The Child's Past Life

by Cai Jun

“I like to read too much. I’m just a geek.”

  “A boxing geek?”

  “I live in a bad neighborhood. Thugs are fighting in it all the time. I work out to protect my mom and me.”

  “Si Wang, I looked at your file. Your family is moving soon. I understand.” Zhang Mingsong took a sip of tea. “Your dad went missing when you were in elementary school, and you grew up with your mom. Your father doesn’t even have a residency registration anymore, even though your mom tells us he works in other cities.”

  “Mr. Zhang, these are private matters. Please don’t tell anyone—not even other teachers.”

  “Don’t worry, I protect all my students.” He noticed Si Wang’s eyes weren’t on his face but on the giant bookshelf behind him. “What are you looking at?”

  The bookshelf didn’t seem like a math teacher’s. They were volumes of history, religion, semiology, and criminology: Gnosticism, Carl Jung’s autobiography, the Holy Grail, medieval witches, summoning spirits in ancient China, Tibetan mantras, psychiatry, and introduction to medical examiner techniques. There was also a copy of The Happy Prince and Other Tales, as well as The Picture of Dorian Gray and Salomé.

  “Sorry, I was just curious.”

  “These are my favorite books. I can lend you some if you want.”

  “Can I go now?”

  After sending off Si Wang, Zhang Mingsong leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. He went to the other side of the teachers’ building after it was dark.

  He unlocked the file room. Aside from him, only two other teachers had access. Rows of dusty metal cabinets were labeled with categories and dates. He quickly found the files for the class of 1988—Shen Ming’s high school class.

  Zhang Mingsong had been his math teacher.

  The thick file was untouched; it contained everyone’s registration card, a student handbook, test scores, and teacher comments. The class was small that year, just 100 students in three sections. Shen Ming was in Section 2; he started in 1985. Lu Zhongyue was in the same section.

  He opened Shen Ming’s registration card. Under the flashlight, the black-and-white photo was blurry. Shen Ming’s gaze was moody in the picture; he bit his lips like he was trying to hold back something. Even today, he would have been a teen heartthrob.

  The file showed Shen Ming to be an excellent student. He scored between 85 and 90 for Chinese. His English, political science, history, and geography scores were amazing as well. He did well in physics and chemistry; his math was weaker, but he still scored in the eighties. His homeroom teacher gave him high marks, saying he was a well-rounded student. He was also in the Youth League Committee; he represented the school at district-wide meetings, and won all sorts of awards.

  In June of 1988, a month before the college entrance exams, there was a serious fire at the squatters’ huts across from Nanming High. Zhang Mingsong was the teacher on duty that night. He would never forget the towering flames. Shen Ming had charged into the fire and didn’t come out for a long time. Just when everyone assumed he was dead, he emerged shrouded in fire, appearing like a god in the night sky. As people came to his aid, they realized he was holding a little girl—one of the homeless children who lived in the huts. The fire killed sixteen people, including her parents.

  There was always an awards ceremony for heroes after every disaster, no matter how many people had died. Shen Ming was recognized as a brave youth. Combined with his academic excellence, he was able to get sponsored admission to Peking University.

  That was twenty years ago. But was Shen Ming really dead?

  CHAPTER 56

  Early spring 1994.

  She walked into the Nanming High teachers’ building for the first time. It was raining slightly. The teachers’ lounge was damp. Even though she was wearing thermals, she shivered.

  Six years had passed. Shen Ming was already a grown man, a respected high school Chinese teacher. Ouyang Xiaozhi remembered his face.

  She was no longer that dirty, hungry, homeless eleven-year-old girl. She had a black backpack and her white sweater was long enough to cover her knees. She had long hair, which was rare for girls back then. Only Hong Kong movies showed hairstyles like this. Her pale skin almost made her look malnourished, but it was her eyes that made people remember her. Her beautiful nose and lips were striking. She looked like a teenage version of the movie star Joey Wong.

  Judging by appearances, this seventeen-year-old seemed to be from a good family.

  Her enrollment was unusual. With the exception of a few bureaucrats’ children, no one transferred into this elite school.

  “Good morning teacher, I’m Ouyang Xiaozhi.” She spoke gently and bowed, her manners soothing.

  Shen Ming had never seen a student so courteous. He spoke a bit awkwardly. “Welcome, I’m Shen Ming, Section 2’s homeroom teacher and also your Chinese teacher. Let me introduce you to your classmates.”

  No one else was in the teachers’ lounge, and he didn’t seem to want to be alone with this female student.

  They got to the chilly classroom. Xiaozhi bowed again. “Classmates, good morning, I’m Ouyang Xiaozhi.”

  Shen Ming assigned her to share a desk with Liu Man.

  Ma Li sat behind her. He admired her hair, which looked like a black waterfall. Several boys craned their necks to catch a glimpse of her slender fingers as she took out a pencil case and books and arranged them on the desk. Liu Man, dressed all in red, was very warm, helping her new classmate clean up her desk.

  Busy rain fell on the window. A few early-blooming camellia shivered in the spring chill.

  Shen Ming started his Chinese class. The lesson was on Lu Xun’s “In Memoriam of Liu Hezhen.” He wrote on the blackboard: “Showing my biggest sorrow to my enemies, making them rejoice in my pain, this would be my meager offerings to the dead, my dedication to the martyrs.”

  Ouyang Xiaozhi suddenly turned around to nod at the male students ogling her. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She was mouthing, “I hope we get along.”

  She assimilated to the school quickly and was friendly with a few girls, especially Liu Man. The boys tried to kiss up to her, but Xiaozhi was always coolly rebuffing them.

  Shen Ming seemed to always avoid her. Xiaozhi was worried he had recognized her. Was it her eyes? But girls developed so much while growing up. In six years, she’d changed completely. Except for the class discussions, Shen Ming hadn’t spent any time with her. He did get along with other students. Liu Man came to him with questions all the time; he also played basketball with Ma Li.

  The friendliest teacher was a young and pretty music instructor. She’d just started there after graduating Teachers’ College. Music classes weren’t taken seriously then, and they were rare after the second semester of eleventh grade. Xiaozhi’s impressions of music class were limited to memories of her teacher playing the piano. Her last music test was singing along with the piano. Some students sang pop songs or “Love Song of the Mandarin Ducks.” The teacher played accompaniment for all of these popular tunes, but she chose “My Country” from the textbook. Xiaozhi had thought then that it would be wonderful to be a teacher.

  Ouyang Xiaozhi never mentioned why she transferred to Nanming High. A teacher revealed the secret—her father was an army colonel who’d died in the Sino-Vietnamese War. He was awarded the martyr honor. Xiaozhi and her mom were left all alone. She was a dedicated student who’d been going to a good high school in the city but had to transfer to a boarding high school for some reason. Since her family had martyr status, the Education Bureau sent her to Nanming High.

  Actually, her dad wasn’t a martyr.

  Early spring, 2012.

  She wasn’t that high school girl in a white sweater anymore. She was a high school teacher in a white coat and knee-high boots.

  It was a clear, starry night; the oleander had not bloomed.

 
Xiaozhi crossed the sports field heading for the multipurpose building. She opened a door on the fourth floor, which led to the roof balcony. As a student she’d come here often. Very few students knew of this place now.

  She looked down. Mr. An was pacing on the sports field. The man kept asking her out. She’d already turned him down twice, but he kept at it. This was the only spot on campus where she could escape him.

  The moon was bright. Wind howled across the roof, mussing her hair. She turned around suddenly, sensing someone else’s presence.

  “Si Wang, what are you doing here?”

  “Shh!” He put his finger to his lips. “He’ll hear us!”

  Xiaozhi nodded. He walked to the balcony railing and looked down.

  “Why is he hassling you?” He kept his voice low, afraid that the wind would carry it.

  “Don’t get involved in teachers’ business.”

  “I was worried for you.”

  “Si Wang, please call me Ms. Ouyang.” Her expression stayed strict, but she kept her voice low per Si Wang’s wish. She almost breathed out the words, which made her sound comical.

  “Fine, Xiaozhi.”

  “Why aren’t you sleeping at this hour?“

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “Were you following me?”

  “No, you just showed up on the sports field, and Mr. An was chasing you. I was afraid he would try something.”

  “But how did you know I was here?” She patted down her skirt and looked behind her in horror. “No one else knows about this door.”

  “I do.” He put a finger to his lips to shush her. Under the dim light, Mr. An could be seen walking out of the school dejectedly.

  “Who are you, Si Wang?”

  “I’ve been here,” he said, stroking the balcony railing, “but it was many years ago.”

  “Just how old are you? How can you even say ‘many years ago’?”

  “Seventeen years ago, you were standing here, too. You were shaking and almost fell. If someone hadn’t grabbed you, you’d have fallen and died.”

  “Shut up!” Ouyang Xiaozhi’s face changed. She started walking away but turned back, as if wanting to say something.

  “You were trying to kill yourself.”

  She lowered her head to hide her eyes. “I just . . . wanted to get some fresh air. I wasn’t looking and almost tripped.”

  “That’s not what you said! You said that ever since you got to the school, people were spreading rumors about you. They made up lies. You were a good girl, you were afraid to talk to guys, and you never associated with thugs. You were being harassed, right?”

  “Yes, I did say those things. How do you know all of this?”

  “In 1995, you said a lot of things on this roof. If people just said things about you, you would have taken it—you were used to it. But by the second semester of senior year, even uglier rumors started. They even involved your parents. You couldn’t let them go. As long as you stayed here, you’d never get away. You were a transfer student about to take the college entrance exams. You couldn’t transfer again. You had nowhere to go.”

  Back in 1995 she’d struggled like a wounded kitten on this roof. The two of them fell to the ground; his hand held her waist. Xiaozhi stopped fighting. Her cheeks were cold with leftover tears. They looked at the stars, both of them breathing deeply. She turned to look at her teacher.

  Shen Ming explained how he’d been on night patrol and seen her shadow on the roof. He’d suspected someone was about to jump and ran up.

  All of these years later, she still remembered their conversation as if it had happened yesterday.

  “Xiaozhi, there’s no need to kill yourself,” Shen Ming had said.

  “Why?”

  “I almost died saving you from that fire seven years ago. If you kill yourself, I’d have saved you for nothing.”

  “You recognized me?”

  “I thought you looked familiar, but you seemed different, so I’ve secretly been watching you. You always stare at the wilderness across from the school, and you go to the Demon Girl Zone alone. It made me remember that little girl.”

  “Mr. Shen, I thought you’d never recognize me.”

  “I still have the gift you gave me.”

  “This is the third time you’ve saved me. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

  “The best gift would be for you to live every day happy.”

  Ouyang Xiaozhi’s smile turned into laughter so loud that the whole school could have heard her.

  The next day some students said they’d heard a ghost the night before.

  Now all of these years later, on an equally chilly spring night, Xiaozhi was once again standing on this balcony. The moonlight illuminated her tears.

  “Where did you hear these stories?”

  Si Wang pointed at his head.

  “Did you leave that note with the Huang Zhongze poem on my desk?”

  “Yes.”

  Standing there shaking in the cold wind Xiaozhi slapped Si Wang. “You’re despicable! Sick! Do you know what you’re doing? Are you crazy?” she screamed. “Si Wang, I beg you, please don’t bother me anymore! Don’t think there is anything between us.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t get it,” he said, his eyes unwavering, the shape of her palm visible on his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, I had to slap you to wake you up.” She stroked his face with her ice-cold slender fingers. “I’m your teacher, Ms. Ouyang. I’m thirty-five; I’m not much younger than your mother. You’re just seventeen and so handsome. You could have any girl you wanted.”

  “None of that matters.”

  “Listen, kid! Everything you said happened after you were born. Do you know that the teacher who saved me has been dead for a long time?”

  “He died at 10:00 p.m. on June 19, 1995.” Si Wang’s calm declaration of Shen Ming’s hour of death sounded like he was answering a test question.

  “Stop it!”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Si Wang, you think too much. Have you been researching everything about me since coming to Nanming High? Did you read his diary? Copy his handwriting?”

  “He didn’t write diaries.”

  “You talked to Ma Li?”

  “You really don’t talk to any of your old classmates?”

  “Stop acting like a grown-up. Don’t get close to me. Don’t like me. I’m—I’m poisoned!”

  “Poisoned?”

  “Any man who gets close to me dies.”

  “I believe you.”

  Her tears had dried in the wind, and under the crisp moonlight her face looked like a ghost’s. She choked out the words, “It’s lights out. You have to get back to your room. Please don’t violate school rules.”

  Xiaozhi ran off, leaving him alone on the balcony.

  Across the sports field, the light in the library attic was on again.

  CHAPTER 57

  Grave-Sweeping Day.

  In the seventeen years since Shen Ming’s death, Shen Yuanchao had studied all kinds of killers. He was no longer afraid of dead bodies, coffins, or graves.

  It was a rainy day. Bright-yellow rapeseed flowers surrounded the cemetery. Above the words “Martyr Huang Hai” was a serious photograph of the man embedded on the tombstone. He should have been buried in the martyr cemetery, but they obeyed his wish to be buried with his son in the regular cemetery.

  Shen Yuanchao held a black umbrella and a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Si Wang was already there. The young man turned around, holding three sticks of lit incense.

  “I’ll catch that monster,” Shen Yuanchao said, “and kill him with my own hands.” He had more white hair than before, but his gaze was deeper, more chilling. “You grew taller. I’m here to pay respects to your dad.”

  “Thank you, Prosecut
or Shen.”

  Shen Yuanchao clutched the young man’s cold hands. Staring at the grave he said, “I didn’t make it to your funeral. So I came today to see you. I know you thought all the clues I found over the years were dead ends, but I’m really grateful to you.”

  “My dad heard you. He would bless me to find the killer.”

  “You’re too young.”

  “My dad often mentioned an American movie. It’s set in the 1950s, and it’s about an honest prosecutor’s son in the racist American South. The protagonist always recited this poem: ‘I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.’ It was from English poet William Henley.”

  “What are you telling me, child?”

  “Prosecutor Shen, you’re a lot better than I thought. You’re a good man.”

  “I’ve been retired for a long time. I worked as a prosecutor for forty years. I have no regrets as a Party member. I’ll bid you farewell for now.”

  “Let me walk you out.”

  Shen Yuanchao took one last look at the grave and was shocked by what he noticed. Under Huang Hai’s name, the words “Son Huang Zhiliang,” were carved and filled in black ink, meaning he was dead. If Huang Hai had other children, their names would also be listed, but filled with red ink if they were still alive.

  Si Wang stood in front of Huang Zhiliang’s grave.

  Shen Yuanchao may have been old, but he had good vision. He clearly saw the tombstone for Huang Zhiliang, whose birth and death dates were 1994 and 2004. The tombstone photo showed the ten-year-old who’d died from leukemia and had some resemblance to Si Wang.

  “You—you!” His teeth chattered.

  “That’s right, I’m Huang Zhiliang. I died eight years ago from leukemia. I wanted to tell you that reincarnation is real.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Ye Xiao walked into the slums. All around him stood dilapidated houses and illegally built shacks. Many families posted signs against the forced move. Some people were building structures, digging in for a long battle. Red light seeped out of some seedy hair salons. Idle young men squatted on the ground and smoked. He’d dressed in regular clothes so no one could tell he was a cop. His forehead was bandaged, and he sported a big bruise. Every step hurt his back.