Hello everyone, I am Wuxia Guji, welcome to this space.

He said: At that moment, I just knew directly that if I didn’t get a divorce, I wouldn’t be able to go on living.

When I first met Tibai, I knew he was a man with a story. It’s simple: you only need a brief conversation, a look at his manner of speaking and the expression in his eyes. He isn’t a conformist; he carries the air of someone who has already “lived enough.”

Tibai’s greatest gift is that he only needs three hours of sleep a day to remain energetic and clear-eyed. I have always been astonished and envious of this ability, so I asked him:

Wuxia: “How do you acquire this ability to be so spirited on just three hours of sleep?”

Tibai: “It’s easy. You just need to be ‘sick’.”

Yes, Tibai is sick—likely Bipolar Disorder. I wasn’t surprised at all. I remained calm; we discussed this seemingly solemn and frightening topic as if we were casually asking what the other had for lunch.

Wuxia: “Oh, I see. But you seem quite calm. Sometimes your speech is fast and you offer insights quickly, but your symptoms don’t manifest in emotional outbursts. Instead, they manifest as excessive mental energy, forcing you to study and read literature. You’ve gained twice as much life as others! I truly envy you.”

We talked about his marriage. When his child was one year old, he proposed a divorce. His wife was organized and logical, but they would erupt into arguments over the smallest things (like a route). She refused the divorce, seeing him as an inseparable part of her life. Even though both knew the constant attrition was torture, habits aren’t something you can simply excise just because they’ve turned sour.

Tibai endured a few more agonizing years until the child was 3 or 4. During this period, he began self-harming—cutting his arms, hitting walls, wanting to jump, wanting to throw his wife over. He felt he had to divorce immediately; it was too dangerous. Otherwise, he couldn’t survive; his life could no longer flow normally without this excision. So, he walked away from everything. His wife wanted the child, so he let her. He pays regular child support, but as for the rest, he likely wanted none of it.

His relationship with his ex-wife is now more like that of friends. She says she no longer resents him, but Tibai feels she hasn’t fully let go. Her life used to have pivots in the child and Tibai; now, the child is her life’s singular, massive pivot. Once, when she mentioned how tiring it was to raise the child, Tibai suggested he could take over, and she immediately blocked him.

Wuxia: “Did the child ever bring you a sense of happiness or joy?”

Tibai: “Of course. That was a huge reason why I didn’t successfully divorce at age one and waited until years later. Children bring a sense of vital happiness and heartfelt joy.”

Wuxia: “That was the early stage. Later, the child could no longer sustain you. So, what do you feel for your child now? Is there still happiness or joy? Or is it a sense of duty?”

Tibai: “Not now. It’s not a sense of duty either. A child needs a father figure in their early years; I provided a certain supportive force during that early growth.”

Back to his marriage: clearly, when he was collapsing within it, he didn’t understand the clinical situation. He could only feel the direct impact on his body, emotions, and thoughts.

He fell into an existential crisis yet was unable to reconstruct himself. His only choice was to leave the marriage with nothing. All socially constructed meanings vanished at that moment; everything dissolved before his eyes. Yet Tibai possessed the courage and resolve for radical destruction and reorganization. He reset everything to zero.

Most people in this world live in a state of chaos. But you cannot say this hazy chaos is unhappy; it is a simple happiness in another sense. Then there is another group who, after entering marriage or achieving career success, encounter a massive existential void. They question the world: “Nothing has meaning; I’ve been disciplined too much by society and family.” Yet they have no way to resist or the mental energy to complete a “self-reference,” so they suppress their doubts and continue their lives of “happy marriages” and “successful careers.” Then there are those who, mired in marriage, children, and career, suddenly face their inner turmoil one day and choose to jump out—to step outside the system to achieve self-reference. The stronger a system’s capacity for self-reference, the stronger its ability to leap out of itself, and the more ‘real’ its free will becomes. Finally, there are some who, due to their innate structure, must coexist with their pain from an early age and find their own solvable path.

You could say Tibai is someone living in his own world. He may not have read many books on humanities or philosophy, but he naturally lives within his own spiritual realm. I am often surprised by the world Tibai inhabits—why the world he sees is the way it is, while others see something else. The distance between human worlds is vast.

This gave me a sense of equanimity: that humans can construct their own worlds. Even in the same environment, you see vast differences between individuals. One person looks sorrowful, another radiant. Is it because they know different things? The sorrowful one says: “Young man, that’s because you don’t understand society yet; you haven’t seen enough.” But how does he know what the other hasn’t seen or experienced? Or if it’s even necessary to see it? The radiant one chooses to construct their own self-narrative, choosing to face the world with a glowing spirit. Even after seeing through it all, they choose to remain in this world with a light, leaping grace.

Tibai doesn’t consider his marriage a failure. He experienced it; he knows he isn’t suited for it. He and his ex-wife are now long-distance friends. Toward his child, he feels neither a burden of duty nor happiness—he is simply playing the role of a father. As for his parents, he feels little; they rarely meet, and his parents occasionally call to confirm he is still alive.

You must allow for the fact that some people are born with a natural detachment from kin, drifting outside of time to gain different perspectives. Of course, Tibai knows some marriages are happy, though he believes they are few; most are a weave of pain, endurance, and mundanity. He doesn’t deny that family is vital for most people; it’s just that he doesn’t seem to need it.

While writing his story, my emotions were in a state of profound solitude, as if I were standing independent of the world. Partly because I was completely immersed in Tibai’s detached world, and partly because this is the necessity of true writing. Finally, it touches upon fundamental questions: existence and the will to live. This makes other trifles dissolve and become unimportant. However, I know I just need some time to reconnect with the world—be it through nature, physical exercise, or human connection in work and life.

I finished this article quickly. I sent it to Tibai and asked if any parts should be deleted, as those who don’t understand might misinterpret it. Tibai said: “It doesn’t matter. Those who understand will understand; for those who don’t, no amount of explanation will help.” He cares about truth, not the degree of exposure. After correcting a few words, I organized and published it.

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