When I was 20, I told my brother: Marriage? Are you crazy? How precious is freedom—eating alone, the whole family isn't hungry. I can have a girlfriend, but want me to put a ring on it? Not a chance.

At 25, I attended a classmate’s wedding. I spent half a month’s salary on the red envelope. Watching the groom kiss the bride, I suddenly thought: Maybe... it’s not so bad? But then I thought: What if there’s someone better later? Better wait.
At 28, my parents started calling, no longer asking “Have you eaten?” but “When will you bring a partner home?” I said I was busy. After hanging up, I looked through my contacts and realized all the girls I could meet up with were already someone’s wife.
On my 30th birthday, I worked overtime until dawn. On the way home, I passed a convenience store, bought a hot pot, and squatted by the roadside eating it. A couple with a child walked past, and the kid pointed at me and said: Dad, that uncle looks so pitiful. His dad quickly pulled him away. I looked down at the paper cup in my hand and suddenly smiled.
The next day, I took three days off. I went back to my hometown. Knocked on the door of the girl I secretly liked in high school. She asked: Why are you here? I said: Can I not leave?
She was stunned: Weren’t you planning to make your way in the world?
I pointed to the flowers on the balcony behind her: The world is too cold. I want to find someone to water the flowers with.
Her eyes turned red. She didn’t say anything.
And then? Then we got married. At the wedding, my brother asked me: How did you come to this decision?
I raised my glass: That night, the fish tofu in the hot pot was hotter than freedom.
Do you believe it? Actually, I still don’t know why she didn’t close the door back then.
Guess how long she waited for me?