When women meet women

    The TV series "Water Margin" was airing with great enthusiasm, depicting the deep brotherhood of men drinking and eating heartily in a simmering hot pot. The word "brother" truly evoked boundless heroism and unwavering loyalty. If

    brotherhood was so vibrant, surely sisterhood should also be on display? So when "The Peach Blossom Fan" was promoted with the tagline "Lao Tong," I eagerly went to watch it online. I thought that with Li Bingbing and Jun Ji-hyun's acting prowess, they would perfectly capture the delicate and profound emotions between women. However, after watching only half, I felt cheated again. The two normally clever and lively women seemed like underpowered dolls in this film, failing to create any touching sparks, which frustrated me.

    Nevertheless, the terms "Lao Tong" and "Nüshu" still piqued my interest. A quick search revealed that

    "Lao Tong" refers to girls born in the same year, with similar appearances and temperaments, who support and cherish each other throughout their lives, forming a close and confidante-like sisterhood. They communicated through a secret language written on fans—this is Nüshu. Nüshu is the world's only written language for women, a syllable-based script of a Chinese dialect.

    So, please don't misunderstand "Laotong" (老同); it's definitely not about homosexuality, but genuine sisterhood. It's just that Li Bingbing and Jun Ji-hyun's acting in the movie was really underwhelming, portraying Xuehua and Baihe in a sickeningly sweet way, easily misleading the audience.

    What kind of sparks fly when women meet?

    Like Xuehua and Baihe in the movie, they see each other as another version of themselves, filled with joy, as if all the world's sorrows could now be shared. They understand each other's deepest sighs and joys. This kind of friendship can be stronger and more intimate than love; even if the whole world abandons her, she will stand firmly by her side.

    I once tried to find a story in history describing female friendship, but it was futile. The deep brotherhood of the "Oath of the Peach Garden" is almost universally known, but no story is labeled "deep sisterhood." If there are stories about women, they're either about the Golden Apple Wars fueled by vanity and jealousy, or about jealous rivals trying to kill each other. Even Wu Zetian's treatment of Shangguan Wan'er was merely appreciation of her talent, without any real mutual respect. History has always been primarily the history of men, which is undeniably tragic.

    I believe that friendship between women can be just as moving. Since history doesn't have a written record, let me write about the women who constantly accompany and warm my heart. With them, I've never felt alone.

    When women fall in love, in my experience, it's a breathtaking and silently joyful experience.

    When I was a child reading *Dream of the Red Chamber*, among so many women, I particularly loved the bold and passionate You Sanjie. Her appearance was like a lightning bolt, instantly overshadowing all other female characters. When she drew her sword and resolutely bid farewell to that corrupt world, I loved this woman to death.

    I also remember the first time I read Sanmao's books, I suddenly felt the world fall silent. Only one voice echoed in my heart: "So you were here too."

    From then on, I collected every book of hers like a priceless treasure, following her across mountains and rivers. I also dreamed of my own Jose, my own Sahara. I wrote her poems and letters, but never sent them. I dreamed that she would return from her wanderings, that I could hold her hand, and tell her I loved her.

    Hearing the news of her suicide, the heartache and sorrow are still etched in my memory. The dream ended, flowers fell everywhere, and in this mortal world, I was destined never to see her again.

    Later, Li Ao said that Sanmao's wanderings were all fabricated stories, and I was once filled with anger towards this harsh man. Hu Yinmeng's face, flushed red from constipation, became a reason for his ridicule. How could a man so sharp-tongued towards his own women appreciate a woman as unrelated as Sanmao? Thinking about it, I feel relieved.

    For a time, I envied the female poets who lived in the Tang Dynasty. They even made the majestic history bow down, revealing a blurred smile. Their poems in the Complete Tang Poems are a bright and beautiful landscape, in no way inferior to the literati of that time. Xue Tao, Yu Xuanji, Li Zhi, Xu Hui, Lady Huarui… a dazzling array of names.

    I fell in love with Yu Xuanji, who wrote, “I can see through Song Yu, why hate Wang Chang?” Although she entered a Taoist temple, she completely trampled feudal morality underfoot. I admired her talent, which captivated those hypocritical literati, even though she killed her maid, Lü Qiao, out of jealousy. Yet, her courage to remain true to herself will forever live on in my heart.

    “If I could adorn my hair with mountain flowers, don’t ask where I’m going.” This line comes from Yan Rui, a courtesan of the Ming Dynasty. A weak woman persecuted, she refused to yield to any form of torture. Keep in mind, she was opposing Zhu Xi, the most powerful Neo-Confucian scholar of the time. This confrontation, so unequal in status, ended in Zhu Xi’s defeat—a true legend. When I read this story, I couldn’t help but applaud, deeply admiring the resilience and nobility inherent in this young woman.

    I also envy those women living in France. The open-mindedness and artistic atmosphere made French women shine so brightly. George Sand, Simone de Beauvoir, Chanel, Marguerite Duras.

    Especially George Sand, the most important woman in Chopin's life. She challenged male authority, attracting the entire French high society with her unique charm and ideas. Countless artists were her guests and lovers. Balzac, Mérimée, Musset, Heine, Turgenev, Dumas fils... Her writing and thoughts were so free and open; she was a dazzling star in herself, needing no man's accompaniment. Even Chopin was just one of her lovers.

    This reminds me of Rodin's lover, Camille. She was also a highly accomplished sculptor, but for her lover, she quietly retreated behind the scenes. Who knew that Rodin not only plagiarized her inspiration but also imprisoned her in an asylum.

    The same talent, different fates.

    My sigh for Camille only strengthened my admiration for George Sand. A woman should always have her own independent thoughts, and even for love, she should not lower herself to the dust. Otherwise, she will only end up like Eileen Chang, wearing a gorgeous robe but covered with lice of desolation and resentment. What a waste!

    I like Faye Wong, I like her unconventionality. I like her indifferent gaze, which silences the crowd the moment she appears. Only her heavenly voice remains, in the clouds, time flows like water, and she is forever on the other side of the water, breathtakingly beautiful.

    One day, I suddenly saw Shang Wenjie, dressed in black. Cold and cool, yet her singing voice was full of penetrating power. I instantly fell in love with this sharp woman. She reminded me of Faye Wong, Maggie Cheung, Greta Garbo, and a word: stunning.

    Online, I have a group of sisters. Holding their hands, I found my paradise.

    I have always believed that only women truly understand women.

    The friendship between women is like one flower gazing at another. Just like that, silently facing each other, quietly joyful.