English Original
He and she sat face to face. The landlord entered and asked, "Are you sure you won't renew the lease?" He remained silent; she shook her head. They were divorcing, so naturally, they wouldn't stay.
The landlord inspected the room and exclaimed, "Goodness! Look what you've done to my walls! They're covered in nails! How can I rent this out?"
"The room is too small," he explained. "We had to hang things on the walls." The landlord ignored him and went to fetch a toolkit.
She looked around the familiar space. Four years ago, she became his bride here. On their wedding night, he had said guiltily, "I'm sorry you have to live in this tiny room. I'll earn enough to buy us a proper home."
The room was only 13 square meters. By the door were two nails: one for her bag, one for umbrellas. She remembered coming home, dropping her things on the floor, and staring at the mess in frustration.
On the left wall were three nails for his clothes. After moving in, he had cleared out boxes to make space for a desk because he knew she loved to write and draw.
On the right wall were four nails that once held their wedding photo. The frame was gone now. She recalled him hurting his finger while hammering those nails and how she insisted he get a tetanus shot.
The landlord returned, groaning as he pried out the nails, leaving the walls pockmarked with holes. Suddenly, her heart ached as if pierced by those very holes, bleeding endlessly.
She sprang up. "Stop! We'll keep the lease until we buy our own place!" He looked at her, astonished, then turned away, tears on his face.
She finally understood: marriage is like a wall. Quarrels, cold wars, doubts—they are the nails. Remove them, and you're left with a scarred, fragile wall. Leave them in place, and the wall remains solid and dependable. All she had seen before were the offending nails.
They hung their belongings back on the walls. "Are you really willing to face a hard life with me?" he asked. She dusted off her hands, gazed contentedly at the cluttered walls, and said, "Yes. For me, this isn't hardship."
中文翻译
他和她面对面坐着。房东进来问道：“你们确定不续租了吗？”他沉默不语，她只是摇了摇头。他们要离婚了，自然不会再住下去。
房东检查了房间，惊呼道：“天哪！看看你们把我的墙弄成什么样子了！全是钉子！这还怎么租给别人？”
“房间太小了，”他解释道，“我们只能把东西挂在墙上。”房东没理他，转身去拿工具包。
她环顾这个熟悉的空间。四年前，她在这里成为了他的新娘。新婚之夜，他曾愧疚地说：“让你住这么小的房间，真对不起。我会努力赚钱，给我们买一个真正的家。”
房间只有13平方米。门边有两颗钉子：一颗挂她的包，一颗挂伞。她记得自己以前回家，总是把东西扔在地上，沮丧地看着一片狼藉。
左边的墙上有三颗钉子，用来挂他的衣服。搬进来后，他清走了衣箱，腾出地方给她买了张书桌，因为他知道她喜欢写作和画画。
右边的墙上有四颗钉子，曾经固定着他们的结婚照。现在相框不见了。她记得他钉钉子时伤了手指，是她坚持让他去医院打了破伤风针。
房东回来了，一边呻吟一边撬钉子，墙上留下了一个个小洞。突然间，她的心一阵刺痛，仿佛也被那些洞刺穿，血流不止。
她猛地站起来。“别撬了！我们继续租，直到买了自己的房子！”他惊讶地看着她，然后转过身去，脸上挂着泪水。
她终于明白了：婚姻就像一面墙。争吵、冷战、猜疑——这些都是墙上的钉子。拔掉它们，留下的只是伤痕累累、脆弱不堪的墙。让它们留在原处，这面墙依然坚固可靠。而她过去只看到了那些恼人的钉子。
他们把东西重新挂回墙上。“你真的愿意和我一起过苦日子吗？”他问。她拍了拍手上的灰，满意地看着挂满物品的墙壁，说：“愿意。对我来说，这不是苦。”