People in the circle say that Gao Jiajia is a white rose with thorns, and the natural crimson at the end of her eyes is as cold as the red-tailed berries in the mountains behind her.
No one knows that the women in Hongwei Village have never been prey.
When she was sixteen, her mother told her: Men are all migratory birds, and they can fly when their wings are hard. Only by grabbing his stomach can he never escape.
At the bar where she met Jin Tianyu, she looked at this unruly and indifferent man and knew clearly: it was him.
She picked up the wine glass and walked towards him, using a bowl of millet porridge with dried red tail fruits, weaving a gentle web bit by bit.
He began to be inseparable from the food she cooked, the smell of her body, and the sweetness that made him instantly feel at ease.
Until he discovered that the dependence that penetrated deep into his bones was never love, but addiction.
"Jin Tianyu, don't lie to yourself. You don't love me, you can't live without me."
The crimson at the end of her eyes is like a drop of blood that never dries up, gentle and cruel.
He resisted and escaped, but in the end he returned home obediently like a migratory bird with broken wings.
This is not love, but the fate of bondage and survival passed down from generation to generation by the women of Hongwei Village.
A bowl of hot porridge traps a man; a red fruit holds a tender secret for a thousand years.
Purpose: to explore the boundaries between love and dependence, reflect on the spiritual dilemma of modern elites, and write about women's survival wisdom in tradition and modernity.