Rebirth in a Shura Field, but in an Abstract Version

When Song Zhiyi walked out of that bedroom, she felt her whole body trembling. But strangely, when she reached out her right hand to close the door, her right hand did not tremble.

That hand seemed to know what it was supposed to do.

Then she sat on the sofa with "The Three-Body Problem 2" in her hands, opened the novel, but couldn't get into it at all.

All I could see in my mind was Jiang Di lying on Wang Zhe's bed.

She couldn't help but wonder what Jiang Di had actually done in his bed. Was it really just getting beaten up? Was it possible that the female thug had actually done much more?

If she dares to climb into a boy's bed, what else wouldn't she do?

Besides, Wang Zhe has already said that the two are already in a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, so what they do is perfectly normal, isn't it?

Song Zhiyi had thought she would be very angry when she thought about this.

But in fact, the anger was real, but besides the anger, there was another strange feeling.

Song Zhiyi had never seen any NTR-themed entertainment works. These days, the term NTR is almost exclusively popular in its place of origin; in China, only a very small number of anime and manga fans have even heard of it. The game *White Album 2* hadn't been released for very long, and the anime version hadn't even appeared yet.

Therefore, she naturally didn't know the word or its meaning, and thus didn't know how to describe her feelings at that moment.

Could it be said that he was cheated on?

No, that's not right. Wang Zhe was her childhood sweetheart, but not her boyfriend. He made no promises to her, so how could he betray her? If there was no betrayal, how can it be called being cuckolded?

So this isn't simply being cuckolded, but rather a feeling that's somewhat similar yet subtly different.

Song Zhiyi was immersed in this feeling and took out a pen and notebook from her small bag.

The pen was a regular ballpoint pen, and the notebook was smaller than the palm of my hand. This little notebook already contained a lot of notes, using up more than half of its pages.

She flipped to the middle of the notebook and looked at the most recent song.

I filled the paper with writing.

But I don't know which spring to send it to.

You said you liked pear blossoms.

But they bloomed too early.

Before you even turned around

It fell into someone else's rain.

This is a short poem that Song Zhiyi wrote after Wang Zhe rejected her love letter.

Since the second year of high school, perhaps because she was increasingly drawn to Wang Zhe, she found that her creative work was gradually focusing on love, and all of it was about unrequited love.

There was a time when I couldn't write poems on themes of youth, the future, scenery, or even grand social issues. Looking back at my old poems, they feel both immature and unfamiliar.

But now?

Overwhelmed by emotion, she used her right hand—the same one that had just closed the bedroom door for the two men—to grab a pen and write down this passage without pause:

I stood in the quiet tornado.

He became a witness to the death.

Your voice is still clean.

Like freshly washed glass

my name

stuck in the throat

It turned into ice that hadn't had time to melt.

Spring gently closes its eyes

At 3:47 p.m. that day

The world has indeed collapsed a corner.

But no witnesses are required.

There were no typos or even pauses during the writing process; the handwriting was smooth and elegant.

But like all her poems before and after hers, they don't need readers.

If a poem is created to be seen by others, how can it be considered sincere? She wrote it only for herself.

Suddenly, the bedroom door was opened.

Song Zhiyi stuffed the pen and notebook back into her small bag, lowered her head, and pretended to be reading a novel.

It was Wang Zhe who came out.

He asked, "How long do you plan to stay here?"

Song Zhiyi looked up and observed Wang Zhe. She could only see a hint of confusion in his eyes, but no anger.

What a pity—the artsy young woman sighed inwardly, having thought she would be scolded by him for refusing to leave.

She said, "I'm interested in this book, so I want to take a look before I leave. You've had that feeling before, right? You're really interested in a story, very curious, so you want to read it a little longer, even if it's just sitting somewhere to read it, or secretly reading it in class when the teacher isn't looking."

Wang Zhe crossed his arms: "It's almost four o'clock now, and my parents should be back soon. Would you like to have dinner with us?"

Song Zhiyi blinked, pointed into the bedroom, and whispered, "Will she have dinner here?"

Wang Zhe shook his head: "She will go home."

"I'll go back too," the girl paused, "but don't worry, I'll definitely go back before her."

Wang Zhe fell silent.

Song Zhiyi patted the sofa seat next to her, gesturing for him to sit down.

Wang Zhe sat down, but a little further away from where she was taking pictures, maintaining a distance.

The girl didn't dwell on such details and quietly asked, "Can you tell me exactly what you like about her?"

"You ask me what I like about Jiang Di?"

"Uh-huh."

"She's adorable."

"In what ways are you cute?" Song Zhiyi asked like a little reporter, "For example, how is it shown?"

Wang Zhe looked at her deeply again, as if he had only just begun to recognize a new side of her today.

However, Song Zhiyi did not show the pain or anger he had expected; instead, she remained calm like an outsider.

He replied, "Jiang Di thinks he's rebellious, but in front of me, he's actually very well-behaved and cute."

Song Zhiyi pressed further: "Is what you like this kind of obedient behavior that's unique to you?"

Wang Zhe: "Yes, but that's not all. By the way, why are you asking such detailed questions?"

Song Zhiyi blinked and forced a smile: "Just getting to know each other as friends..."

Wang Zhe shook his head and stopped talking to her. Instead, he got up, went to the kitchen to get two glasses of water, and then returned to the bedroom.

Song Zhiyi closed the book, looked up at the ceiling, and stared blankly.

After an unknown amount of time, she arrived at the bedroom door and knocked.

When Wang Zhe opened the door, Song Zhiyi said, "I'm going back to continue reading. You enjoy your romance."

He asked, "Do you need me to give you a ride?"

Song Zhiyi shook her head, gave what she thought was an elegant smile, and then turned and walked out.

I left Wang Zhe's home, went down the stairs, and left the apartment building.

As she passed a car parked on the side of the road, she tried to recreate the smile she had given when she said goodbye. But when she looked at the reflection in the car window, she realized that the smile was not elegant at all, but rather particularly sad.

For a moment, the girl felt as if she were living inside a poem.

The surging emotions, like a tidal wave, overwhelmed the high ground of reason, causing her to experience pain she had never felt before.

The heartache of witnessing the most precious thing in one's life being taken away.

But it was precisely this pain that made her feel that her life had reached an unprecedented depth.

Song Zhiyi leaned against a telephone pole, took out a pen and notebook from her bag, and wrote down a sentence:

The flames trembled, and the tide cascaded into the waterfall.

She recalled the look in Wang Heng's eyes when they said goodbye.

Besides the doubt in his eyes, there seemed to be a hint of heartache as well.

Suddenly, Song Zhiyi's right hand, which was holding the pen, also began to tremble.

"Can you be a little more tender? Can you hurt me even more? Can you..." the girl murmured, her beautiful eyes shining.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.