Chapter 3: "Can’t Even Speak, But Already Learning to Flirt"
The doll maker was out of the question—he wouldn’t make it for me, and might even start asking all kinds of questions to prevent any mishaps. So I had to bypass him and find another way myself.
Luckily, with today’s internet, basically anything can be bought. After careful searching for a few days, I finally ordered a pair of adult-sized realistic eyeballs from a BJD doll shop with excellent reviews, and then entered a restless, sleepless wait.
Every morning before work, I turned off the doll’s switch and put it away in the wardrobe. After coming home, I turned it on and took it out, keeping it close in my small rented room.
I bought it lots of clothes, changing its outfit every day. Having observed Liang Zhiting quietly for over six years, I knew his usual dressing style and preference. Dressing up the doll became my only joy while waiting for the delivery.
Ten days later, the package finally arrived.
Inside were a pair of beautiful realistic eyeballs. At first glance, they looked fine, but when it came to anything involving Liang Zhiting, I was a perfectionist.
I held the eyeballs under a lamp, frowning.
Liang Zhiting’s pupils were pitch black without any impurities, but this pair shimmered with a deep blue—navy, not black.
The color was wrong.
I contacted the seller to complain. They apologized and offered a solution—return the eyes and they would remake a new pair.
I was annoyed and impatient.
What the heck? After waiting so long, now I had to wait another ten days.
I tossed the eyeballs back into the box carelessly. Suddenly, something nearby moved.
The naked doll lay obediently beside me, arms wrapped around my waist.
Since it arrived, every night I squeezed it into the tiny bed with me, dreaming that the one sleeping beside me was the Liang Zhiting I couldn’t have.
Liang Zhiting, Liang Zhiting.
The black silk covering its face increasingly irritated me. I tore it off in one go, revealing two empty eye sockets that cruelly reminded me this was just an artificial fake.
Holding back the anger ready to explode, I kicked it off the bed. When it tried to crawl back up using hands and feet, I pressed the switch behind its ear.
It collapsed with a thud—no more movement.
I messaged the seller: “Okay.”
I agreed to their proposed solution.
Liang Zhiting was perfect; I couldn’t stain him with eyeballs that didn’t suit.
Just wait.
After all these years, a few more days wouldn't hurt.
…
But the truth proved otherwise.
The next morning at work, I was a daze. During lunch break, I went down to the convenience store for a quick bite. While browsing shelves, my eyes casually glanced through the glass and, not far off, saw Liang Zhiting sitting by the fountain planter.
White shirt, black trousers, a faint smile playing on his lips. His expression was soft and calm as he watched a flock of white pigeons hopping at his feet.
Sunlight shimmered off the water’s surface, casting sparkles on half his face like fish scales.
He was still that stunning.
Just one glimpse from afar, and I couldn’t look away.
I seemed to even smell his scent—the same faint fragrance I’d once caught years ago on the basketball court.
I gazed at him foolishly for a long while. Suddenly, the pigeons took off and the beautiful scene shattered.
A woman stepped into my field of vision.
She waved at Liang Zhiting with a smile. He stood up smiling to meet her, and they embraced.
White doves circled them—what a perfect couple.
I saw Liang Zhiting cup her face and place a kiss on her lips.
The woman blushed shyly, linking her arm with his as they walked away.
He was waiting for her.
Waiting for his fiancée.
Yes, how could I forget?
Liang Zhiting was about to get married.
Bang!
Unconsciously, I squeezed the box in my hand so hard it crushed, milk spilling messily everywhere. The shop clerk heard the noise and shouted from a distance, “Hey!” in a harsh tone.
I lowered my eyes, put the crushed carton on the checkout, apologized, paid, and left. I heard the clerk muttering curses while mopping the floor.
Slowly, I walked to the fountain where Liang Zhiting had just sat. The white pigeons scattered; none came near me.
See, even animals are picky about people.
I couldn’t wait anymore.
Back home, barely swapping my shoes, I grabbed the box with the eyeballs I hadn’t sent back.
I thought: I’ll just install them first. If I don’t like it, I can always take them back out later.
So naively I thought.
I slammed open the wardrobe, anxious, roughly grabbing the doll’s hair at the back to force its face up. I shoved the eyeballs into its eye sockets without mercy.
At first, it didn’t go in smoothly. For some reason, my palms got sweaty, I slipped, and after several attempts, couldn’t insert the eyes properly.
If future me saw this scene, he’d know that it was actually fate offering a chance to quit—but fate forgot my ugly greed. Witnessing Liang Zhiting kissing another woman was too much, pushing me into madness without reason. So future me could only helplessly watch present me crazily cram those eyeballs into the doll’s sockets.
After persistent effort, the eyeballs finally found their perfect place.
On their own, the eyes were unremarkable, but installed, they revealed their full beauty—deep blue interlaced with black, like a bottomless, silent black sea drawing me into its depths.
I was wrong, terribly wrong.
These eyes suited it.
They looked alike.
That tiny shade difference didn’t affect its beauty. At that moment, it felt as if the real Liang Zhiting sat right before me, in my room, gazing into my eyes.
I flipped the switch behind its ear. After a brief electrical hum, its cheek moved slightly. It lifted its face and looked at me.
The doll’s eyes didn’t move; it could only turn its head to look at me—if it truly could see anything through those artificial eyes.
I was mesmerized by those eyes. Holding its hand, I led it out of the wardrobe.
It stood steadily. When standing, I had to look up to see its face clearly.
The power of a pair of eyes was devastating.
I only regretted not putting them in sooner.
Being stared at so intently by “Liang Zhiting,” how could I stay rational? My breath grew hot. I stood on tiptoe, hooked my arm around the doll’s neck, and kissed its cold, lifeless lips.
The taste was strange, but bearable.
I was kissing Liang Zhiting.
That beautiful dream made my blood boil deep inside, my hands and feet went numb, and I became uncontrollably excited.
I imagined myself bathing in the sunlight with Liang Zhiting, standing among the white pigeons, kissing him—I was the one he loved.
Hanging on its body, I whispered, “Husband,” hoping for a response.
The doll’s blue-black eyes met mine. I waited, thinking it’d respond like before with nothing.
But the next second, its large palm rose, covering the back of my head. Its stiff fingertips tangled in my hair, pressing against my scalp.
I laughed and threw myself into its embrace.
Finally, there was something in this world that could bend to my will.
I grew up in filth and stench, a maggot in mud, constantly rejected and looked down on. Even when cut in half, I fought to survive.
I never had anything precious, nor thought I deserved any.
In school, I was always the last to leave class.
While classmates’ families came with smiles after school, cooking favorite meals, rewarding toys for good grades, taking trips on days off—
My home’s Big Centipede never spoke these words. He didn’t care about me. Rain or shine, I always went home alone, only to suffer insults and beatings.
Everyone was happy, laughing—seeming so fortunate.
I wanted to try being happy too, but my lips were frozen, unable to lift an inch.
I could only watch from afar.
Jealous, resentful.
Why could they live so well? Why was fate so unfair to me?
…
I envied.
I envied happy families, enough pocket money, toys, delicious meals waiting at home, unconditional love—things others took for granted but I never had.
From that time, I realized only my life was a mess.
I was a crushed stone underfoot, my spine bowed from invisible forces. I couldn’t hold my head high; nothing around me made me proud.
I wanted something special—something no one else had. I wanted to prove my life wasn’t just a pile of mud.
I looked around but had nothing.
I took the doll downstairs with me.
At 9 p.m., the dimly lit building courtyard was shadowy enough that no one noticed anything unusual. The doll maker’s craftsmanship was undeniable.
The only flaw on its face had been covered; the only things exposing its identity were the seam lines on its limbs—but those were well hidden under clothes.
The doll was brand new, walking slowly; when it walked too fast, its joints moved unnaturally—just the speed I wanted. I matched my pace with it—perfect.
Everyone passing by only saw me walking with a tall, stylish man-looking figure and assumed we were a leisurely couple after dinner. No one suspected my companion was a doll.
I didn’t plan to take any risks. I just wanted to stroll down the tree-lined path in the complex, satisfying my vanity after waiting half my life.
Just for a moment.
Eager to show off, to those who once despised or hated me, proving I, Nan Li, had something to envy—a treasure all my own.
A fake moon, but dazzling enough.
Turning a corner, I bumped into a middle-aged woman.
She was one of the aunties who had blocked my door after the lost child incident on the third floor.
She glanced at me, rolled her eyes in disdain, wanting to ignore and pass. Then she noticed the "man" beside me and stopped.
"This young man is handsome!" she said brightly, making me uncomfortable.
She was about two meters away; the light was dim, so she probably couldn’t make out the truth. I didn’t move.
She waited for my "friend" to speak, but of course there was no response. How could a thing answer her?
I stayed silent too.
After a long pause, realizing she was being ignored, she cleared her throat and turned back to ask me, "Are you guys friends?"
I thought a moment and nodded.
She smiled immediately, then loudly said to the doll, "Wow, I never thought he’d know a friend like you! So lucky."
“Are you married? Where do you work? I have a daughter, she’s quite pretty. Got time? Why not come over to my place?”
I’d heard this condescending kind of thing countless times since childhood—just petty stuff.
I patiently waited until she looked awkward from silence and said, “Not free.”
The auntie fished out her phone, “So, what’s your friend’s name? Give me a contact, please.”
“Not convenient,” I replied quickly—she hadn’t even taken out the phone yet.
She froze, clearly annoyed by my blunt refusal. “I’m not trying to be mean, just asking.”
I said flatly, “Can’t you tell?”
“What?”
I held the doll’s hand and said, “He only can get hard with me.”
Upon hearing that, her face turned pale, then green, then pale again. Realizing, she cursed and left.
After she left, I looked at the doll.
It only knew to stare at me blankly, clueless about what just happened.
I slapped it hard, but it didn’t move.
I pried its mouth open fiercely, pinched its tongue with my fingers, staring coldly: “You can’t talk, but you’re already learning to flirt.”
“Whose dog are you? Who’s really your owner?”
I tugged at its tongue, wanting to rip it out: “I am.”
“Useless, hear me!”
It still didn’t react to my anger.
Feeling powerless, I decided to take it home.
The summer night was heavy with heat and cicada songs. I pulled its hand to leave, but it didn’t budge.
Thinking it was malfunctioning, I frowned, about to scold, when it slowly bent down and rubbed its cold nose against my cheek—fawning.
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