by Anyi, Wang
“Look at you here!” Mr. Cheng exclaimed.
Wang Qiyao laughed, “Oh my, how could I possibly look like that?”
Thinking back, they pieced together what had been going on when a particular shot was taken. “Oh, so that’s what happened!”
Each photo had a set of circumstances surrounding it, broken, illogical, little events that didn’t seem to add up to a story—but then again, who knows for sure? Once Wang Qiyao had gotten through the whole stack, Mr. Cheng had her turn them over to see what was written on the other side. He had inscribed the back of each photo with a poem. Some were classical poems, others were in the modern vernacular, but the majority were original pieces written by Mr. Cheng. They described Wang Qiyao’s spirit and appearance and expressed the feelings of Mr. Cheng for her. Wang Qiyao was touched, but she masked her emotion with a joke. “This is more Jiang Lili’s style,” she quipped.
At the mention of Jiang Lili’s name, they both grew uncomfortable and fell silent.
After a pause, Mr. Cheng asked, “You don’t plan on staying on at the Jiang house, do you?”
Mr. Cheng was probing her intentions for his own purpose, but the question hit a sore spot. Wang Qiyao’s expression changed and she responded with a sardonic smile, “My family calls every day begging me to come home, but Jiang Lili simply won’t let me go. She keeps saying that her home is my home. She might not see it, but I realize what’s going on. Just what am I staying in their house like that for? Their maidservant? A little country girl hired to keep the mistress company for life? I’m just waiting for the right opportunity to move out without making Jiang Lili feel bad.”
Seeing how upset she was, Mr. Cheng blamed himself for not being considerate enough of Wang Qiyao’s feelings, but he had no way to take back what he had just said. Wang Qiyao, for her part, seeing Mr. Cheng’s uneasiness, realized that she had overreacted and softened up a bit. The two chatted on about some innocuous topics before saying goodbye.
As things turned out, the opportunity for Wang Qiyao to move out of the Jiang household presented itself just a few days later. Unfortunately, the way things came about left everyone upset. One night Jiang Lili went into Wang Qiyao’s room looking for a book she had lent her. Jiang Lili didn’t find the book, but beside Wang Qiyao’s pillow she saw the photos—and the poems Mr. Cheng had inscribed on them. Jiang Lili had been blind to Mr. Cheng’s intentions vis-à-vis Wang Qiyao even though they had been right there before her eyes all this time, but the photos forced her to come face-to-face with reality. A suspicion she had long suppressed and buried deep in her heart was suddenly yanked out into the open—all at once the water subsided and the rocks were exposed. This revelation utterly destroyed Jiang Lili’s love, as it destroyed her friendship. Jiang Lili had worn her heart on her sleeve in both of these relationships. She had willingly devoted so much of herself to both of them. Never had she imagined that this would be how things would come to an end.
Director Li
A request for Wang Qiyao’s presence at a grand opening arrived the day Wang Qiyao moved out of the Jiang house. Wang Qiyao had already stepped into the pedicab when the Jiang’s amah rushed over with the envelope. Wang Qiyao noticed the unmistakable look of joy on the old Cantonese woman’s face and knew that she was only too happy to see her go. She wondered how she could have earned the enmity of someone she barely even knew. Why would the amah hate her for no apparent reason?
Neither Jiang Lili or her mother came out to see Wang Qiyao off; Lili’s excuse was that she had to make a trip to the university to register for classes, and her mother had a headache. This left Wang Qiyao with the feeling that she was taking flight amid defeat. Dressed in a beige shortsleeved silk cheongsam, Wang Qiyao was carrying a folded fan to block the early autumn sun, in whose rays lingered the last remnants of summer. The sound of cicadas rang out one after another, but the trees stretching their canopies over the street were already showing fall colors. Her spirit was so low that she didn’t have the energy to open the envelope in her hand. She had not told Mr. Cheng about what happened: some things are tricky to explain. She was also in something of a pique and rather enjoyed making her situation appear worse than it really was—as if that was the only way to vent her resentment. As the pedicab emerged from the broad longtang, a scented mist rose up from the lilacs along the courtyard walls. The street just outside the longtang was empty of people and traffic, and the quietude also seemed to send up a mist. When Wang Qiyao finally opened the envelope in her hand, she discovered it was an invitation to cut the red ribbon at the grand opening of a department store. The invitation didn’t make her terribly excited. If anything, it led her to ponder sarcastically just what a “Miss Third Place” like herself could possibly bring to such a grand opening. It was probably a secondrate department store and they couldn’t get Miss Shanghai or the girl who came in second—so they had to settle for her. It was turning out to be a dreary day. Another chapter of her life was over. Although things had come to a close, the aftermath held plenty of clean-up work for her.
She arrived back at home just in time for lunch, but told her family she had already eaten and went into the small tingzijian with a few books. The floor and walls in the tingzijian were all a dirty gray, having just been scrubbed with soapy water. Wang Qiyao’s mind was unusually serene as she spent the entire afternoon reading. Around dusk she received two phone calls. The first was from Mr. Cheng, who asked her why she had gone home. He only learned of her departure after a trip to Jiang Lili’s house, where he was told that she had some matters to take care of at home. When Mr. Cheng asked Wang Qiyao what exactly had happened and offered to help out, she laughed. “Nothing of consequence; actually it was an excuse to get out of there.”
Mr. Cheng heaved a sigh of relief and, after some hesitation, asked whether her sudden departure had something to do with what he had said the other day.
Wang Qiyao replied with a question. “Just what did you say the other day? How come I don’t remember anything about it?”
Too embarrassed to press the issue, Mr. Cheng paused for a moment and then asked if he could come and see her. She said that since she had only just returned home, she needed to take care of some errands, but they could talk about getting together in a few days.
The second telephone call came from the department store, reiterating the invitation. She was informed that a car would be sent to pick her up. The ribbon-cutting ceremony would be followed by a banquet where her presence was also requested, after which the car would see her back to her residence. The tone of the man on the phone was extremely eager and courteous, as though afraid she wouldn’t come. That pair of telephone calls brought a great deal of comfort to Wang Qiyao. She felt as if she had sunk to the bottom but was now coming back up to the surface. She had not planned to have dinner, but after those two phone calls, she not only ate but even sat down to help her mother with extracting the plumules from lotus seeds before going upstairs to bed. She slept soundly that night.
The day of the ribbon-cutting ceremony Wang Qiyao wore the same outfit she had worn during round 1 of the beauty pageant—the pink satin cheongsam. Her hair had grown out a bit, but she did not get it cut and permed, instead deciding at the last minute to have it combed into an old-fashioned chignon at a nearby hair salon. She took a perfunctory view of the whole thing, as her way of protesting against being ignored for so long. She wondered how they could possibly still remember “Miss Third Place” when she herself had almost forgotten. Her appearance, however, turned out to be a success. Pink was the perfect color for her, delicate and fresh. Her hairdo was also the most fitting style for her mood, with its tantalizing hint of a woman with a past; but hardly anything could hide the blooming youth of an eighteen-year-old. Her shoes were new, a pair of white stilettos that made her appear taller, giving her the stateliness of a proud locust tree in the wind.
As Wang Qiyao got into the car at the front of the longtang, she could feel countless eyes on her, peering out fro
m all the windows. Nothing escaped her neighbors’ notice. Wang Qiyao felt a bit sad. Riding in the car, she gazed at the street scenes passing by outside her window, as the trolley bells kept clanging, an eternal sound. Her eyes had a blank expression, as if she were indifferent to everything; but in that coldness was a determination to meet all challenges, a resolve to follow her fate through to the bitter end.
Upon arrival her eyes betrayed a gleam of surprise. The department store was the very one advertised in all the newspapers and on the radio in recent days. The grand opening ceremony was also quite imposing, and several dozen flower baskets lined the entrance to the store. Although Wang Qiyao began to regret the casualness with which she had viewed the event, she quickly composed herself, even laughing at herself for getting too excited. After all, however glorious the affair might be, her part was no more than to make the rounds and go home. At that moment Wang Qiyao seemed to see through everything; but that didn’t mean that she was going to give up trying. On the contrary, sizing up the situation coolly was just the preparation she needed for the hard work ahead. She reached for her compact to make a last-minute inspection before getting out of the car.
Numerous dignitaries were in attendance at the opening. Many of them looked familiar from their pictures in the newspapers, but because current events and politics were remote from Wang Qiyao’s world, she was clueless as to who all these people were. Ribbon-cutting ceremonies always began with a long string of speeches. All Wang Qiyao could do was stand quietly, waiting for her moment to snip the ribbon. Although it was her first time, she had seen such ceremonies in movies and magazines, but now that it was happening for real it somehow didn’t seem as exciting; rather, it was as if she was taking part in something routine. Deep down she regretted the outfit she had chosen and could not wait for the whole thing to wrap up so she could go home. It was only during that split-second when she was snipping the bow that her heart fluttered for a moment. After all, she was the center of attention; it was her turn in the spotlight, but it only lasted a fleeting moment.
Before the banquet that followed, most of the dignitaries left to attend to other business, leaving only a small group behind, among whom was a man called Director Li. As everyone went to take their seats for the banquet, Wang Qiyao found him sitting beside her. He had the air of a military man, with excellent posture and a reserved demeanor. The people around him all acted obsequious, some as if they had to be extra careful, and the whole atmosphere was somewhat tense. Wang Qiyao alone was not constrained by his presence, speaking with a childlike naivety and breathing a bit of life back into the air. She thought Director Li must have been a manager or something there at the department store and asked him a question about the various cosmetic lines they carried. Only when she saw the way he smiled did she realize that she must have made a mistake. It was too late to take her question back, so all she could do was bury her head and pay attention to what was on her plate. Her blush made Director Li smile again. Wang Qiyao later learned that Director Li was a towering figure in military and political circles, and a major stockholder in the department store. The decision to invite Wang Qiyao to the grand opening that day had in fact been made at his bequest.
Director Li had first seen Wang Qiyao during the Miss Shanghai pageant. He had originally gone to support the girl who eventually came in second, but when it came time to vote he threw his flowers into Wang Qiyao’s basket. What Wang Qiyao stirred up in him was not passion but a feeling of sympathy. Men of forty carry pity in their hearts; the pity they feel is for themselves but they project it out onto others. Men of forty: is there a single one who does not have a scar in his heart? Time alone leaves its scars, right and left, to say nothing of those chaotic days. Director Li had been through much in his life. On the outside people only saw his power and importance, but few realized how lonely it can be at the top. There were all kinds of conflicts playing out within him, layer upon layer of them. On the outermost layers were conflicts between nations; underneath came conflicts between political parties; beneath these conflicts between different cliques; and, at the core of it all, the conflicts between individuals. He was the kind of man whose slightest gesture held untold implications. All that outsiders knew was that Director Li was important, but no one realized how his stature made him a living target. Everyone had their sights set on him. Director Li lived his life on stage—the political stage—where nothing was what it seemed and he had to be constantly wary of what could happen both on stage and off. He was a political machine, his springs always tightly wound; not even for a moment could they be loosened. Only in the company of women did he remember that he was indeed made of flesh and blood.
Women are not in the least bit political. Even when they plot one against another, it is more like child’s play, a form of entertainment. When women scheme, it is always for love; the deeper they are in love, the craftier they become. Their love is eternal and never dies. Women are not that important. They have no power over matters of life and death, glory and decline: they are there to put you in a relaxed mood, to serve as scenery. Women were Director Li’s true love, but love was not relevant to the grand scheme of Director Li’s life work. For him love was a bit like a luxury item, never something he couldn’t do without. But for a powerful man like Director Li, luxuries always lay within grasp.
Director Li’s first wife stayed at the old family residence. It was a marriage arranged by his parents through proper matchmakers. Besides her Director Li had two other wives, one in Peking and one in Shanghai. But all told there were countless other women he had played around with. Director Li was a man who appreciated feminine beauty, even to the point of being a judge at the “Miss Shanghai” beauty pageant. At his age, however, he no longer appraised women with his eyes; instead, he used his heart. In his younger days, he too had been enamored of the bright eyes and flashing smiles of conventional beauties—the “good enough to eat” variety that satisfied the senses. But as he got older, and as his senses came to be glutted, his tastes began to change. He began to crave intimacy. He had been to many places and had seen a great many women. Peking women had an endearingly down-to-earth beauty, but this was too fulsome and left no lingering taste to savor; Shanghai women, on the other hand, stayed intriguingly on the palate, but in the end this quality was as nebulous as clouds and mist. You couldn’t become intimate with either type. Owing to the social climate in which they lived, women from both places were apt to chase after fashion, as a result of which they looked boringly alike, variations on the same themes. None of them captured his eyes, much less his heart. In the past few years, it appeared as if he had begun to lose his appetite for women, but in actuality his standards had grown stricter and it was harder to find anyone to his liking.
There was something about Wang Qiyao that struck Director Li’s fancy. He had never been fond of the color pink, because it was too feminine. A woman in pink was wearing her coquettishness all over her face, parading her sensual allure. But when Wang Qiyao wore pink she managed to make it tasteful. The pink still spoke of coquettishness, but it was honest and straightforward. One could see every stitch and thread that went into the embroidered flowers on her cheongsam—all expressions of care and diligence. Director Li realized that he had misjudged pink and decided it was just as natural on a woman as were the wind blowing or water flowing. If anyone was at fault, it was those women who ruined it by wearing it the wrong way; their accomplices, the tailors who ruined it by making awful outfits, were also to blame. But, after all, how pleasing to the eye and comforting to the soul this color really is!
Director Li had dealt with so many women that he was a little dazed, and so he had grown circumspect. He may have thrown his flower into Wang Qiyao’s basket, but she was still by no means unforgettable in his eyes. Preoccupied with business matters and entangled by other women, he didn’t have much time to think about her. Upon being invited to attend the grand opening ceremony for the department store, he happened to inquire who would be cutt
ing the ribbon. He was told that it was yet to be decided, but that a certain movie star whom he liked—with whom he had once had an affair—had been suggested. Director Li responded by saying, “Why not invite Miss Third Place!” And so Wang Qiyao was invited and ended up sitting beside him. From close up, her satin cheongsam appeared as soft as water, as if understanding human desires, and her new hairstyle was youth pretending to be old, sensible, and shrewd. When she asked him her question about cosmetic lines, he broke out in a smile. Not only did he not mind her faux pas, but he liked it very much indeed. A girl utterly innocent of the world! And then, when he noticed that having realized her mistake, she kept quiet, a deep pity welled up within him—it was at that moment that he secretly made his decision.
As far as women went, Director Li was always decisive. There was never any dragging out of things or beating about the bush: he always dove right into the heart of the matter. This was partly the result of what power does to a person, but it was also simply because he felt that life was too short to do otherwise. After the banquet Director Li offered to see her home in his car, catching Wang Qiyao by surprise. Watching how the crowd cleared a path for them as they made their way out, she followed him meekly to his car. She noticed the fawning gazes as they approached the car; although she could sense that their reaction came partially out of fear, she kind of liked it. She began to understand just what kind of person this Director Li was. She was a bit taken aback but also pleased when Director Li personally opened the car door for her. He sat beside her, and though not a large man, he radiated an aura of authority with his dignified manners. He was the symbol of power: all one could do around him was to submit and obey. Director Li kept quiet the whole way. The curtains were drawn; off and on, street lights shown through the car windows. Wang Qiyao found herself speculating, What is he thinking? It was not until then that a curiosity bordering on hope dawned on her. How will this day end? she wondered. The car continued to glide over the road and the lights showing through the white curtains now ran in series. This city that never sleeps is like a riddle, and the answer to the riddle will not be revealed until its time comes. When will the time come? One never knows. Wang Qiyao was a little scared, but she was also calm in the face of fate. She seemed to feel that whatever was to happen had already been decided. What good did do to worry about it?
