I am not Ximen Qing.

"You look great after just a few days."

She noticed his unusual behavior. With a girl's intuition, she seemed to be trying to make her understand that outstanding men are never short of girls. It's a pity that you have to keep everyone at arm's length. If you were to date him, he would love you to death.

It's strange, really. I often think of Jane Eyre in my dreams, but I never think of Lin Xiaoqing. The reason we see each other every day is because Liu Jinxia often plays coy in front of her—no boyfriend, no friends, what a great young man! She just blushes; she's quite calculating and never expresses her feelings. But because of Lin Xiaoqing's beauty, she still sells the goods, even if the service is poor and the prices are high. She only sells products that Lin Xiaoqing represents. This kind of relationship getting mixed up in business is a major taboo. Because the profit margin is so high, she doesn't care about a difference of a few dozen yuan. For love and beauty, money can open a beauty's heart.

He really has that dashing air of Prince Edward of England, choosing beauty over the throne. Wang Xiaolin, exasperated, glared at him, "Brother, business doesn't respect family ties!"

"Xiaoqing is such a good girl, it's not easy for her to help others."

"Brother, have you calculated it? With a volume of two or three hundred units a month, that's a profit margin of nearly ten thousand yuan."

"Alright, that's enough. Just listen to me, that's it!"

Wang Xiaolin shook his head and sighed. The allure of the girl still outweighed brotherly affection. Like an African second brother who wasn't a lion, he went wherever his instincts led him at night, only remembering the name Fulong Temple.

Bian Cheng, Wang Tianwei, and Bian Cheng's sister were eating seafood and crabs together in Xinjiekou. Bian Cheng's sister once said, "You're so interesting! Bian Cheng often comes here, and I had your friend buy hundreds of CDs from Wang Tianwei's shop." Wang Tianwei was delighted; his sister, brother-in-law, and the whole family became friends. Unfortunately, Wang Tianwei and Bian Cheng's sister divorced. For no particular reason, they just couldn't get along. This man, Wang Tianwei, didn't want such a good wife, saying marriage was meaningless and restrictive, and instead found an old woman, ugly as a gossip. It was like a bastard falling for a green bean.

The taxi kept turning left and right. "This is Mr. Fukuryuji."

"Why don't I see a disco?"

"Hey, there's a big building over there, look at the sign on the top floor."

"Thank you. How much?"

"One hundred yuan, keep the change."

The thought of Qianqian made him so excited he didn't even want the change. The hot-blooded young man, brimming with confidence, rushed towards his dream destination, straight to the top floor. After passing through security (men had to pay fifty yuan for a ticket, women free), he entered. The passageway leading to this heavenly love tunnel emitted deafening music. Swaying his hips, combing his hair with his hand, reeking of alcohol, and jumping around, he was immediately ready to plunge into the chaotic dance floor. Waving his arms and listening to the DJ's rock tunes, he instantly transformed into a primitive African, a born dancer.

I called Qianqian, but no one answered. I found a corner to sit down, looking for the dancers on the circular catwalk, tossing their hair and twisting their waists, raising their hands to match their full-body movements. Qianqian was there, dancing with unbridled abandon, like Venus emerging from the water, her eyes aloof and cold, flashing with wild love and light. She loved this lifestyle, immersed in it, a kind of liberation of life, not just for money, but because she had the gene for passion. Since the girl's family lived nearby, her mother was understanding. She wouldn't dare interfere with what her willful daughter wanted to do, nor could she interfere with her willful and free-spirited daughter. Her mother's words echoed in my ears: "She's too willful, please don't be angry." Her mother was afraid she would encounter bad people, so she spoke politely. Thinking about how many such men her mother had received calls from, even her replies were full of apologetic warmth. Her mother couldn't control her daughter's life, so she could only help her reduce trouble in this way. Qianqian, the love that Night Rose tempted her with was too much. The free-spirited Carmen, the Chinese Carmen, loved who she wanted, played who she wanted, and didn't care about anything else.

Lost in romantic fantasies, she waved from a short distance away in front of the bar cabinet. When did she come down from the catwalk? Without him noticing, her cat-like eyes had already spotted him. He quickly ran over, "I'm so sorry, I just saw a missed call and immediately looked for you."

"It's ok."

"When did you come?"

"Not long."

“I resigned from there. This place has much better conditions and much better pay.”

"Qianqian."

"what?"

"What would you like to drink? How about a bottle of red wine?"

"No, I can't drink alcohol. How about a glass of fresh orange juice?"

"Waiter, a glass of fresh orange juice, please."

Would you like it with ice?

"No need to thank me, please don't add ice." For some reason, she downed most of the orange juice in one gulp.

"You've come at the perfect time, I'm dying of thirst."

"Waiter, give me a glass of vodka."

"Would you like something added, like ice?"

Red Bull.

"Be very careful, don't get drunk."

"I know, I've been drunk before."

"You know, you should come here and support me whenever you have free time."

How to praise them?

"Just some drinks will do."

"You get a commission?"

"You can think of it that way."

It's heartbreaking that Qianqian mistook me for a cheap stunt man. Anyway, looking at her like this, I think she's so beautiful, holding a big glass of orange juice, swaying back and forth, occasionally smiling at you, revealing her pearly white teeth.

"What time does Qianqian get off work?"

Looking up, Qianqian was gone.

Where is Qianqian?

"Brother, she left a long time ago."

"Why didn't you say hello, Qianqian? I'd like to invite you for a late-night snack."

"Brother, she's really gone. Let's come again next time. You've had too much to drink." Even the waiter couldn't stand it anymore; Qianqian was really ruthless.

"Looks like this little girl is playing me."

I kept calling her phone, six or seven times, in despair, "My baby who's asleep."

My heart melted immediately upon hearing "darling," a sweet feeling washing over me. "Qianqian, I thought you..."

"Honey, I'm so tired. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye."

"Then I'm relieved." This proves that Qianqian was indeed tired and hadn't been seeing any men outside. He's already starting to get jealous of Qianqian even before anything has happened.

She was like a siren, possessing a bewitching allure, not in her voice, but in her seductive body. She was indeed genetically different from other girls; not tall, but with a figure perfectly proportioned, possessing the alluring, captivating charm of Venus. Perhaps it stemmed from vanity—a vanity not only women have, but men's vanity is even stronger. In his thirties, it was laughable to say he truly didn't know what love was like. His refusal, yet not refusing, was a perfect opportunity to test the waters of pursuing, loving, and staying together—what kind of love truly felt like. How self-deluded he was now! At least she was more open than Lin Xiaoqing. Even if she had ulterior motives, wasn't Xiaoqing also ulterior motives?

To them, the girls' beauty was essentially the same, just different outward appearances. Look, Lin Xiaoqing was full of confidence because she understood that a gentleman was willing to pay any price to help her career, and he didn't care about anything else; he even felt a little embarrassed around her. Lin Xiaoqing also seemed to feel that he was gradually developing a certain charm, a masculine allure she hadn't felt before, radiating a powerful hormone aura from the desire of love.

Qianqian, you're so naughty! Beijing, I love you. The sky is different now; I can see so many stars, twinkling, those beautiful big eyes—that's the brilliance of your soul. This little vixen is full of alluring charm; her soul floats out of her body, leaving this wretched shell. The stench of wine and meat would taint this pure love. The desires of the flesh drift towards the sky, searching for you surrounded by stars—different mermaids, Andersen's Little Mermaid, or Wilde's Fisherman and His Soul. But pure love cannot possess the evil soul of a person. This mermaid dives into the sea, her heavenly song ringing out. The sea doesn't welcome mermaids, but rather the songs of the people.

Lightning flashed and thunder roared in the sky, a storm raged, and water vapor rose into the air in the shimmering light. The girl in the rain wasn't a white woman, but a ghost draped in a white veil. Why was the mermaid already disappointed? There was no need to give her hope, no need to tempt the uncontrollable desires of love within her. Octavian appeared, the dictator in Shakespeare's play who not only destroyed the Queen of Egypt, the great Queen of Egypt, but also Antony's illustrious reign, and Caesar, destroyed by the hands of Caesar's nephew. His soul entered Octavian's body, the most beautiful shape in the world, the shape of Venus. Washed by the storm, its perfect curves were breathtaking, as if adorned with rose petals. Octavian inspired Virgil's poems, and Wagner's musicals could not escape the enormous vortex of Venus's desire for love, a vortex like a giant nebula, born from the golden ratio of 0.618 to 1 in Venus. They were the illusions of Lin Xiaoqing and Qianqian; their souls, thoughts, and spirits suddenly leaked out, swallowed up by their beauty.

Love, desire—that damned desire of men—all suddenly tilted beyond their souls, leaving them without wants or desires. It wasn't Lin Xiaoqing, nor Qianqian; who was she? A goddess. In the drunken dream of the night, head throbbing, the goddess's captivating smiling eyes... He loved that delicious taste goddess, loved her artistic beauty. His spirit was revitalized; this was part of life. Desire returned, a pure spiritual world. "Old bastard," Qianqian's voice was an illusion, a scene. When did Qianqian become so passionate and confident? The ugly love of the world of Metamorphosis. Quasimodo's aesthetics in Notre Dame, the stark contrast between ugliness and beauty. That old hunchback transformed—that's it! The beautiful gypsy girl Esmeralda danced a frenzied gypsy dance, played the violin, possessing superpowers—what a romantic serenade! Qianqian flirted and posed. In this midsummer night's dream, were there any girls in this world so heartless? He loved how desire transformed into lust, making her cheeks flush crimson—a wild, fiery inferno, the embodiment of desire. Her unique qualities made everything tremble; it was the power of dreaming of love. Qianqian's body was beautiful.

Unspeakably, her gaze changed. Lin Xiaoqing's gaze changed, becoming shy, becoming profound. He was no longer infatuated with her. Her alluring, white breasts were perhaps the most beautiful in the world, fueling the imagination of desire—desire and desire itself, all sorts of imagined beauty were born, indulging in the addiction of love. She said she wanted to go back to her hometown, for no particular reason, just to see it again. What a pity. Her white teeth were as white as pearls, a beautiful woman in the making. Didn't he care about her? It wasn't that he didn't care, but what could he do? The floating desires of love had to be released. In truth, she was the Venus of his heart. Going back to her hometown to think things through—she might come back, she might not—it was truly a pity, a great pity.

Because beauty can only be seen in Julien Sorel from Jane Eyre: The Red and the Black. Lin Xiaoqing is a white snake; can she control Julien's fate? No, at least Julien turned the mayor's and minister's wives and daughters into lovers. They are beautiful because what is unattainable is beautiful. Is the sister-in-law in the capital, the female college student, in unrequited love? No. It is said that men always have a period of romantic encounters, as if countless pairs of affectionate eyes are watching. Plato's theory no longer works. Plato's spiritual love is not heterosexual, but a realm of art with reversed sexual orientation. It excessively pursues pure spiritual love. The mermaid in the deep sea, with her soft, smooth, rose-oil-like pink skin, exudes a rich, wild cry of love. You completely tear off that veil of hypocrisy, the unbridled and passionate youth—where is this? Perhaps the dance floor is the grand amusement park of Mephistopheles and Faust. Vodka and Red Bull, like detonators, flooded her stomach; her superhuman body burned in her blood, swelling in the warmth of those hands, a swell of love and desire. Sip after sip of Carlsberg was poured upwards, alcohol and flesh indulging in unrestrained madness. Her mother couldn't control her; she could do whatever she wanted. It was strange enough that the girl, in this romantic moment, specifically mentioned her mother. She was a cunning loach, finding every opportunity to bloom roses of desire throughout the world, floating in the lamplight and smoke.

What is love? It's truly perplexing. Jane Eyre's pure, spiritual love vanished into thin air. What a foolish child! How much better it would have been if Jane Eyre didn't exist. Jane Eyre was, in reality, a worldly woman; she valued status and reputation as taught by her mother, and even more importantly, money. The sky in that forest was too small; the fairy tale of the Forest Prince wasn't as captivating as Andersen's Little Mermaid. The forest was full of pheasants and crows; the forest god was happy. Unfortunately, there were no ancient Greek myths, no Roman myths, nothing at that time. No Shakespeare, no Andersen, no Wilde, no Anna Karenina, no Jane Eyre, no Pride and Prejudice, no Jane Austen's "I'm sorry," no Darcy and Elizabeth's Pride and Prejudice. All that existed was the wolfish insult of that fish-faced old man, dignity long since lost. This sky, however, was bright enough, with stars twinkling. Love was a mermaid, a passionate collision of soulless humans. Too vulgar. Wilde's kind of spiritual love might be similar to Plato's spiritual love. Seeing the other side of beauty is the instinctive ugliness of its bloom. Different goddesses, different shapes and arts. Why be obsessed with ugly love? It was God's kiss in Eden. The little one ran away, love ran away, leaving endless regret. In her youthful prime, she was truly a beautiful fox spirit, capable of manipulating not only the Bull Demon King. This also brought endless joy. What's most important? It requires a touch of spiritual art, the pursuit of spiritual beauty—Lin Xiaoqing's beauty.