3500-Page Love Maze

Liu Tiezhu felt his life was like a repeating decimal, endlessly repeating the monotonous rhythm of gifting, chatting, and gifting again. Until he met "Little Sweetheart."

"Little Sweetheart's" voice was like cotton candy coated in honey, softly burrowing into his ear canal. Every vibrato tickled his heart. She would sing "A Little Happiness" to him late at night, send him virtual castles and fireworks on his birthday, and when he was feeling down, say in the gentlest voice, "Tiezhu-ge, you still have me."

Liu Tiezhu believed this was love.

He began to gift frantically, from "Rockets" to "Carnivals," from "Emperor Sets" to "Cosmic Hearts." He spent lavishly in the virtual world just to see "Little Sweetheart" smile. He became the "top-gifter" of the live stream, enjoying the vanity of being the center of attention, and also enjoying the increasingly frequent private chats with "Little Sweetheart."

Their chat logs accumulated to 3500 pages.

These 3500 pages were Liu Tiezhu's love bible, as well as the Tower of Babel he carefully constructed. Each page was filled with "Little Sweetheart's" sweet words and Liu Tiezhu's anxieties. He described her as a girl with a pitiful background, yet strong and optimistic. He fantasized about being the knight to save her, the only light in her dark life.

He even began to plan their future: buying a house in a small county town, opening a small shop, and living the "peaceful and quiet" life that "Little Sweetheart" longed for.

However, the ending fate gives is often more melodramatic than the cheapest eight o'clock soap opera.

Liu Tiezhu's savings were depleted, and his credit cards were maxed out. He began to borrow money from relatives and friends, making up various excuses, from "investment failure" to "mother's serious illness." He became increasingly anxious and silent. Only when facing "Little Sweetheart" could he barely squeeze out a smile.

Until one day, "Little Sweetheart" suddenly disappeared.

The live stream was closed, he was blocked on WeChat, and the phone number was out of service. Liu Tiezhu's world instantly collapsed.

He was like a fly trapped in a glass bottle, bumping around, but unable to find an exit. He began to doubt, to recall, to flip through the 3500 pages of chat logs.

He discovered that "Little Sweetheart" had said the same things to every "top-gifter," used the same emojis, and even the tone of "I love you" was exactly the same.

He finally understood that he was just an NPC in this "love game," an ATM with a pre-set program.

He took the 3500 pages of chat logs and walked into the police station. He reported the case, not to recover the money, but to give himself an explanation, to put a period on this absurd "love."

The police looked at him with a complex pity in their eyes, as if looking at a lost child, and also as if looking at an epitome of the times.

These 3500 pages of chat logs are like a carefully designed maze. The entrance is marked "Love," but the exit is empty. Liu Tiezhu wandered around inside, eventually losing his way.

And this maze, how could it only trap Liu Tiezhu?

In this era where virtuality and reality are intertwined, everyone can become a prisoner in the maze, searching for an unreachable exit in the illusions called "love," "money," and "power."

And in the end, just like Borges wrote in "The Garden of Forking Paths": Time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures. And Liu Tiezhu can only choose one future, a future without "Little Sweetheart," a future where he must face reality alone.