I am not Ximen Qing.

Back at Zhang Sheng's home, a place that once held the spirit of love and romance, it seemed as if the beauty in the painting was staring at him. But it was all an illusion. The house was empty and somewhat dilapidated, but thankfully winter was about to pass and spring was on its way.

The heater had long been broken. Even if the heater were perfectly intact, there was still a problem: its combustion efficiency was too low. It required burning more than 30 cubic meters of natural gas every 24 hours, and the cost of natural gas at 2.5 yuan per cubic meter was seriously exceeding the budget. But after hardship came happiness; fate was about to change, and he was to become a professional actor. Song Yu told Zhang Sheng that the daily wage was 600 yuan, and 600 yuan would be deposited into his account after each day. If everything went smoothly, he would become a big star, and his financial problems would be solved. He could then escape the deadly job of a salesman, which truly turned a living person into a madman, then into a mentally ill person, and finally into a living dead. Without becoming a living dead, there was no way to sell products. To avoid becoming a living dead, Zhang Sheng would make phone calls every day, silently reciting the Heart Sutra 108 times before launching into a sales pitch, feigning a silly, loving attitude towards his parents, sister, and brother. Sending out countless messages saying "I call you because I love you" is still bearable, but listening to the King and Queen's speeches every day is like frying shrimp in a frying pan in hell. In reality, all salesmen have to become fried shrimp first.

That wasn't enough; they also had to perform a shrimp team dance, with bright red shrimp hugging each other, clapping, and chanting slogans—slogans that would turn customers into braised shrimp themselves. Their sole purpose each day was to get their loyal customers to open their wallets and buy their products. So far, Zhang Sheng had visited hundreds of customers, all of whom had seemingly passed through Lao Tzu's alchemy furnace, becoming Buddhas and immortals, immune to all poisons—all the same in that the products were perfect. But unfortunately, they had to wait, because they simply couldn't afford to spend any more money. It had been almost half a year, and not a single product had been sold, not a single penny had been earned. The existing value gave Zhang Sheng confidence and hope; it was still his castle! It was the cornerstone of his new life. Who would dare imagine the value of a Beijing house now? Over 100 square meters—this was the house he still had during his most difficult times. Zhang Sheng lay on the sofa, his obese body pressing a huge dent into the old, red sofa; the springs had long since lost their elasticity.

His castle had once been a bustling inn, and Zhang Sheng, a connoisseur of fine food, treated all his friends and relatives as guests, spending no money on food and drink. He ate and drank whatever was delicious and expensive, whatever pleased his guests, ensuring they left satisfied. This time, it was a luxurious dream, and he still believed he could make a comeback. Song Yu mocked Zhang Sheng for insisting on scriptwriting, and then Big D reappeared. He passionately recounted his story in the flower shop, captivating the neighbors. Big D, with his distinctive personality, was always the center of attention. As he opened his mouth, his front teeth gleamed, and spittle flew through the air.

Big D wasn't just spouting nonsense. The story, "Rose Blossoms," features love, infidelity, and the brutal struggle between spies and enemies—a genre the film company needed. The story is set in that era: the Republic of China, contemporary science fiction, anything goes. Song Yu is Big D's honored guest; he's always admired Song Yu's creativity. Big D handles the story framework, while Song Yu is responsible for the detailed imagination. Zhang Sheng finally understands that writing a script is far more difficult than writing an article or planning a project! Zhang Sheng recalls Big D's self-recommendation, only to be ruthlessly rejected. Zhang Sheng feels that he doesn't exist in Big D's heart at all. He hallucinates again, seeing Big D, the ancient-style Yang, the fortune teller, and Meng Liang around the card table, and of course, the ever-present Song Yu—the soul of the game, possessing an irresistible charm. These aging "old boys" all find solace in him, finding a way to escape loneliness. Big D's rejection of Zhang Sheng is nothing special; it's like offering a flower to the Buddha—a metaphor for self-sacrifice. Big D truly learned everything from him during the game of 13-card poker. Big D is the real master.

She recalled that absurd courtship incident, and how she might have responded to Zhang Sheng in a different way. Back then, she and Mr. Wei had been jealous of each other, and under the encouragement of their classmates, she had drunk heavily and gone to Zhang Sheng's dorm room to present him with a love letter in front of him and her dorm mates. Who pursues love under the influence of alcohol? Zhang Sheng had forgotten how she had criticized him; it was like a teacher scolding a primary school student for a prank. She suggested a sweet kiss like in "Itazura na Kiss," and she would have called it indecent. Her witty remarks completely humiliated him. After Mr. Wei's triumphant display, he berated her as insignificant, and then shared with her the spring poem he had published in the school newspaper.

She even shamelessly claimed it was a common hobby among literary youths. Mr. Wei subconsciously kept things clearly separate, limiting himself to literary creation. Yet, everyone could see the adoration in her eyes when she looked at him! Love and adoration are easily confused; who can distinguish between them? Mr. Wei possessed a touch of genius—his painting, calligraphy, essays, and lyrical poems flowed like a clear stream. She always smiled radiantly in his presence, and both were department secretaries and outstanding students. Zhang Sheng couldn't understand where things went wrong. In high school, Hui, Wei, and Jun all flirted with him. Foolish human beings, abandoning the love and passion of high school, he pursued Jane Eyre's love. The punishment of love is indeed real: the one you love doesn't love you, the one you don't love loves you, and you love to the point of life and death. After Jane Eyre, Zhang Sheng was cursed by love!

On weekends on the university campus, classrooms transformed into social spaces. Waltzes not only brought joy to both men and women but also hastened relationships. After each social dance, "After the Dance," rumors would inevitably surface: male roommates didn't return to their dorms, nor did female roommates. Nearby video arcades and small hotels were overflowing with people. From campus to dorms, from dorms to the cafeteria, couples strolled hand-in-hand. Chatting and wandering, the room was a bit chilly. He pulled the covers over himself, closed his eyes, and seemed to drift into a sweet dream—perhaps he was too excited, about to become a real actor! He wasn't sleepy at all; there was no electricity. The candles on the table created a tranquil and romantic atmosphere, so similar to the rose-colored hall where they were together. He was wearing pajamas and exuded a strong perfume scent, which they were used to. When she came in, she was wearing a purple butterfly-shaped sweater, a rather loose knit, and tight-fitting leggings that clung to her thighs and hips. She had delicate features, long, black hair that reached her shoulders, and a slender waist and legs. However, she wore a pair of glass slippers reminiscent of Cinderella's, and her nails were painted with rose-colored polish. She sat on the chair next to Zhang Sheng.

"do you mind?"

With practiced ease, he held a long, thin cigarette in his mouth, and with a snap, the blue flame of the lighter ignited the cigarette. He gently inhaled through his cheek, saying, "Please, make yourself at home."

She smiled as she exhaled smoke; her face was oval, her lips were glossy, and her teeth were perfectly aligned, like white jade.

"I just want to relax," she said, perhaps a little nervous. Her slender waist and shapely legs, accentuated by her yellow-red and willow-green hair, were accentuated by her shapely hips. She turned away, a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. One could almost smell the intoxicating fragrance emanating from her body, emanating from somewhere unknown. She used a hairpin to style her long hair into a small bun. Zhang Sheng recalled the first time he painted oil paintings with her at home. She had said that Zhang Sheng had never been in love. How could he say he had never been in love? Seeing Qianqian, Athena, and the soul of the Tangshan girl—didn't their experiences count as love? First love! What a beautiful oil painting! Love and romance are hidden within it. If it's not love, then what is it?

"You've spent your whole life thinking about love and romance."

Song Yu's sarcastic words rang in my ears.

"No, that's not it. Hopefully, there will be a goddess tomorrow."

He fell asleep lost in endless nostalgia, weary of a lifelong salesman, his fate, like that of the character in "Death of a Salesman," forever trapped in the cycle of life and death. He wanted to enjoy a glass of Lafite, but it was too expensive; it was gone. He slept soundly, feeling no remorse. Zhang Sheng, however, was in tears. Where were they now? These girls who had vanished from his life. For the first time, he felt something beyond love and romance. He was at peace. What, then, were women? Thankfully, he hadn't ended up like Song Yu, whose girlfriends had all become male friends.

Why would she leave you on her own initiative?

"We lack a sense of security. We can be lovers, but marriage is impossible."

Is she realistic?

"It's quite realistic; we can be lovers, but marriage is out of the question."

Why repeat?

"There's no way around it, because we're constantly caught in this cycle of suffering."

"Reincarnation,"

"It's a fate none of us can escape, a feeling of déjà vu. Their choice was right. They love me, and I love them. This is the best ending for them."

"Which of them do you truly love?"

"I didn't know I had loved them all,"

Song Yu was still so obsessed with the love of girls and the pleasures of romance. Would Carmen become his final destination? It was truly impossible to understand. Zhang Sheng was almost half-asleep in his dream. The sofa gradually grew old and worn, and a pile of burnt-out candle remnants on the table seemed to haunt him with his eyes closed. It was as if Guanyin was protecting him. The sun rose in the east outside the window. He loved watching the sunrise from the large balcony, but he didn't want to leave the old sofa. He had stayed up all night, his body aching all over. Liszt called and said he was at the entrance of the community with a large group of staff. He recalled the wonderful days of being a bard, and even watched this seven-day movie from God's perspective. Lily stood at the gate, baring her pearly white teeth, like a flamboyant madam in a flowing pink dress, confidently swearing and baring her teeth. She was a shrew who had seduced all the bards, with alluring red lips and white teeth. Sister Lily, who dreamed of becoming a movie star, led Zhang Sheng into a beautiful, ethereal woman sitting dignified in the recording studio. She truly had the charm of the silkworm girl in the Book of Songs, not of this world but the silkworm goddess descended from the heavens.

"Be patient, everyone. My time is precious too. Let's work together three times, okay?"

"Okay, okay, that's great, three times, as long as it doesn't exceed three hours."

Xiaolong is Lily's natural nemesis.

"Don't call me Little Dragon, I'm the boss here."

Lily grimaced, but Xiaolong knew she was a female shrew.

"Okay, okay, let's have some peace and quiet, alright?"

The female host was controlling the agitated emotions of the extras.

"Yes, it can't go on for too long. We haven't slept for two days straight."

"Everyone has worked hard. You'll be free after the recording is finished."

"May I?"

The Goddess of Silkworms asked the female host

"Let's begin," the Silkworm Goddess said calmly, playing one piece after another of the most elegant and spirited ancient zither music from the Western Jin Dynasty, played by Ji Kang. After each piece, she began to recount her journey of struggle. She had opened more than 30 chain stores, and all the cheongsams were handmade from silk. The Silkworm Goddess had a fantastic figure and an elegant demeanor. Coupled with the ever-changing silk cheongsams she wore, she had thoroughly enjoyed the vanity of being a Victoria's Secret model. When the Silkworm Goddess started playing the zither again, Xiao Long checked his watch and realized that four hours had passed. Xiao Long began to yell and demand that Lily compensate him for his time.

"I want to act, but I don't have the time anymore. What will I do about my money?"

"Little Dragon, give Sister Lily some face."

"I'm all about money, not face. Lily, have some shame, okay? Don't be so shameless. They may not know what you're like, but I know you perfectly well."

"Xiaolong, don't do that."

"Lily's younger brother? What kind of younger brother is he, a fake younger brother? Is he your younger brother?"

"Little Dragon, what nonsense are you talking about?"

"I was just talking nonsense, so what?"

"Get out of here, get out now!"

"Not a penny less."

"It's not finished recording yet,"

"But time has already passed,"

The Silkworm Goddess remained unmoved, watching the spectacle while applying her eyebrows. She'd spent a fortune filming this commercial; she'd seen it all. Just as she described in her self-introduction, she endured the hardships of starting her business, almost becoming homeless. In that critical moment, the man beside her, now her husband, fought alongside her. When the disabled goddess started searching for something, he immediately gave her a bottle of Nongfu Spring water. He then quietly glanced at what the female host was saying to him.