I am not Ximen Qing.

The romance arising from this ambiguous relationship is complex, coupled with Yang Liu's angelic purity! Zhang Sheng isn't a powerful figure like Zhou You or Shang Zhou, so from the perspective of spiritual victory, he has to continue this illusory love performance. Pretending to fall in love with the hypocritical Xiao Huang is fine too; life is like a play.

The acting was perfectly executed, and in Yang Liu's dreamlike mind, she was like the willow in Bai Juyi's poem, swaying gently, her face like a peach blossom, her eyebrows delicately painted, her bright eyes glancing around, her graceful figure lingering with affection, her pale yellow cheeks, and her sweet dimples. At her most captivating moment, her eyebrows danced with joy, her body light and graceful, her skin smooth as jade. Though all she wore was her body covering, her alluring charm was undeniable, her budding beauty barely concealed, her full curves, the sensual curves created by her two perfectly positioned breasts, all spontaneously revealed.

Yang Liu bloomed with captivating charm, a peony of vibrant colors and graceful beauty. The peony's beauty wasn't simple; it was opulent and noble, contrasting sharply with Huang Ying's withered, fallen petals. Their beauty was immediately apparent, a clear difference in their allure. The flower's beauty, the queen of flowers in ukiyo-e prints, the release of desire, the goddess of flowers, the master of all flowers, created the most beautiful flower in the world. Only a flower enthusiast could witness the fleeting beauty of love. Even for Huang Ying's sake, she had to continue the performance, at least not immediately falling for someone else. Otherwise, Yang Liu's impression of Zhang Sheng would be closely linked to Li Yu. This drama involving two women and one man was shamelessly orchestrated by Li Yu, everyone knew the truth. So Huang Ying simply revealed her true colors, keeping her head down, letting Zhang Sheng and Yang Liu take center stage. Huang Ying would no longer play the role of a mere third wheel. The lovestruck Yang Liu had already developed feelings for Zhang Sheng.

Huang Ying, a girl from Jiangxi, understands that some things cannot be forced. For example, in this situation, Huang Ying once lamented to Yang Liu that if she had come to Beijing earlier, she would have been free to pursue romantic love. Perhaps it was the allure of love that made Yang Liu so lively; she even mysteriously emphasized the names of two cities, saying that the big city was increasingly becoming a decadent Babylon. When Zhang Sheng curiously asked Yang Liu the name of the city she was referring to, she also asked him what he had discovered about himself.

Zhang Sheng had no choice but to indulge Yang Liu's vanity. The jade, sapphire, green agate, emerald, red agate, ruby, yellow tourmaline, turquoise, red tourmaline, jadeite, purple agate, and amethyst on her body emitted a dazzling light and rainbow glow. She confidently told him that Zhang Sheng had been temporarily rescued from the worlds of Gomorrah and Sodom. Had they already discovered some evil within him? Indeed, he exuded an aura of love and passion. Zhang Sheng's dimension, within the technologically advanced world of semiconductor chips, was now somewhat mentally broken under the sulfurous, fiery, and God-sent-down conditions of Yang Liu's Gomorrah and Sodom. At this point, one must not mistake her for a simple, uneducated country girl working for her cousin. She could recite the Old and New Testaments accurately, reminiscent of Julien Sorel, the redeemer of love in *The Red and the Black*, who could recite the Latin Bible. Yang Liu wanted to steal Zhang Sheng's soul, not just his body. Julien lost his body, but not his soul. Which is more important, body or soul? Sometimes Zhang Sheng wondered if he was the reincarnation of Stendhal Julien Sorel. Julien's soul traveled across the ocean and endured countless tribulations. When Zhang Sheng read "The Red and the Black," how similar were the sawmills described by Stendhal and the sawmills in the Dahe Forest Farm! The difference was that one used physical strength to pull the large saw, while the other used a Faraday electric motor to drive the chainsaw!

The menacing old man, Julien, and his two rascal brothers who toiled like laborers pulling a giant saw, along with Zhang Sheng, were always playing hide-and-seek with their mother. Summers were spent swimming in rivers and mountains, winters skating on the frozen rivers, and sledding from the mountaintop to the foot of the mountain. Autumn was a magical fairytale. Like Julien, Zhang Sheng was focused on love and romance itself. Haidian Hall was very close to Zhongguancun and Silicon Valley; it was difficult to find unless one was specifically looking for it.

"The narrow gate—only through the narrow gate will you enter the kingdom of heaven."

The church is solemn and dignified, with grand oil paintings depicting major events from the Old and New Testaments adorning the dome and windows. "The Last Supper," with Christ and the twelve disciples, is a subject familiar even to those unfamiliar with the Bible; Judas's expression betrays his betrayal. How did Leonardo da Vinci's great work end up on the dome? This involves the ingenious conception and re-creation of architecture, art, and painting—a skill mastered by the great artists of the Renaissance. Serving either the pope or kings and nobles, with the Medici family being the most prominent patrons, artists needed financial support for their work. Similarly, the upper class benefited from the profound and spiritual experience brought about by artistic creation. Of course, Haidian Church is located around Haidian Book City. In China, people almost universally believe in science itself; the novel "Medicine" by Lu Xun, written while living near the Shaoxing Guild Hall near Fayuan Temple, is long gone. Works like "Call to Arms" and "My Old Home" have even greater contemporary literary significance. That kind of superstition and ignorance has long since disappeared from the land of New China.

The bishop was from Beijing, speaking fluent Beijing dialect. A middle-aged man nearing fifty, with a kind and approachable expression, he held a thick, black Bible, almost as thick as an old Kangxi dictionary. If it weren't for the church setting and his dark robes, he would have looked like a venerable postdoctoral scholar attending a graduation ceremony—benevolent-looking, of medium build, with a gleaming cross necklace around his neck. Combined with the cross statue he stood on, located 10 meters behind the pulpit, it certainly wasn't a work by the great Michelangelo.

Yang Liu quietly told Zhang Sheng that it was Christ, our Lord, crucified, the Christ who redeemed sinners! The front rows were full of lambs, leaving only the back rows. Without a word, Yang Liu sat in the middle, separating Zhang Sheng and Huang Ying. Her restless heart seemed to finally calm down. After a night of turmoil in Sodom and Gomorrah, Miss Shi should be here, listening to the bishop's sermon. The Lord had seen through his disciples long ago. In fact, Judas's betrayal, though overt, wasn't the most heinous. The betrayal of Christ through lies began with the most loving disciple. The Lord saved Magdalene, and she also received a new life—the Resurrection. This isn't limited to Tolstoy's Nekhlyudov's confession and redemption of Maslova. Christ was crucified to redeem sinners; death is life, is resurrection!

Moses led God's chosen people out of Egypt. When they encountered the Red Sea, the mighty God immediately made way for them. Just as Pharaoh's pursuers were about to catch up with God's chosen people, the Red Sea miraculously closed. The archbishop spoke with great enthusiasm, fearing that his narration would be dull and the young people would lose patience with the Lord Christ God. He told God's stories in God's language, making everything novel and captivating. David, full of warrior spirit, killed the giant Goliath. King David and King Solomon were both Kings of Kings whom Yang Liu worshipped. Spiritually and intellectually, Yang Liu seemed like a foreigner living in China. She listened devoutly to the blessings and the archbishop's sermons. Zhang Sheng pretended not to understand, and Yang Liu would enthusiastically explain and repeat them to him. It was the first time he had sat with a girl for so long, and he was at a loss, randomly flipping through a small white book with a red cross printed on the cover. Opening the book, he saw that it was full of excerpts of proverbs from the Bible. Yang Liu whispered that he could take this booklet with him; he didn't care about the booklet itself. Can I take it or not?

He longed for divine power to instantly transform the oriole into a flying bird, to fly away to the grove of trees in Haidian Park, to sing hymns of love with the flocks of magpies in the trees. That was still quite exciting, but then a wicked thought crossed his mind: if he had to choose between the willow and the oriole, he would definitely choose the girl as pure as the Virgin Mary. At least he believed the willow still retained her girlish innocence, flawless, pure, and clear—pure like the crystal-clear river of life, where one could see many mermaids, small fish or grand mermaids alike. Only a girl as clear as the river of life, in the prime of her youth, could the willow be considered a girl in the prime of her youth. At least she was a rosebud in the summer, yet to bloom. Instantly, Zhang Sheng was enveloped in the intense, pounding breath of his.

The bishop's sermon

"Be humble, for only through humility can one comprehend our Lord Christ and receive His salvation..."

Zhang Sheng desperately wished Yang Liu would be his shepherd. She would surely lead him out of the trap and whirlpool of lost love, for he always heard the alluring whispers of the sirens on the island, and dreamt of chatting and communicating with goddesses. He only wanted to enter into this romantic fantasy, to confide in her, to share tender feelings. Christ was bound to the cross—it was too tragic. And then there was Prometheus, so pitiful, bound to the treacherous Caucasus by Jupiter and Zeus, to be pecked at by eagles, endlessly. Why make such a great sacrifice to redeem humanity? If only he had met Yang Liu sooner. The church was the best garden for love. Quietly pretending to listen to the archbishop's sermon, focusing all his attention on the girl herself, sitting together legitimately, intimately close, even if no feelings developed at first, with repeated encounters, love would ignite into a blazing fire. Prometheus was for the liberation and freedom of mankind, and Christ was for the redemption of humanity's sins. Just as they were confused about freedom and liberation, yet also about the sinfulness of humanity, light shone throughout the church, and he finally saw the light.

Rectangular windows, almost overlapping the two doors, stretched from the church's dome to the floor. Of course, the enormous church's Baroque windows weren't just for reflecting the loving rays of Apollo, the sun god; they were masterpieces of art in themselves. The various carvings, reliefs, and glazes on the stained glass were bathed in light from every angle, inside and out. Especially when the choir in the front row, accompanied by an old piano, sang hymns praising Christ, one began to wonder: was he attending a concert, or was he in a church? Mary, pure maiden, why didn't Yang Liu bring him here sooner? This was practically an art lesson, far better than Miss Shi's Beatles!

"Shh, listen, listen to them singing hymns!"

The hymns accompanied by the piano seemed to possess a magical quality, a kind of love transformation. The nightingale truly became a bird, flying away from the church, disappearing without a trace. Perhaps to preserve the dignity of love and make him remember her, but this was all an illusion. The nightingale had no time to waste. It wasn't that she disliked love or romance! She had fallen into the shackles of livelihood, forced to work diligently and live a quiet, mundane life. She didn't want to stray further. The beginning was a mistake; there was no need to persist in an impossible error. She didn't want a tragicomedy of mistakes, nor a comedic one. She understood they were a pack of lustful bulls, not seeking love. The willows were jealous of the cows Hera created. Whether it was Europa or Io, the nightingale had no time for the game of love's labyrinth. Perhaps it was an unspoken understanding. It was intentional.

As he and Yang Liu walked out of the church, he pretended not to notice the light bulb had disappeared. In the climax of love, one can be Romeo and Juliet forever, whispering sweet nothings under the moonlight. The impulse of love cannot be stopped by high walls. Forever Xu Zhimo and Lu Xiaoman, forever Lu You and Tang Wan, forever Nalan Xingde and Lady Lu, forever Li Yu and the two Zhou empresses, forever Yuan Zhen and Bai Juyi, forever romantic and dashing, forever the story of Yingying, forever the Song of Everlasting Regret, forever the Song of the Pipa, forever the Rainbow Feather Robe, forever the Tale of Genji in Japan, forever the Dream of the Red Chamber in China, forever the Story of the Stone—love is too fickle, a bit like the tragic fate of Pyramus and Pyrrhus. One might as well believe in the Greek god of wealth, greedy and worldly, a bit like the miserly father and daughter depicted by Balzac. Marriage is far more complex than love.

Pretending to be in love only shows that a girl's heart has shifted to another girl. Sitting quietly together watching a movie or listening to music is enough. Zhang Sheng began to doubt; was everything before just a fleeting dream? Someone brought bouquets of roses and lilies to the front, offering them to the archbishop and the choir. The fragrance of the roses and lilies was overwhelming; Zhang Sheng and Yang Liu seemed intoxicated by the scent. Perhaps this was what they called the blossoming of love. The beautiful white angels and doves painted on the dome seemed to have come back to life—was this an illusion or a revelation from a powerful God? Walking out of the church, a flock of doves was flying in the sky—the doves from Haidian Square. The orioles must have turned into doves. Suddenly, Yang Liu fell silent. What was she thinking? Because Yang Liu had talked too much on the way to Haidian Church. Zhang Sheng also felt caught up in this unspoken, unspoken beauty of love, a quiet, passive beauty that was inherent in girls. Otherwise, why would love happen in the dark woods or the dormitory? Because love cannot withstand the bright light!

He could feel the heat emanating from her, which boosted his strength and courage. Yes, without realizing it, he had firmly grasped her snow-white, spring-like hand. His peripheral vision didn't escape her oiled nails, shimmering with iridescent rubies—how smooth and resilient her hands were! She was like an angel descended from the dome of Haidian Hall, surrounded by a flock of white doves. Just to emphasize the unimaginable allure of this radiant beauty under the halo of love, now she and he were strolling hand in hand, oblivious to the passersby on the street. This was the beauty of Beijing's inclusiveness. Beijing! It's so magnificent, like the universe itself. Here, ridicule, failure, dignity, and wealth are all meaningless; even love seems to have a unique advantage. Love in Beijing almost never involves the tragic tragedies of desperate clinging.

Zhang Sheng also noticed Yang Liu's beauty; her figure was just like the princess praised by the bishop. "How beautiful your feet are in your shoes, how round your thighs are like jade, made by the hand of a skilled craftsman."

Zhang Sheng was confused, unsure whether it was her inherent beauty or the beauty of the bishop's Solomon love poems. Who was Yang Liu? Was it the woman he saw or the woman in Solomon's love poems? Zhang Sheng knew she loved the fragrance of roses and lilies. He also knew that God had turned the nightingale into a dove. He didn't know if it was the love poems or the intense allure of Yang Liu that had bewitched him, but at least he hadn't fallen in love with the wrong person. When love descended with the angel and the dove in a halo, everything else in the world was fading, fading, fading. The angel eventually flew to heaven, and the dove eventually returned to the small square of Haidian Church.

Love grows wings and doesn't drift into the bustling city. Love needs to hide in the grove of trees in Haidian Park nearby, a hidden Eden for love. Love's allure tells us to create a secret, unspoken love affair, a space that is absolutely his and hers to keep quiet. It's not just him and Yang Liu who like this on weekends; love always finds its way to the grassy, ​​shady spots. The world is too noisy now; under the city sky, lawns, green spaces, and shady spots are covered with dandelions, dandelion-shaped parasols. We want to find a place to quietly enjoy the long-awaited freedom of love. The more love drifts, the stronger the repression, the more intense the release of its natural instincts, finally erupting. Haidian Park, with its ever-present beautiful grass, can host a medley concert, a masquerade ball of love's betrayal, pursuit, and escape, like Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream.