The Child's Past Life

by Cai Jun

  One day after school, Yi Yu ducked into a small alley and checked behind her to watch the boy from the sandbox. He’d been following her. Two thugs jumped out, but their target was the boy. They backed him into a corner and were about to rob him when he screamed for help.

  The passing grown-ups rushed away, pretending they didn’t see anything.

  Yi Yu ran back and hit one of the thugs. They were useless and couldn’t retaliate. Each of them took a few blows and ran off.

  “You’re amazing,” Si Wang said.

  “It’s nothing.” She brusquely patted her hands like she was flexing. “Hey, why were you following me? I can beat you up.”

  “Because you’re a weird person.” The boy didn’t seem scared. He puffed up his chest like a man. “Yi Yu, I saw how on your history exam you wrote in traditional Chinese.”

  “I’ve always liked to write that way. The teachers don’t care. What does it matter to you?”

  “Your handwriting is gorgeous. Not like a girl’s.” Then he got to the point. “Can I be your friend?”

  Surprised, Yi Yu looked at him solemnly and spoke like a teacher. “Classmate, are you joking?”

  “I’m like you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m as lonely as you are.”

  The boy seemed as cool as a grown-up.

  “I don’t understand. But we can be friends,” she said.

  “I’m Si Wang, Si as in ‘general,’ Wang as in ‘lookout.’ ”

  “OK, I’ll call you Younger Brother.”

  The following year, the 2008 Beijing Olympic theme song played all over the city. “Beijing welcomes you . . .”

  Yi Yu was in the second semester of the ninth grade. She was two months away from the high school entrance exams, but she didn’t study at all. She still ran around like a boy all day long. She carried around Crime and Punishment and My Name Is Red. The teachers didn’t demand anything of her because they were sure she’d make it into an elite high school. If she hadn’t been so odd—and wasn’t a member of the Communist Youth League—they would have sponsored her for early admission.

  Thirteen-year-old Si Wang was 160 centimeters tall but still as skinny as ever. He often attracted thugs. Yi Yu became his protector, making sure no one bothered him on his way to and from school. She knew martial arts, though she’d had no training. Still, no one could best her. An old guru from the athletic society said it was as if she’d practiced with Huo Yuanjia, the martial arts master.

  She and Si Wang discussed Chinese fiction and poetry, as well as the world’s literary classics. Everything from Les Misérables to The Red and the Black, The Gadfly, and Anna Karenina—as well as Kafka, Borges, and Haruki Murakami. Yi Yu bragged that Mo Yan would win the Nobel Prize in Literature in four years.

  One day on their way home from school, they passed an Alexander Pushkin statue in a garden. Yi Yu stopped and said a bunch of Russian. Si Wang didn’t understand a word.

  She explained, “This poem is called “Should This Life Sometime Deceive You.”

  “Yi Yu, where did you learn Russian?”

  “That’s a secret.”

  “Fine, but I have secrets, too. How about we share?”

  “No.”

  The wind rustled her short hair. Her manly gaze hid some glamour.

  Si Wang recognized the Changde Apartments building. He whispered, “Hey, did you know Eileen Chang lived here? She met and married Hu Lancheng here.”

  “Pfft!” Yi Yu smirked at him. She slung her book bag over her shoulder and looked at one of the terraces. “Hu Lancheng? That bastard!” She actually spit on the ground.

  Si Wang backed up a step. “Why are you so upset?”

  After a pause, she stroked the address on the doorway. “Actually, I used to come here when it was called the Eddington Apartments.”

  She grabbed Si Wang’s hand and charged into the dark hallway. Her hand was cold like a corpse’s. She seemed to know every step. They arrived at a door.

  “It was here,” Yi Yu said. “Eileen Chang lived here for years. There were so many books—Chinese books, foreign books, art books from Europe, plus a cheap sofa and a rattan lounge chair. That famous photo of hers was from that chair. The place wasn’t too messy. Sometimes after she got paid a lot for one of her books, maids came. Should I go on?”

  An old man’s voice rang out. “Who is it? Kids shouldn’t play here!”

  “Let’s go!”

  They ran downstairs and back out to the street. It was getting dark.

  “I think I understand now.” Si Wang breathed heavily and stared at her eyes. “You’re definitely extraordinary!”

  Yi Yu bought two cups of bubble tea at a street cart. Drinking in big gulps, she said, “ ‘I’m not wary of hurting myself. I don’t want to pretend. Life used to be carefree, I don’t want to mislead you. Things are different now, so many are hurt and gone. There is no use crying, the old vanguard is helping the new regime.’ I like Yu Dafu the most out of all the poets from back then. He was a real man. Although his marriage to Wang Yingxia was never as wonderful and romantic as people thought.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  Yi Yu laughed like a man. “I’ve drunk, fought, and chased girls with him. You believe me?”

  As expected, Yi Yu’s test grades came out, and she was number one. She got into the elite Nanming High.

  When they said good-bye to one another, Si Wang said, “We’ll see each other again.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Mid-July, 2009. Zhong Yuan, Chinese Halloween.

  The city didn’t look like it was celebrating the holiday. Few pedestrians knew of Zhong Yuan. She was an exception. She still looked young. Most would have guessed her age incorrectly. She went into the subway from the Yaxin Square stop. Dressed in a long white skirt, her slim ankles showing, she walked in black flats. Long dark hair, light makeup, a bit of color on her lips, a simple purse.

  She was Ouyang Xiaozhi.

  A pair of eyes from the nearby escalator watched her as he got closer. The boy was leaving the station via the escalator, and Xiaozhi was going into the station. A wind gust lifted her long silky hair and brushed it against the boy’s hand as they passed each other on the escalator.

  He was fourteen or fifteen years old; good-looking, tall.

  Was it him? She couldn’t resist looking back. The boy had turned around and was almost stumbling in his haste to reach her. Xiaozhi rushed forward to avoid him, weaving through the throngs of people. A train entered the station, and she quickly ducked inside.

  He was still pushing forward, shoving people to make way. The exiting passengers were his roadblocks, and their curses rang out behind him. A man hit him in the back, angry about being pushed, and the boy lost his balance and fell.

  “Wait,” he yelled watching her disappear into the crowded subway car. Back on his feet, he rushed for the doors, but they closed just as he got there.

  As the train pulled away he pounded on the glass like a crazy man, chasing after her for more than ten meters until he was finally left behind. Some subway workers stopped him. Their large hands held him down, pressing his face against the cold ground.

  “Ouyang Xiaozhi.”

  She’d seen him pound on the train’s window and had wanted him to be careful. But now she was deep inside the tunnel. She couldn’t hear her name being called, but she knew—it was him.

  Rush hour, summer. A rampant sweaty odor. A ghost seemed to be hiding behind every person. Today was their holiday, Zhong Yuan—ullambana in Sanskrit—meaning “saving those who were upside down.”

  She left the subway half an hour later and took a bus to Nanming Road.

  Various new buildings had long ago replaced the dilapidated factory and forest. Giant billboards lined the roads, advertising Carrefour and Printemps. Instead of domestic trucks and bic
ycles, imported cars clogged the road. The bus stop was still in the same place, though the original sign had been replaced by an ad for Twilight. Nanming High sat across from the bus stop, unchanged in the past fourteen years. Many brass plaques adorned the school’s entrance, including some new awards from the Education Bureau. The convenience store was gone, replaced by an expensive apartment complex.

  She stood across the street, separated by traffic. Students came out now and again, likely on their summer break. Boys and girls played and flirted. Soon they would be saying good-bye to one another.

  Ouyang Xiaozhi observed from afar. Suddenly, she noticed a face that wasn’t youthful like the others—it looked jaded, and she was awestruck.

  Zhang Mingson: His eyes suggested he had the potential for being a psychopathic killer.

  He carried a briefcase. In his early forties, his hair was neat. He had a well-trimmed beard, straight back, and purposeful eyes. As he left the school, students all nodded in respect. It appeared that he was worshipped by students. He was the most well-known math teacher in the district. He charged high fees to tutor students at home, and many were willing to pay. Ouyang Xiaozhi figured that his prices must have quadrupled by now. She watched him get into a black Datsun Bluebird and drive away.

  She walked ahead for a few hundred meters and found an overgrown path, the path leading into the Demon Girl Zone.

  One of the construction projects had blocked the tall chimney. There was a temporary wall, but the gates were left open. The factory ruins looked more run-down than before. She touched the factory walls; the rough concrete and exposed bricks felt like decaying skin and flesh. She tiptoed into the factory, stepping on trash. The smell of shit crept out from the dark corners, likely from migrant workers and the homeless. She got to the underground entrance, walked down, and entered Hell.

  As soon as she took one step, an icy sensation traveled from her toes to the top of her head. She sprang back as if electrocuted, taking deep breaths against the wall. When anyone entered the Demon Girl Zone, a knife would pierce that person’s heart.

  She felt a pain in her heart for no apparent reason, and she had to kneel down and wait it out, sweating profusely.

  In 1988, when she was just eleven, she had been here and faced that round hatch door.

  Twenty years later, the color of that memory had not faded in the least.

  It had been noon and a few Nanming High guys, one of whom had a birthmark on his face, had been hanging out. They crossed the road in front of the school and ate lunch in the shade of the trees on the perimeter of the forest. A starving girl followed them. She had not had meat for days. She drooled as she stole a drumstick from one of the lunchboxes.

  She fled deeper into the woods, eating the chicken as she ran. The boys gave chase and finally caught up to her in the abandoned factory. All the girl had to show was the leftover chicken bone.

  They punished the thief by locking her inside the Demon Girl Zone.

  Endless blackness. Desperately, she pounded on the hatch door, hoping someone would hear. Maybe the boy with the birthmark would take pity on her and let her out?

  She was locked inside a grave.

  Hoarse from shouting, she passed out by the door. Time was interminable. In the deathly quiet, she didn’t know how much time had passed. Was it night or day? Had anyone noticed she was gone? Would anyone look for her? She was so thirsty that her throat burned.

  A blinding light crashed into the dark basement. She cowered and shielded her eyes with her hands, having no idea what she’d have to face next.

  She saw just a blurry shadow at first; she was hardly able to open her eyes in the light. A man approached and stroked her dirty, knotted hair. She faintly made out his eyes when he lowered the flashlight; they were like dim candles and didn’t reveal his thoughts. His face was very pale, his features strong.

  “There really is a little girl here.”

  She couldn’t summon a reply.

  “Are you OK? Are you mute?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ve been down here for two days. Poor thing, come with me!”

  He tried to help her stand, but she had no strength. He squatted to lift her and carried her out of the dark factory. It was midnight. Stars lined the breezy sky, and the factory still puffed out some smoke, like it was burning a pile of bones.

  “Don’t be afraid. I go to Nanming High. I’m a senior in Section 2.”

  She used her last bit of strength to hold on to him. The young man’s back was cold, but his heart beat quickly. His neck smelled clean, and a thick fuzz grew behind his ears. Her head drooped against his cheek, the only warm part of his body. She wanted to keep going like this forever, even if it meant starving to death.

  He mumbled as he walked, knowing the trees would never whisper a word of what was said. “Lu Zhongyue said they locked a little girl in the Demon Girl Zone because she stole his drumstick. I asked if they’d let her go, and they said they all forgot. Didn’t they know you could have died? What were they thinking? If I hadn’t broken in, they would have been murderers!”

  He walked along Nanming Road to some illegal huts. He knocked on a homeless guy’s place to get some food and water. Once he saw that she would recover, he ducked into the night, probably in a rush to get back to school.

  She would never forget his face.

  Now it was 2009 and she’d returned to the devastated Demon Girl Zone. For all that had changed around it, time remained frozen here. Noises like cries filled her head. Were those her cries from 1988? Or those of Shen Ming’s ghost?

  There was also a putrid smell. Ouyang Xiaozhi charged down until she got to the hatch door.

  The door wasn’t shut.

  A man’s shadow came at her.

  She screamed as the shadow collided with her—a collision of bones. She fell backward and her head hit the cold wall. She tried to catch the shadow’s arm but was pushed away.

  The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  Her shoulders and head hurt so much that she thought she might have a concussion. She struggled to get up but stumbled. She’d never be able to catch up.

  Out of nowhere, she smelled thick cigarette smoke.

  She remembered her flashlight and shined it on the Hell-like space. It was only about twenty square meters, with dirty water on the ground. The same water from fourteen years ago? Some odd lettering had been carved onto the wall, saying something that looked like “Tian Xiaomai.”

  A sharp pain radiated along her back. She swore she’d return to the Demon Girl Zone one day.

  Back outside, the sun was setting. She took a deep breath and felt reborn. The monster-like factory, the shaky chimneys, the tall buildings being built—it was like seeing past lives and the present.

  Who was hiding in the Demon Girl Zone?

  CHAPTER 38

  Christmas 2009.

  Shen Yuanchao wore a black coat, his white hair messy from the wind. Most of his whiskers were white, too. He stubbornly looked up at a window. Three years ago, he’d been in this exact same spot.

  A young man walked in front of him. He was tall, thin, and pale with a quiet, loose expression, suggesting he’d attract a lot of attention from female admirers. It was curious that he wasn’t at a Christmas party.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  The old prosecutor was startled out of his thoughts. He stepped back and carefully examined the boy who’d asked the question. He recognized the face. “Oh, you’re Huang Hai’s son?”

  “Yes, did you need to see him?” said Si Wang, now fourteen.

  Puberty was in full swing, and he had the whiskers and deeper voice to prove it. His appetite had doubled and he’d grown almost as tall as his mom. In a few years he’d be as tall as Huang Hai.

  “He didn’t answer my call. Is he home?”

&nbs
p; “I’ll take you up.”

  Si Wang took Shen Yuanchao to the apartment and pressed the doorbell with familiarity. Huang Hai opened the door, his groggy face making it obvious he’d been asleep thanks to a rare day off. He saw the young man first and hugged him as if he was his son, then he looked at Shen Yuanchao.

  “Why’d you bring him?” The policeman’s face changed, and he looked at the prosecutor with confusion.

  “I retired early. I wanted to have a chat.”

  Huang Hai ushered his visitors inside and uttered, “Kid, did he do anything to you?”

  “No. Hear him out.”

  Shen Yuanchao took out a small gift box from inside his jacket. “Merry Christmas!” This was the first Christmas gift he’d ever given.

  Si Wang thanked him, accepting the gift for Huang Hai without reservation.

  “What are you doing?” Huang Hai felt the urge to stop the boy, but he’d already unwrapped the gift, a hardcover edition of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.

  “I couldn’t decide what to get you. I’ve been reading this lately,” Shen Yuanchao said. “It’s suited my mood. I guess I’m like that old man, stubborn and refusing to believe in fate.”

  “Hemingway?” Huang Hai frowned. “I think I’ve heard of him.”

  Si Wang poked him lightly. “It’s a great book. I’ve read it. Accept it.”

  “Fine.” Huang Hai took the gift and placed it on a dresser and turned to his unexpected guest. “Mr. Shen, please believe me, the police will find the killer. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Are you talking about the math teacher Zhang Mingsong? The guy bought a car six months ago. It’s harder to follow him now, but I won’t give up.”