackson, which Stephen are you?" His mother joked with him on the side: "Stephen, doesn't this speaking style sound familiar? LoLo is just like you when you were little." He chuckled softly: "When I was little, my speech wouldn't have such a heavy accent." One sentence made her furious. Her furious appearance was very interesting, and the process of coaxing her was even more interesting. His mother said to Aunt Li: "Your daughter is really a treasure." He leaned against the sofa watching her bright red face, thinking, not a treasure at all.
The little girl was going to take the entrance exam for S Art Academy, and he agreed to help her with drawing lessons. However, she was a difficult child to deal with, and initially, she even showed hostility towards him. After taking on this task, he immediately called his friend who was about to become a children's psychological consultant: "Do you know how to coax kids?" His friend offered professional advice: "Children need motivation, and motivation is the driving force for their healthy growth. When they do something well, you should reward them, such as giving them a small red flower or a piece of chocolate. You want to make them feel affirmed." After offering his opinion, his friend laughed on the other side of the ocean: "I heard that half of your school's students are guessing what their talented student union president will do after taking a leave of absence. Some say you'll take over the family business, some say you'll go on an adventure to the South Pole, and there are even more outrageous rumors that you'll go hunting with natives in Africa. Who would have thought that the truth is that you're teaching kids to draw in China? By the way, how old is the kid you're teaching? If she's over 12 years old, I'm afraid this method won't work." He thought about her angry expression and how she had reluctantly called him "brother" after accepting his gift, and vaguely said: "It's probably okay, your method might just work." The next day, he drove to the store and bought a big bag of chocolates. Actually, on his way home, he also wondered if he had underestimated the little girl's psychological age. Unfortunately, after several attempts, he found that her psychological age was indeed very low, and this method really worked.
This little girl named Lolita, she followed him to learn painting, called him brother, he was her teacher. He regarded her as a child, and with her elders called her Lolo, that was the beginning of the beginning.
He never thought he would fall for a girl who was actually six years younger than him, and mentally even more so. In fact, she was almost eighteen years old and no longer a little girl, but he had always thought of her that way from the start, and it was hard to change this idea afterwards.
He discovered this subtle yet distinct emotion on a Saturday afternoon, when the window outside was pouring with rain, bringing a coolness to the midst of summer. The sky and earth were dull, but the daylight lamp illuminated the painting studio brightly. On the carpet beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, he casually flipped through the newspaper that had been delivered that morning but hadn't finished reading yet. She sat next to him, hugging her easel and sketching still life. The quiet space was suddenly disrupted by the piercing ringtone of his phone. He lifted his head, and she quickly grabbed the phone and rushed out. On the easel was a half-finished sketch of Voltaire's plaster bust, with charcoal pencils scattered all over the floor. He heard her footsteps thundering down the stairs, the sound of the large door downstairs opening with a bang, and seemingly even the sound of the heavy rain pouring outside. But then there were no more sounds. He sat on the floor, propping up his chin to gaze out the window, where he saw in the rainy distance a tall boy handing an umbrella to a girl in a white dress who was running towards him. The boy said something, and the girl walked up to give him a big hug. He pushed her away, raised one hand to shield his forehead from the rain, and ran off. A large truck drove by on the highway, its headlights illuminating the boy's handsome face. Two minutes later, the little girl appeared at the door of the painting studio, drenched from head to toe. Her white dress clung tightly to her curvaceous body, revealing Mickey Mouse print underwear. He gazed at her calmly, thinking that she had grown up, perhaps. She was beaming with excitement, waving two tickets in her hand: "Brother, do you want to go listen to A-Zhe's concert together?"
He propped up his head and looked at her: "The one just now was..."
She was stunned for a moment, then suddenly raised her hand to wipe her face, her expression hidden in her arm. When she put it down, a big smile had already cracked out: "That's my boyfriend! Didn't you know I have a boyfriend?"
His hand shook and the newspaper fell to the ground.
He thought his reactions were abnormal. The sudden feeling of emptiness was abnormal, the abrupt irritability was abnormal, and the inexplicable pain in his chest...was also abnormal.
Perhaps he liked her, this lovely and innocent little girl. She was persistent, kind, occasionally willful, and would sometimes pretend to be calm and composed when teasing him. He thought she really liked him. But she was only seventeen, still so young. He wanted to treat her like a real older brother, spoiling her as she slowly grew up.
This idea is so beautiful, but at that time no one thought that the long wait in the plan would become a lifelong farewell.
The night sky of City C was shrouded in a thick fog, Qin Mo pulled the curtains tight and fell into a daze, as if she heard that song again. Her soft voice lingered in her ears: "Those sighing bottles are like the undulating ocean, and the forgotten ones that brushed past you are the turbulent waves of my life..."
The author has something to say: To be honest, my credit has always been good, but since I started writing books, it's been gradually ruined by the publisher... Given last year's lesson, this time for the publication of "Years", I'm being extremely cautious and won't publicly announce the date told by the editor in public unless I think it's quite certain. And now, the moment I thought was quite certain has finally arrived, "Two Lives" will be on sale around October 10th, and it's expected to be available nationwide around the 15th, so students from all over should be able to buy it. I confirmed with the editor again yesterday, and this information is still worth expecting and believing. Actually, this timing is not bad, just in time for National Day...
Thank the publisher for rushing out this book, and thank you all for your unwavering support over the years, I bow deeply.
