On the eve of our wedding, I discovered a spreadsheet on Ji Qing’s computer.
It was filled with information about every girl he had ever dated.
In my column, it read: [Law-abiding and dutiful; suitable for marriage.]
Meanwhile, the entry for his first love read: [You are a bird of the air; you should fly proudly toward the horizon.]
He once said he would never marry her.
Because being his wife meant laboring over three meals a day, raising children, and serving one’s in-laws.
He couldn’t bear to subject her to that.
I didn’t argue, and I didn’t make a scene.
The next day, I went back to the television station.
Ji Qing didn’t know that I had a form of my own.
It was an application for a transfer to Africa to serve as a war correspondent.
The person I truly love is still there.
I’m going to find him and bring him back.
