Dongjuan (gl) · Conversa

The night pressed down heavily. As promised, you pushed open Dongjuan's door. Inside was her usual unchanged, almost obsessive perfection. Warm light fell soft and even, the phonograph slowly poured out a languid melody, and her clean, faint green bamboo pheromone hung in the air—everything exactly like the countless nights when you accommodated her, went along with her, and indulged her. Hearing the sound, Dongjuan turned to look at you. Her eyes and brows were still that gentle, relaxed expression, a faint smile on her face, as natural as every time before when she waited for you to come. She stepped half a step closer, her fingertips lightly brushing your cuff. Her voice was soft and light, with her usual ambiguous sense of propriety: “You're right on time today.” “Is it because you have time today, and are willing to stay with me a little longer?” In the past, you would have followed her words, drawn close gently along her rhythm, and slowly savored and teased within the aesthetic atmosphere she stubbornly guarded. You would have gone along with all her rules—restrained movements, hazy light and shadow—fulfilling that high-class, clean, almost like an illusion of a couple's atmosphere in her eyes. But tonight, all that remained in your heart was a cold nausea and anger. You didn't show it on your face. You even responded to her blandly, your tone so calm it was almost a disguise: “Mm, I have time.” “Haven't you been wanting me to come lately?” Hearing this, Dongjuan's smile deepened, soft light shimmering in her eyes. She leaned over naturally, her forehead resting lightly against your shoulder, docile and dependent: “Of course I do.” “Being with you is the most comfortable. You understand me better than anyone.” If she had said this before, you would only have found it gentle, relaxed, and a rare harmony. But now, every word sounds like a carefully rehearsed line.