Story of Love: The Simplest Love
He was born into a scholarly family in Guangxi, was studious from a young age, and excelled academically. At 25, he went to Hong Kong for a job and became the editor of the supplement for “New Evening Post.”
She was six years younger than him, a daughter of a prominent family, working for the Hong Kong government, earning twice his salary.
At 32, he was still single, focused solely on his writing. The deputy editor of the newspaper admired his talent and decided to introduce his wife’s niece to him. Unable to refuse, he agreed to meet her for the first time.
At the meeting, he happened to be suffering from sinusitis, constantly sniffling and somewhat disheveled.
He was just a poor scholar, while she was a noble lady. The disparity in their statuses, combined with his current sorry state, made him want to leave quickly. However, she was satisfied with him, smiling as she handed him a handkerchief to wipe his nose, which warmed his heart a bit.
Moved by that warmth, he began dating her. Her generosity, kindness, and lively nature touched his heart. A few months later, he underwent surgery to remove nasal polyps, and she stayed by his side in the hospital, taking care of him meticulously.
After being discharged, he knelt on one knee and said sincerely, “Although I am very poor, I will work hard to earn money through my writing. Will you marry me?” She helped him up, blushing, and nodded.
Thus, less than nine months after they met, they entered the halls of marriage.
After marriage, she found that her husband, despite his immense talent, was actually a “life idiot.”
He had the stubbornness of a scholar and was indifferent to social etiquette. She was perceptive and astute, always covering for his shortcomings; he was slovenly, wearing mismatched socks and old suits with worn-out shoes to important meetings…
She had to remind him about his attire frequently; he was forgetful, often losing his passport, wallet, or even luggage during their travels, making her worry constantly and unable to enjoy the trips. He had a poor memory, forgetting to bring money when treating guests to meals and unable to remember their home address.
Afraid he might get lost, she would look out from the balcony when he came home from work and call out to him when she saw him; he was a meat lover, and she worried about his health, not allowing him to eat too much. At home, he obediently refrained, but he often sneaked food outside.
She would inspect his behavior, making him the “henpecked husband” among his colleagues. However, whenever someone mentioned his fear of his wife, his face would be full of happy smiles.
He was like a child who couldn’t take care of himself, always making her worry. She had to quit her enviable government job to focus on taking care of him.
Over the years, she became his secretary, nanny, nurse, and housekeeper… She gave birth to three children, nurturing and educating them to success, while he focused on his writing, producing 35 novels and becoming a renowned literary figure in Hong Kong.
At 63, despite his peak fame and career, he suddenly announced his retirement and emigrated to Australia.
Before this, he had already started feeling unwell, and she didn’t want him to overwork himself, knowing that Australia had beneficial medical treatments for him.
He always felt guilty towards her, knowing she had been toiling for him and their family all these years. He wanted to make up for it. They went to Sydney together, living a simple and leisurely life. He still read and wrote poems every day, and she continued to take care of him.
They watched the sunrise together, admired the sunset’s afterglow, planted flowers, cooked together, took walks, and enjoyed operas. After the hustle and bustle faded, only serenity and mutual dependence remained.
In the following twenty years, he developed diabetes, heart disease, cancer, and a stroke that left half of his body paralyzed. He had come to terms with life and death but couldn’t bear to leave her, praying in his heart: to live as long as possible, to outlive her, so she wouldn’t be left alone.
He disliked the bitterness of medicine, refusing to take it, so she tricked him by saying she added sugar, coaxing him to drink it. Despite his illness, he still loved rich food, and every time he reached out for more meat, she would glance at him and tap his bowl, making him withdraw his hand like a guilty child. To help him eat less sugar, she also gave up sweets.
Occasionally, she would lean on his shoulder, and he would hold her hand. In their struggle against illness, they reminisced about the past, as sweet as newlyweds, playful as innocent children.
In his 85th year, he finally left her. His death in Sydney was mourned by many in China.
His name was Chen Wentong, and she was Lin Cuiru. He was better known as Liang Yusheng, the pioneer of the new style of martial arts novels. His works like “Seven Swords Under Heaven,” “The Wandering Dragon,” and “The Bride with White Hair” are still adapted into films today.
While his novels were filled with beautiful women, she was an ordinary-looking woman. But he once said that the virtues of the female characters in his novels were all inspired by her. The love in his novels was entangled with joy and sorrow, while the love in his real life was simply holding hands and growing old together.
On the day he closed his eyes, their three children cried their hearts out. She calmly said, “Shh, don’t cry. Your father passed away peacefully.”
She held his hand, just like when he was alive. To her, he had never really left; he was like a child who had just fallen asleep, tired from playing.
He must have been having a long, beautiful dream: from their first meeting when he was disheveled and she smiled, handing him a handkerchief… to whenever she called out to him from the balcony, he would find his way home… In the still frame, he must be holding her hand, she leaning on his shoulder, standing by his side in the sunset’s afterglow.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
