三朵玫瑰，半城风月

英语释🇬🇧

He dodged as if burned by Mars, but something was quietly melting in his heart. In those days, he always found excuses to go to her place, watching her smoking on the sofa, watching the sunlight through the blinds, cutting bright and dark stripes on her red cheongsam. She brewed coffee for him with a lot of sugar, so sweet that it was cloying, but he drank it without leaving a drop. On a rainy night, she suddenly hugged him from behind, breathing with a hint of alcohol: "Zhenbao, I don't care about any rules, I just want you

He is almost sinking. But in the mirror, I suddenly became unfamiliar - my suit was wrinkled, my hair was messy, and the desire in my eyes was about to overflow. No, "he broke her hand, his voice trembling like fallen leaves in the autumn wind." I am someone who wants to do big things, and I cannot be destroyed by you.

Later, he married Meng Yanli. She is the daughter-in-law chosen by her mother, with gentle eyebrows and eyes, speaking softly. She wears a plain cheongsam and meticulously combs her hair into a bun, like a meticulous painting framed in a brocade box. When placed in the living room, everyone praises her "appropriateness". At first, Zhenbao was also satisfied and felt that this was the kind of life that a "serious person" should have - morning greetings, sewing under the lamp, and talking about daily necessities at the dinner table without any deviation.

But over time, that meticulous painting gradually faded. The smoke oriole always speaks timidly, even the servants dare to neglect her; She can't learn how to socialize and always acts like a startled bird at every banquet; You can't even learn how to cook. The Congee you cook is always half cooked. Zhenbao watched as she was sewing her socks under the light, with crooked stitches, and suddenly remembered Wang Jiaorui - she never did these things, she only snatched his pen and drew a crooked little person on the paper while he was working at his desk.

He started returning late, drinking glasses of wine in the bar, listening to the decadent tune on the phonograph. Two roses always swayed in front of him: one was scorching red, and the other was pale white. He hates Wang Jiaorui's "impropriety", but at the same time misses her liveliness; He resents Meng Yanli's boredom, but relies on this stability. Until one day, I ran into Wang Jiaorui on the street. She was wearing a plain cheongsam, holding a child, and her wildness disappeared from her eyebrows and eyes, like a burnt ash. Zhenbao, "she smiled, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes," we have all become serious people

He stood still, watching her figure disappear into the crowd, suddenly feeling a void in his heart. When he got home, Yanli served warm Congee, which was still a bit raw, but he drank it slowly without saying a word. The man in the mirror, his suit still straight, but his eyes seemed to be covered in dust - he had finally become a "serious person" in the eyes of the secular world, but lost himself in the shadow of the red and white roses.

Later, Zhenbao often stared blankly in the mirror, and in the cracks in the mirror, he could always see two overlapping roses. He finally understood that the so-called tug of war between red and white was never a choice between two women, but a struggle between "true desires" and "secular rules". We always hover between 'what we should want' and 'what we want', binding ourselves with the shackles of etiquette, and sighing at the unrequited obsession in the quiet of the night.

But life is ultimately not a black and white multiple-choice question. Like that broken mirror, every crack hides a self - yearning for warmth, longing for stability, being disciplined, being suppressed. In the end, we reconciled with ourselves, not by choosing red roses or white roses, but by acknowledging that we both crave the warmth of flames and the tranquility of moonlight; I want to break free from the constraints of the secular world, but I am afraid of falling off a stable track.

Zhenbao never saw Wang Jiaorui again, nor did he abandon Meng Yanli. He only occasionally sits in the yard in the evening, watching the sunset pull the shadow of the wall base very long, like a half open rose, half immersed in the light and half sinking in the shadow.