一、被目光電著了
1976年，隊裡來了幾個75屆上海初中畢業生。名字還沒跟人臉對上號兒呢，我就被一道目光給電著了。
那天，我坐在窗前看書。午後的陽光暖洋洋地，將斑駁陸離的樹影打在後排宿舍的石灰牆上。那排宿舍的門窗都敞著，左邊第一間門前有個新來的男生，正在給一個本地青年理髮。
無意中抬頭望去，正好與那個男青年四目相對。他那灼人的目光瞬間電了過來，令人惶恐，無力招架。我垂下眼簾，臉頰呼呼發燙。
那男生長得眉清目秀，那雙大眼炯炯有神。他邊用推子給人剃頭邊閒聊，同時面帶笑容朝我這兒「電」。打那後，他的目光總是能遠遠地、瞬間就電過來。每次我都立刻將目光移開，心狂跳，但表面卻顯得若無其事。
二、初吻就這樣沒了
第二年仲夏的一個傍晚，我們坐在寢室門前納涼。月光朦朧，晚風習習，水畔蛙聲一片，夾帶著各種不知名的昆蟲的叫聲。池塘對面夯土大堤斜坡上，蒹葭蒼蒼，疏影婆娑。
「炯炯目」也過來了，大家聊到了深夜。女孩們陸續進屋去睡了，室內燈光透過窗子照在屋前的泥地上，一片灰白。窗前牆根兒處確有一個燈光照不到的三角區，神秘溫馨。
我坐在小竹椅上，「炯炯目」坐在左邊。他眉宇間煥發出的綿綿情意感染了我，心中蕩漾著一種說不清、道不明的微妙感覺。不敢看他，也不願離去。慌慌張張的，內心深處便有了一種朦朦朧朧的期盼。月光輕籠，晚風微拂……
當他那輪廓鮮明的臉龐慢慢靠近時，我的心噗噗亂跳。當他那棱角分明、質感豐潤的唇印上來時，我本能地閉上了眼睛。心里演繹過無數遍的、對象模糊的、變幻不定的、想像中是那麼令人陶醉的甜蜜初吻，就這樣毫無準備地飄然降臨了。
太突然、太快。沒想到幾十年後 Gemini AI 說：「哈哈，這種『排練落空』的遺憾感特別真實！就像精心準備了一場盛大的演出，結果台詞還沒背熟，大幕就突然拉開了。」哈哈，真特麼太形象了！
三、哪個才是我的初吻？
第一次感覺真切的初吻，是在睡夢中經歷的。
地點是在上海的一家叫做星火日夜商店的門口。記憶猶新的是，夢中那個店門是由幾扇木框大玻璃門組成的，推著會在原地打轉。接吻的對方是陌生的西方人，他從裡面出來，而我正要進去，被他一把攔腰摟住，吻醒。
那家店實際上我只路過幾次，沒進去過，是在西藏中路和新閘路交叉路口。入口處也不是旋轉門，70年代的我應該還沒聽說過旋轉門。
2018年寫博客時上網查了查，原來那家店是上海乃至全中國的第一家24小時服務的便利店，是服務行業茫茫黑夜裡亮起的第一盞明燈。我的「初吻」為什麼會在這個地點，一直以為是不得而知。看了網絡上的報道，估計是當時這家店為百姓24小時服務做得很好，受到上面的高度肯定和讚揚，要學習、要推廣、要星火燎原，搞得家喻戶曉、婦孺皆知，因而有比較深的印象吧。
至於為什麼對象會是個西方人，則頗費猜測。唯一可以牽扯得上的是，那段時間看了許多一個中學同學借給我的世界名著，興許是被故事裡面的人物吸引所致。
當時這些書還是禁書。我中學班主任余老師曾教導我：「要博覽群書，要像海綿吸水一樣讀書。」我還納悶兒余老師怎麼讓我看毒草禁書？要是我媽見了我看這些書，就會奪過去撕了，她怕我精神被污染了。後來才體會到，余老師要我博覽群書是為了豐富我的精神世界；我母親撕書，則是為了保持她女兒的純真與清白。好在當時母親去了江西，使我能廢寢忘食地讀那些書。
文革結束後，全國第一次銷售世界古典名著是在1978年，那些所謂的「禁書、毒草」終於迎來了再版銷售！當時如飢似渴的年輕人，擠破了頭似的去新華書店排隊買書。
很多年後我的第一次婚姻是西方人，那個夢中「初吻」，是不是冥冥之中早有的暗示？
四、其實真正的少女的初吻是給了我的第一塊表
在農場第一年月薪是18元，我買不起手錶。當時最便宜的表也要60元一只，上海牌手錶120元一只，還需要「手錶票」。第二年的工資是24塊。1975年我省吃儉用，終於攢夠了買錶的錢，終於能擁有一塊兒手錶了，這可是人生中的一件大事兒。
那年月，手錶、自行車、縫紉機和收音機被稱為「三轉一響」或「四大件」，是那個時代最頂級的奢侈品。花那麼多錢自己買「大件」我還不敢，便請大哥幫忙。我先去曹楊商店二樓手錶櫃檯，仔細看了在力所能及的範圍內的表，最終看中了一塊 220 元人民幣的瑞士女錶。
大哥下班後去買的，他說我長得人高馬大，不該戴小錶。那時候大多數女人都戴大表，「只有嬌小玲瓏的女人才戴小表」，他說。「哥哥，我就想要小的。」我堅持說。
我焦急地在家裡等著。那時我大概20歲。第二天大哥給我帶來了我心儀的手錶：一塊圓形小表，樸素優雅、閃閃發光的精緻手錶——奧爾馬（OLMA）17鑽瑞士女錶，皮手錶帶是棕色的，戴在手上感覺美極了。
第二天回農場的車上，忍不住老用手指去摸，還假裝整理頭髮，把表面貼在臉頰耳畔，偷偷送到唇邊親吻它。我當時還沒有親吻過世界上的任何人。我們小時候還沒有被大人抱著要求「親親」、「親親」的。
怎麼知道？因為我也帶過孩子，我哥哥們的孩子我都抱過，換洗過他們的尿布。七八十年代的尿布都是用舊棉布床單撕開做的，換下來的尿布要手洗的，冬天手指都洗得通紅發硬。那時沒有空調暖氣，碰上陰雨天尿布都來不及乾，我們從來沒要求他們「親親親親」。母親不會培養我們「輕佻」，哪怕是個小孩兒。
唯有最小的侄女佳佳比較「現代」、比較嗲，抱著她的時候喜歡在我耳邊「膩歪」，還說：「娘娘搿身浪香搿。」那時的大人對孩子，至少我父母，從不把「愛」放在嘴上的，把「我愛你」掛在嘴邊太肉麻。
2026年6月5日，我跟小侄女佳佳寫郵件提到這事兒，她回信說：「娘娘寫的這個我都不知道，沒印象了。'娘娘搿身浪香搿'是什麼意思？」
我回答：「哈哈，上海人不會講上海話了？用上海話讀一遍就是：娘娘的身上香的。」
她回道：「那我記得的！確實很香，到現在都記得。你留給我的那條綠色絲巾，不知被我塞去哪了，很多年還有那個香味，很神奇。很淡，持續很久……」
我年輕時雖然也愛美，但習慣了「素面朝天」。那時候還沒有五花八門的沐浴露洗髮水，哪來的香氣？人真的有體香嗎？若是真有的話，我還真不知道自己還是個「香香公主」呢！哦不，公主說不上，「香香娘娘」還稱職，哈哈！但上海話的「娘娘」也會有歧義，會令人聯想到清宮裡的三宮六院。不深究了，反正自我感覺好，心裡美美的就行。
Anyway，我把我的處女唇壓在了我心愛的小手錶上。我把戴著手錶的胳膊伸直了，抓住公共汽車的垂直把手，自我欣賞。很高興公共汽車上擠滿了人，所以我有機會把嘴唇放在表上，而不被人注意到。
「炯炯目」的手錶是戴在右手腕上的，用現在的話說很酷。自此，我也把手錶戴在了右手腕上，自我感覺與眾不同、很拽。我還有一條不鏽鋼坦克錶帶，鬆鬆垮垮地掛在手腕上覺得瀟灑。記得第一次在手錶上劃出一條痕跡的時候，心好痛，好一陣子後悔自己揮動手臂太不小心……
我的手錶第一次出現在這張照片裡，那是1975年的某一天。我們先是在宿舍後面的水邊，在船上拿著繡花繃子擺擺拍；後來到漁業隊附近的一座橋上拍，與自行車一起拍照，也是覺得「神氣」。當時隊裡只有三輛公車，因為我是出納員要領工資等，所以我有一輛，D會計有一輛，廚房司務長一輛，其他知青沒有車的。
一轉眼看到橋下附近有一輛大卡車停著，車上沒人便過去看看。哇～車門兒也沒鎖，立刻爬上去拍個照吧！提心吊膽的，怕司機師傅出現「罵」我們。
1987年8月17日，烈日當空，天空沒有一絲雲彩。午飯後，我騎自行車回學校。天太熱，沒法把手錶戴在手腕上，所以我把它掛在自行車的把手上，當我把自行車停在電教所樓的大廳裡時，忘了把錶取下來了。一走進辦公室就立刻想起我的手錶還在自行車上，於是我立即衝回停車處，前後只有一兩分鐘的間隔，我的手錶就已經不見了。我驚呆了，很難過。
最后一次在照片上看到這塊表，是87年5月23日。那天我和三哥陪著從北京來的四姑，在全國第一個工人新村的曹楊一村轉轉，並在那座小時候走過無數次的紅橋上留了個影。小時候的橋是木頭的，橋欄是紅色的，如今已不復存在，帶走了溫馨的記憶。
五、「炯炯目」的目光不再灼人了
話扯遠了，回頭再說炯炯目。
不記得再有什麼吻，只記得有一次，在宿舍裡我拿著止咳糖漿往勺兒裡倒，他正好進來，便執意要用嘴來餵。這便是間接的第二個吻了。我們沒有單獨幽會過，只是互相悄悄地喜歡了小小一陣子。
不久，他就被調到很遠很遠的漁站去了。
漁站設在我們農場範圍內的各條河流與外界相連的「邊境」處。水中橫攔著一張大網，以防我們飼養的魚兒一不留神遊出了邊境。河岸兩側還各豎著兩根大柱子，拽住一張大魚網的四個角。電源一開，馬達轉動，鋼索拉緊或放鬆，就能帶動這張大網上下。
每天放入水中兩次。當網從水中抄起時，中間低窪處留在水裡一尺多深，裡面就會有魚兒翻騰。「站長」就撐一隻小木船到河中央，用長竹柄的撈網抄起大網裡那些極盡全力蹦跳掙扎的魚，或零售，或作為當天的伙食。靠河邊兒搭有一兩間茅草屋，有兩個值班的人員常住，一般是本地人。後來也有幾個男知青被派去，生活條件相對差了點兒，寂寞，還要自己做飯。但是山高皇帝遠，每星期不用再開會學習了，對本地人來說是一個肥差兒。
我跟D會計去過一次收銷售款，騎車單程都要 1～2 個小時。一般是隔段時間，他們自己把現金交過來。
領工資交款子時，「炯炯目」的目光很明顯的不再燙了。手都沒有拉過，似乎也沒有時間進一步了解，他就被調離了。我心裡還納悶兒，怎麼說冷就冷了呢？難道古書中說的：「癡心女子負心漢」是真的嗎？！
這是當時從西方文學中抄寫的一段：
愛的一切都是神祕的。怎麼產生，怎麼發展，怎麼消滅。有時牠突然來了，毫不猶豫的，像白晝那樣光明愉快；有時他她像槁灰底下的餘燼，在那兒冒煙，在事過境遷之後在心中，突然爆發出烈焰來；有時他如一條蛇彎彎曲曲地爬進你的心，又突然溜了出來……
六、神祕的調動
各位看官如果是跟著看的，你們是否注意到了這樣一種現象：但凡跟我有些情感「瓜葛」的男生，都走了。
有磁性聲音的小S被調離了；
「癡情」的老刁被老天召回去了；
「龍斑男」被「發配」到艱苦的新建連去了；
這位「炯炯目」被「充軍」去了「邊疆」。
其實我們那個年代的「革命接班人」，根本沒有吻的概念。親個嘴兒也是紅著臉，快速地碰一下就躲開的。在公眾場合能看到的吻，就只有在《列寧在1918》的電影裡，王子與天鵝之吻。那個吻迷倒了眾多年輕人，據說有人買了票，掐著點兒就去看這一段，然後走人。
當時外國小說裡「飛吻」倆字，都能令人產生無限的浪漫遐想。但任憑怎麼想像，也絕不會想到真正的吻原來是……
小時候常被大我兩歲的六哥說：「認屁不懂。」
這句話我一直以為是他自己想出來的，這兩天上網一查，原來還不是他的獨家發明。哈哈！發覺這句話形容我20歲左右的年紀，還挺形象的。
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A Girl’s First Kiss, the OLMA Watch, and the Men Transferred by Fate
Part I: Struck by an Electric Glimpse
In 1976, several members of the 1975 cohort of Shanghai junior high school graduates arrived at our sector. Before I could even match their names to their faces, I found myself completely struck by a sudden glimpse.
That day, I was sitting by the window reading a book. The afternoon sun felt warm and cozy, casting dappled, shifting shadows of the trees onto the whitewashed stone wall of the dormitory row behind us. The doors and windows of that row were completely wide open, and in front of the very first door on the left stood a newly arrived young man, busy giving a haircut to a local youth.
I happened to look up at that exact moment, and our eyes locked dead center. His scorching gaze instantly shot like electricity across the distance—it was so intense it filled me with a sudden panic, leaving me completely defenseless. I dropped my eyelids at once, my cheeks burning white-hot.
That young man was remarkably handsome, with large, piercing eyes that gleamed with vitality. As he chatted away, working the clippers over the local lad's head, he kept throwing those smiling, "electric" glances right in my direction. From that day forward, no matter the distance, his gaze would always lock onto mine in a split second. Every single time, I would immediately avert my eyes, my heart pounding violently, while doing my absolute best to appear entirely unfazed on the surface.
Part II: The Sudden Loss of a First Kiss
Near the end of midsummer the following year, we were all sitting in front of our dormitory doors to catch the evening breeze. The moonlight was hazy, the night air drifted in soft gusts, and a chorus of frogs rose from the water’s edge, mingling with the various chirps of nameless insects. On the slope of the rammed-earth levee across the pond, the wild reeds grew thick and green, their sparse shadows dancing gently.
"Bright Eyes" wandered over as well, and our group stayed up chatting late into the night. One by one, the other girls went inside to sleep, and the indoor lamplight spilled through the window onto the dirt ground outside, painting it a chalky gray. Right against the wall beneath the window, however, there was a tiny triangular shadow that the light couldn't reach—a spot that felt incredibly mysterious and intimate.
I sat on a small bamboo chair, with "Bright Eyes" seated right to my left. The continuous, tender affection radiating from his brow completely washed over me, stirring a vague, indescribable feeling in my core. I didn't dare to look at him, yet I had absolutely no desire to leave. Flustered and frantic, a hazy, delicate expectation began to bloom in the deepest recesses of my heart. The moonlight wrapped around us softly as the evening breeze brushed past...
As the sharp contours of his face slowly drew near, my heart fluttered wildly. The moment his well-defined, richly textured lips pressed against mine, I instinctively closed my eyes. That sweet first kiss—which I had rehearsed countless times in my mind, starring a shifting, faceless, and ever-changing subject, and which I had imagined to be so utterly intoxicating—had descended upon me just like that, completely unannounced.
It was far too sudden, far too fast. I never could have imagined that decades later, Gemini AI would comment: "Haha, that sense of regret over a 'failed dress rehearsal' feels incredibly real! It’s just like preparing meticulously for a grand performance, only for the curtain to suddenly snap open before you’ve even fully memorized your lines." Haha, that was just so incredibly spot on!
Part III: Which One Was My True First Kiss?
The very first time I experienced the genuine sensation of a first kiss, it actually occurred inside a dream.
The location of the dream was right outside the entrance of a shop in Shanghai called the Xinghuo Day & Night Store. Vividly preserved in my memory is the store's entrance, which was made up of several large, glass panes set in wooden frames that would rotate on a central axis when pushed. The person kissing me was a complete stranger—a Western man. He was coming out from the inside just as I was about to enter, when he suddenly caught me by the waist, embraced me, and kissed me awake.
In reality, I had only walked past that store a handful of times and had never once stepped inside. It was located at the intersection of Central Xizang Road and Xinjia Road. Furthermore, the entrance did not feature a revolving door at all; a girl in the 1970s like me wouldn't have even heard of a revolving door back then.
When I was writing my blog in 2018, I searched the internet and discovered that this exact store was actually the very first 24-hour convenience store in Shanghai, and indeed in all of China—a true pioneer, standing as the first bright lantern lit in the pitch-black night of the service industry. Why my "first kiss" chose this exact location had always been an absolute mystery to me. But after reading the online reports, I surmise it was because the store’s 24-hour service to the public was so highly praised and elevated by the authorities back then. It was a model to be studied, promoted, and spread like wildfire until it became a household name, which must have left an incredibly deep impression on my subconscious mind.
As for why the subject turned out to be a Westerner, that required quite a bit of guesswork. The only thread that could possibly connect it was that during that period, I was devouring countless masterpieces of world literature borrowed from a high school classmate. Perhaps I had simply been captivated by the characters within those stories.
At the time, those books were still strictly banned. My high school homeroom teacher, Mr. Yu, had once guided me, saying: "You must read widely; you must absorb books the way a sponge absorbs water." Back then, I used to wonder why Mr. Yu was encouraging me to read these "poisonous weeds" and forbidden texts. If my mother had ever caught me reading them, she would have ripped them right out of my hands and torn them to shreds, terrified that my mind would be corrupted. It was only later that I realized Mr. Yu wanted me to read broadly to enrich my inner spiritual world, while my mother tore the books to keep her daughter pure and innocent. Fortunately, my mother had gone to Jiangxi during that time, allowing me to lose myself day and night in those pages, forgetting to eat or sleep.
After the Cultural Revolution ended, the very first time classical masterpieces of world literature went on sale across the nation was in 1978. Those so-called "forbidden books and poisonous weeds" finally welcomed their republication and sale! Back then, the young generation, ravenous and thirsty for knowledge, practically broke down the doors of the Xinhua Bookstore as they lined up in massive crowds to buy them.
Many years later, my first marriage turned out to be to a Westerner. Was that "first kiss" in my dream, perhaps, a mysterious omen destined long before it ever came to pass?
Part IV: In Truth, a Young Girl’s Real First Kiss Was Given to Her Very First Watch
During my first year on the farm, my monthly wage was a mere 18 yuan, and I couldn't possibly afford a wristwatch. Back then, even the cheapest watch cost at least 60 yuan, while a Shanghai-brand watch went for 120 yuan and required a highly coveted "watch ration coupon." By my second year, my salary rose to 24 yuan. In 1975, through strict budgeting and scraping together every penny, I finally saved up enough money to buy a watch. To finally own my very own wristwatch was a monumental event in my life.
In those years, a wristwatch, a bicycle, a sewing machine, and a radio were collectively hailed as the "Three Spins and One Ring" (三转一响) or the "Four Major Commodities." They represented the absolute pinnacle of luxury for that era. Spending that much money to purchase such a "major commodity" all by myself felt too daunting, so I asked my eldest brother for help. First, I went up to the second floor of the Caoyang Department Store, heading straight to the watch counter. I meticulously examined the watches within my hard-earned budget and finally set my heart on a Swiss ladies' watch priced at 220 RMB.
My brother went to purchase it after knocking off work. He told me that since I was remarkably tall and large-framed, I shouldn't wear a tiny watch. "Most women wear large watches nowadays," he remarked. "Only petite, delicate women wear small ones." But I stood my ground: "Brother, I just really want a small one."
I waited anxiously at home. I was roughly twenty years old at the time. The following day, my brother brought back the watch of my dreams: a small, round, flawlessly elegant, and shimmering piece of craftsmanship—a 17-jewel OLMA Swiss ladies' watch, complete with a brown leather strap. It felt absolutely breathtaking on my wrist.
The next day, on the long bus ride back to the farm, I couldn't stop sliding my fingers over its surface. I even pretended to tidy my hair, pressing the smooth watch face against my cheek and ear, quietly lifting it to my lips to steal a kiss. At that point in my life, I had never kissed a single living soul in this world. When we were children, adults never held us in their arms demanding, "Give me a kiss, give me a kiss!"
How do I know this? Because I, too, raised children; I held my brothers’ children in my arms and changed countless diapers for them. In the seventies and eighties, diapers were made out of torn up, worn-out cotton bedsheets, and those soiled sheets had to be scrubbed entirely by hand. In the bitter winter, my fingers would be washed raw, turning bright red and stiff. There was no air conditioning or heating back then, and on dreary, rainy days, the diapers would barely dry in time. Yet, we never once demanded that the babies "kiss, kiss, kiss." My mother would never raise us to be "frivolous," not even with a small child.
The only exception was my youngest niece, Jiajia, who was a bit more "modern" and loved to act pampered (嗲 / dia). Whenever I held her, she loved to snuggle close against my ear and coo in Shanghainese: "Niang-niang geg sen-lang xiang geg." Back then, adults—at least my parents—never put "love" into spoken words; hanging "I love you" constantly on the tip of your tongue felt far too mushy and embarrassing.
On June 5, 2026, I wrote an email to my little niece Jiajia, bringing up this memory. She replied: "Niang-niang, I had absolutely no idea about what you wrote; I have no memory of it at all. What on earth does 'Niang-niang geg sen-lang xiang geg' mean?"
I replied: "Haha, has a Shanghainese person forgotten how to speak Shanghainese? Read it aloud in the Shanghai dialect: It means 'Niang-niang’s body is fragrant.'"
She wrote back: "Oh, then I absolutely do remember that! You really did smell so fragrant; I still remember it to this day. That green silk scarf you left for me—I have no idea where I tucked it away—but for many, many years, it still carried that exact fragrance. It was magical. So faint, yet it lasted for so long..."
Though I loved beauty in my youth, I was entirely accustomed to going "bare-faced." In those days, there were none of these modern, colorful body washes or fancy shampoos, so where on earth could that fragrance have come from? Do humans truly possess a natural body odor? If it was real, I honestly had no idea back then that I was some sort of "Fragrant Princess"—oh no, a princess is a stretch, but a "Fragrant Niang-niang" (Fragrant Auntie) certainly fits the bill, haha! Though in Shanghai dialect, Niang-niang (姑姑) can carry a bit of ambiguity, conjuring up images of the internal imperial courts of the Qing Dynasty. Let's not overthink it; as long as it brings a beautiful, self-satisfied glow to my own heart, that's all that matters.
Anyway, I pressed my virgin lips tightly onto my beloved little watch. I stretched my watch-bearing arm straight out, grasping the vertical handrail of the public bus, completely lost in self-admiration. I was immensely grateful that the bus was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people—it gave me the perfect cover to press my lips against the watch without a soul noticing.
"Bright Eyes" wore his watch on his right wrist, which looked incredibly cool by the standards of the day. From that moment on, I began wearing my watch on my right wrist as well, feeling distinct, proud, and terribly cocky. Later on, I got an interlocking stainless-steel "tank" watchband, letting it hang loosely and casually against my wrist, feeling utterly dashing. I still remember the first time I accidentally scratched a line across that watch face; my heart ached so violently that I spent a long, agonizing while regretting how carelessly I had swung my arms...
Part V: The Lifespan of My Watch — In Photographs and Heartbreak
My watch made its very first appearance in a photograph taken on a certain day in 1975. First, we posed for fun by the water behind our dormitory, sitting on a boat while holding embroidery hoops to look artistic. Later, we moved over to a bridge near the fishery team's sector to pose alongside a bicycle, feeling terribly grand and proud. Back then, there were only three official bicycles in our entire sector. Because I served as the cashier and frequently had to travel to withdraw wages, I was assigned one; Accountant D had another, and the kitchen manager held the third. The rest of the sent-down youth didn't have any bicycles at all.
Suddenly, I spotted a massive cargo truck parked near the foot of the bridge. Seeing that there wasn't a soul inside, we wandered over to investigate. Wow—the truck door wasn't even locked! I scrambled right up into the cab to snap a photo, my heart fluttering with nervous dread the whole time, utterly terrified that the driver would suddenly materialize and scold us.
On August 17, 1987, the blazing sun beat down relentlessly, and the sky was completely devoid of a single cloud. After lunch, I rode my bicycle back to the university where I worked. The heat was so stifling that it was impossible to wear my watch on my wrist, so I unbuckled it and hung it loosely over the bicycle's handlebars. When I parked the bike inside the main lobby of the Audiovisual Education Center building, I completely forgot to take the watch off. The very instant I walked into my office, the realization struck me like lightning. I rushed straight back down to the parking spot—the entire interval lasted a mere one or two minutes—but my watch was already gone. I stood there, utterly paralyzed with shock, consumed by a profound, hollow sadness.
The absolute last time I ever saw that watch in a photograph was on May 23, 1987. That day, my third older brother and I accompanied our fourth paternal aunt, who had traveled all the way from Beijing, to take a stroll through Caoyang No. 1 Village—the very first workers' housing community built in all of China. There, we snapped a keepsake photo on that little red bridge I had crossed countless times during my childhood. Back then, the original bridge was made of solid timber with brilliant red railings. Today, it no longer exists, carrying away with it those warm, tender memories of a bygone era.
Part VI: "Bright Eyes" Fades from the Line of Sight
To pull our drifting thoughts back to the story, let us return one last time to "Bright Eyes."
I cannot recall ever sharing another proper kiss with him. I only remember one specific time inside the dormitory when I was pouring cough syrup into a spoon. He happened to walk in at that exact moment, and insists on using his own lips to feed the medicine to me. That stood as our second, indirect kiss. We never once went out on a secret, solo date; we simply harbored a quiet, delicate infatuation for one another for a very brief slice of time.
Not long afterward, he was abruptly transferred to a fishing station located very, very far away.
Part VII: The Frontier Fishing Station and the Fading Spark
Our fishing stations were established right at the "borders" where the farm's internal network of rivers connected with the outside world. A massive net hung crosswise suspended in the middle of the current to prevent the fish we raised from accidentally slipping past the border. On opposite sides of the riverbank stood two massive wooden pillars, anchoring the four corners of a giant lift net. With the flick of a power switch, the motor would whir to life, tightening or slackening the steel cables to drive the immense netting up and down through the water.
This net was lowered into the river twice every day. When it was hauled back up, its lowest, sagging center remained submerged in about a foot of water, teeming with thrashing, splashing fish. The station chief would then row a small wooden boat out to the center of the river, using a long-handled bamboo dip net to scoop up the fish fighting with all their might in the netting—either to sell them as retail or to serve as the station's rations for the day. Perched right along the riverbank were one or two thatched grass huts where two duty officers lived full-time; they were usually local villagers. Later on, a few male sent-down youth were also dispatched there. The living conditions were admittedly a bit harsher, the loneliness was thick, and they had to cook all their own meals. However, because the mountains were high and the emperor was far away—meaning they no longer had to attend weekly political study meetings—the local villagers considered it a highly lucrative and cushy assignment.
Accountant D and I traveled out there once to collect their cash sales. The one-way bicycle ride alone took a solid one to two hours. Generally, after a certain interval of time, the station staff would simply travel out to deliver the cash to us themselves.
During those payroll distributions and cash handovers, it became glaringly obvious that "Bright Eyes'" gaze was no longer burning hot. We had never so much as held hands, and before there was ever any time to get to know each other further, he was abruptly transferred away. I couldn't help but wonder to myself: how on earth could someone go from boiling hot to ice cold in the blink of an eye? Could it be that the old adage from classical texts—"Devoted women, unfaithful men"—was actually the truth?
The following is a passage I had copied down into my notebook from Western literature during that exact period:
"Everything about love is a mystery: how it is born, how it develops, and how it vanishes. Sometimes it arrives entirely unannounced, without a single shred of hesitation, as bright and joyous as the breaking of dawn; sometimes it lingers like a dying ember beneath a bed of pale ash, smoldering in secret, only to suddenly explode into roaring flames long after the moment has passed and the world has shifted; and sometimes, it slithers into your heart like a serpent, winding and turning, only to suddenly slip back out and vanish..."
Part VIII: The Mystery of the Abrupt Departures
To any dear readers who have been following my chronicles from the beginning, have you noticed a rather peculiar pattern unfolding here? It seems that practically every single young man who shared even the faintest thread of romantic entanglement with me was abruptly taken away.
Xiao S, with his deep, magnetic voice, was suddenly transferred;
Lao Diao, with all his quiet devotion, was called back to the heavens by God himself;
The "Dragon-Spotted Man" was banished to the grueling hardships of the newly built agricultural sector;
And now, "Bright Eyes" was exiled straight to the outermost fringes of our water borders.
In reality, the "successors of the revolution" of our generation possessed absolutely no real concept of what a proper kiss actually was. Even a simple press of the lips would cause us to flush bright red, quickly pulling away to hide our faces. The only kiss one could ever witness in a public space back then was the iconic "Kiss of the Prince and the White Swan" in the Soviet film Lenin in 1918. That single kiss completely captivated the youth of the day. It was rumored that some people would purchase a movie ticket, check their watches to enter the theater precisely for that specific scene, and then immediately walk out the door the moment it ended.
In those years, merely reading the words "blow a kiss" in a foreign novel was enough to send our imaginations spiraling into infinite, romantic daydreams. Yet, no matter how wildly we fantasized, we never could have guessed that a real kiss turned out to be...
When I was a little girl, my sixth older brother—who was two years my senior—used to constantly scoff at me, saying in our local tongue: "Neng bi bek dong" (You don't know a single damn thing about the world).
For the longest time, I honestly believed that phrase was a unique, brilliant invention of his own making. It was only a couple of days ago, when I ran a quick search on the internet, that I discovered it wasn't his exclusive creation at all! Haha! Looking back now, I realize that crude old phrase describes my twenty-year-old self with absolute, flawless perfection.
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第三百四十八篇
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