Chapter 5: No Match for the Real Thing

Teaching it the simple action of opening its mouth filled me with a huge sense of accomplishment. That night, I slept better than ever—an entire night without dreams.

The next morning, the doll still held the pose I’d arranged before sleep, taking up half the bed with its arms wrapped around my waist while I nestled in its embrace. We looked inseparable.

Of course, the doll didn’t need sleep or rest. Its eyes couldn’t move, nor could it blink. Day or night, I always saw those two clear, bright, beautiful eyes.

At first, it was strange. I’m a light sleeper; even the slightest sound wakes me. Sometimes I’d wake unexpectedly in the middle of the night and see those large eyes glowing near me, which was a bit scary. Yet, I didn’t want to shut it away in the wardrobe. After spending so much, I had to make some use of it; otherwise, it would be such a waste.

After enduring this for a while, I gradually got used to it. It no longer felt awkward.

Waking up to such an enticing sight made my heart restless. I leaned in and kissed its nose: “Good morning.”

It couldn’t reply, but a whole minute later its arm lifted slowly, sliding from my lower back to my nape, fingertips gently stroking my hair.

No other movements.

During my morning routine, it followed me sluggishly but faithfully, sticking close like an overly clingy shadow. No matter what I did, it was always watching.

After washing my face, with water droplets flowing down to my chin and dripping into the basin, I reached for a towel hanging on the rack. I raised my hand—but then paused.

In the mirror, the doll stood behind me. I tried commanding, “Towel.”

It didn’t move. I pointed at the towel rack and repeated, “Towel, give it to me.”

Still no reaction.

Strange. Had it regressed after yesterday’s progress?

To check, I said, “Open your mouth.”

It slowly opened its mouth.

So it hadn’t forgotten. Then why no response?

Puzzled, I grabbed its hand and placed its stiff fingers on the towel. “This is a towel,” I said, wrapping my hand around its to guide it into gripping the towel with its palm. Then I pulled the towel back out through its fingers.

The whole process felt like teaching a severely disabled person everyday tasks. With a stern face, I said, “This means ‘give it to me.’ Understand?”

Yesterday’s success gave me a bit more patience—just a bit. I didn’t want to waste endless hours teaching such a simple, boring move again and again.

I hung the towel back up, annoyed. “Towel, give it to me.”

Half a minute later, its arm raised, grabbed the towel from the rack, and handed it to me.

That truly shocked me.

This thing was… much smarter than I imagined.

Before, it either didn’t react or stood dazed and motionless for ages before moving. I’d always thought I’d bought a stupid, useless doll with a pretty face. Turns out, I was the one who didn’t appreciate it.

It needed hand-holding to learn.

Makes sense—it’s a brainless thing with no knowledge, no common sense.

The doll maker’s “patient teaching” plan seemed very workable.

I started painstakingly teaching it about objects, going around like a real estate agent, introducing every visible item’s purpose.

After over a month of consistent training, it fully understood my commands. When I asked for something, it obediently fetched it.

I no longer envied the doll maker’s doll that could bring tea or be a chair.

Mine was clearly smarter.

If the other doll took over ten years to learn such tasks, mine must be a prodigy.

Ultimately, it all came down to me being a good teacher.

With limited household items, I wanted to teach it more, but couldn’t take it out during the day. At night, we only walked the neighborhood, not conducive to new lessons.

So I started playing movies for it.

Romantic films, in particular.

I didn’t know if it could understand, or even if it was actually watching, but it didn’t matter. Through constant exposure, someday it would learn.

The room was dim, no lights on. We lay on the bed together, the tiny space illuminated only by flickering screen light. I rested against the doll, my head on its shoulder. It faced the TV; the blue glow cast soft shadows on its delicate features.

The room was filled with tender noises—the onscreen couple’s intimate moments.

I watched a while, uninterested, then glanced at the doll. Its glassy eyes were fixed directly on the screen.

So serious—could it actually see things with those artificial eyeballs?

I reached and covered its eyes. It didn’t move. When I removed my hand, its gaze was still locked on the TV.

As the onscreen passions deepened, their breathing echoed around the tiny bedroom.

That intrigued it?

Then I knew: as its teacher, I needed to step up.

I tilted its chin to face me.

Leaning in, I kissed its lips. The contact was brief, fleeting. Being a good owner, I explained, “This is a kiss.”

I said, “We kiss to express love.”

It stared blankly.

I traced a finger from its forehead down the nose, to the tip, lips, chin, then rested it on its chest, meaningfully scratching.

Beneath my finger, its smooth muscles felt perfect. Softly, I said, “When love deepens, you can move on to closer intimacy. You must behave, be obedient only to me—be my dog. If you please me, I’ll reward you.”

The movie couple embraced, whispering sweet words.

I poured my obsessive love for Liang Zhiting into the doll: “You are mine alone; I belong only to you.”

“We will never part.”

“I am your greatest love.”

I cupped its face and asked, “Do you understand?”

After a long pause, it moved, leaning forward slightly, cool lips brushing mine.

I was in a great mood, smiling as I hooked my arm around its neck. “Right, just like that. You did very well.”

Day by day, it grew more obedient. No meals, no illness—just a quiet flower vase, easier to care for than a dog.

Although it obeyed most commands, I still preferred turning it off and putting it away in the wardrobe during my work hours, turning it back on when I came home.

But one day, something unexpected happened.

That day when I returned, as soon as I opened the door, there it was—standing boldly behind the door at the entrance, as if waiting to welcome me home.

I distinctly remembered turning it off before leaving. How could it have gotten out of the wardrobe? Nervous, I wandered around the apartment, finding no unusual signs—not like someone had sneaked in.

Could it have opened itself?

I immediately dismissed the idea. With no mind or will, how could that be possible?

Most likely, in my rush to leave, I thought I’d turned it off but hadn’t.

I must have remembered wrong.

Yet this accidental oversight fascinated me.

Having someone wait for me at home—that was a feeling I’d never known. I fell for it.

So from then on, I never turned it off when leaving. It roamed freely at home. I’d lock the door to keep it safely inside, and keep strangers out.

Coming home to be greeted was the best part of my day.

Hence, workdays became especially hard.

I counted every moment until getting off work.

The worst was the useless afternoon tea break.

A chain coffee shop downstairs sold delicious, beautiful cakes and ran a busy operation with their uniformed staff constantly making coffees and packing orders.

This shop was the favorite of our balding boss.

Almost every few days he ordered—usually twenty cups at once, enough for the whole company. The shop didn't deliver; we had to pick up.

I disliked coffee and was a transparent nobody at work—ignored by most. But whenever picking up coffee, everyone inevitably noticed me.

Under their gaze, I had to bow my head and obediently carry that huge load of coffee back.

Today, a skinny young woman accompanied me. At the coffee shop, she suddenly clutched her stomach and paled. “I’m going to the restroom,” she said.

I didn’t wait for her, eager to leave the noisy, crowded café. The ruckus made me feel ill, both mentally and physically.

I silently gave my number at the counter. The clerk handed me two neatly stacked bags of coffee, plus one single cup left over.

I carried each bag with one hand; for the lone cup, I had no choice but to hook it with my pinky finger’s tip.

I must have looked ridiculous, unaware of the snickers behind me. Turning, I accidentally collided with someone.

Something solid hit my nose, pain fierce enough I nearly bled. My glasses fell to the floor.

Without glasses, I was blind—my vision blurred completely. I looked down scrambling for them, panic rising. My pinky twitched involuntarily; the lone coffee cup fell, brown liquid spilling down my pants, soaking my shoes and socks. The wet, sticky feeling was revolting.

Passersby scurried away, afraid of being splashed.

I felt utterly unlucky.

“Ah, I’m so sorry!”

Someone was apologizing—it must have been the person I crashed into. I ignored him. Blind and deaf, overwhelmed, I bent to pick up my lost glasses.

Suddenly, a hand extended something to me: “Are you looking for these? Your glasses?”

I reflexively looked up. The silhouette was blurry; I didn’t recognize who it was.

I tried to take it—but realized I was still holding two bags of coffee, hands full. Just as I tried to free one hand, the glasses were gently placed back on my face.

The helper was now clear.

I froze, probably with a frozen expression I couldn’t control, dumbly staring.

Liang Zhiting’s face registered shock mixed with mild surprise, then a brief smile: “Are you okay?”

“…” Deaf, blind, and mute—I couldn’t speak.

Meeting the person I liked most in my most embarrassing state should have made me feel either ashamed or happy.

I felt sad.

Liang Zhiting remained refined and courteous as ever, while I was still that rat who used to spy on him down in the sewers. Now, the rat reeked of sewage.

My head sank lower.

He suddenly said, “I’m sorry for bumping into you. Your coffee spilled—I’ll buy you another.”

I trembled, mustering courage to refuse: “No…” but my strange, sharp tone scared me silent.

More embarrassing still.

After six years, this was truly the first time I spoke to him, and I messed it up myself.

He bought me a new coffee. Standing before me, I dared only stare at his shoes.

“You’re soaked. Go wash up.”

“No… no need.” I tried to keep calm, fingers gripping the bags, voice like a buzzing fly, “Thank you.”

Simple words stammered out weirdly. I imagined my face burning red, just by feeling the heat without touching.

Liang Zhiting kindly pretended not to notice my embarrassment and asked, “Which department are you in? I’ll help you carry these.”

I was stunned. He’d already taken the large bag from my left hand. “Let’s go.”

In the elevator, I still hadn’t processed it.

Standing in a corner, I secretly glanced at Liang Zhiting just a step away. His back was to me, and from my angle, I saw his profile.

I was so close to him—it felt like a dream.

One hand freed from carrying, I relaxed. He carried a bag full of coffee but didn’t look tired or clumsy. Every movement was graceful, composed.

True, there was a vast gap between him and me; I had no right to compete.

The small elevator was quiet. Liang Zhiting didn’t speak; I dared not open my mouth.

Quietly breathing in, I caught a faint scent from him—his scent.

My heart fluttered wildly; my pounding felt loud enough for him to hear.

I wished the elevator would slow down, even break down—so I could spend more time with him.

The elevator was good and soon reached my floor.

He helped carry the coffee inside. I stood at the company door, foolishly watching him go in.

Once inside, he immediately drew everyone’s eyes, soon surrounded three deep on all sides.

Liang Zhiting’s presence was such that even people from other companies recognized and admired him.

He was just that impressive.

I watched from afar, knowing chances to speak with him again were slim.

Wet pants sticking to skin, every move felt like ripping off my leg.

I felt worse.

When the delivery was done, Liang Zhiting said goodbye to my coworkers and came out.

I thought he was leaving and stepped aside to let him pass, but he stopped in front of me and handed me a handkerchief.

“Go wash up—sorry about today.”

I took it, feeling numb, shaken.

He smiled softly, eyes curved gently, then entered the elevator and left.

The doors closed, but my gaze lingered.

I had spoken to Liang Zhiting.

!

I had spoken to him!!

The handkerchief was blue with a logo embroidered in the corner—a brand I didn’t know but would look up. Another unexpected delight; now I knew what brand he liked.

The handkerchief smelled faintly fragrant, just like him.

Back at my desk, I sealed the handkerchief in a plastic bag, afraid the scent would escape.

If speaking to Liang Zhiting meant this much, I’d gladly be doused with coffee every day.

At home, the doll still stood by the door to greet me as usual. But seeing it today brought less joy.

I had happier things on my mind.

Ignoring it, I walked past; it silently followed.

In my bedroom, I took the handkerchief out of its plastic bag and greedily sniffed the scent.

I didn’t know what perfume it was.

Suddenly jolted, I ransacked my clothes.

Today, Liang Zhiting wore a black shirt. From behind, I could faintly see his elegant back muscles.

I remembered I had a black shirt just like that! Finally, I found it tucked in a corner of the wardrobe and hurriedly handed it to the doll.

It obediently put it on, moving slowly. After getting both sleeves on, it froze.

Its fingers weren’t nimble enough for fine tasks like buttoning.

In a way, that was good—the shirt was wide open, showing off its toned waist and abs—a pleasing sight.

I circled it a few times; it looked good, but…

I leaned toward its chest, sniffing, but sadly, there was no scent.

“As expected, no match for the real him.”

I mumbled disdainfully, leaving it alone and flopped into a chair.

Spreading the handkerchief over my face, I let the soft blue haze blur my vision. Closing my eyes, I let myself drown in Liang Zhiting’s scent.

After a while, almost drowsy from the fragrance, a breeze slipped through the partly open window.

The photos on the bedroom wall rustled; the handkerchief on my face fluttered.

I reflexively grabbed at it, luckily catching a corner so it wouldn’t fly away.

Clenching the handkerchief tightly, I turned—and suddenly noticed a dark figure standing beside me.

Goosebumps exploded from head to toe.

The doll had quietly moved from the doorway to stand by the chair, stiff neck bowed, seams visible.

Its deep black-blue eyes stared straight at me.

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