(1904–2005)
Born Li Feigan to a county magistrate family in Sichuan, Ba Jin was home-schooled due to his poor health. Influenced by the new ideas of anarchism and utopianism, he went to study in France in 1927. Lodging in the Latin Quarter in Paris, he wrote his first novel, Destruction (1929). In 1931 he published Family, the first in his Torrent trilogy, his best-known work: a saga of a family caught in the sweeping currents of change, a window into a nation facing the crossroads. Always sympathetic with the weak and the victimized, his novels and essays moved readers with a profound humanitarian spirit, which, however, did not sit well with prevailing Communist doctrines. He was disgraced during the Cultural Revolution and locked up in cow sheds to do hard labor. In his late years, Ba Jin wrote a series of soul-searching essays, reflecting on the human disaster that had befallen China and its people. Called by many “the conscience of twentieth century Chinese literature,” he died in 2005.
10
You can lock up a person physically, but you cannot imprison his heart. Although Juehui did not leave home for the next few days, his thoughts were always with his schoolmates and their struggle. This was something his grandfather could not have foreseen.
Juehui tried to envisage what stage the student movement had reached; he avidly searched the local paper for news. Unfortunately, there was very little. He was able to get hold of a mimeographed weekly, put out by the Students’ Federation, which contained quite an amount of good news and a number of stirring articles. Gradually the tension was subsiding, gradually the governor was relenting. Finally, the governor sent his Department Chief to call on the students who had been injured in the riots, and issued two conciliatory proclamations. Moreover he had his secretary write a letter in his name apologizing to the Students’ Federation and guaranteeing the safety of the students in the future.
Next, the local press carried an order by the city’s garrison commander forbidding soldiers to strike students. It was said that two soldiers who confessed to having taken part in the theater brawl were severely punished. Juexin saw the proclamation posted on the streets, and he told Juehui about it.
With the news improving from day to day, Juehui, a prisoner in his own home, grew increasingly restless. He paced alone in his room, too fretful at times even to read. Or he lay flat on his bed, staring up at the canopy above.
“ ‘Home. Home, sweet home!’ ” he would fume.
Hearing him, Juemin would smile and say nothing.
“What’s so funny!” Juehui raged, on one of these occasions. “You go out every day, free as a bird! But just watch out. Some fine day you’re going to end up like me yourself!”
“My smiling has nothing to do with you. Can’t I even smile?” retorted Juemin with a grin.
“No, you can’t. I won’t let you smile! I won’t let anyone smile!”
Juemin closed the book he had been reading and quietly left the room. He didn’t want to argue.
“Home, a fine home! A narrow cage, that’s what it is!” Juehui shouted, pacing the floor. “I’m going out. I must go out. Let’s see what they’re going to do about it!” And he rushed from the room.
Going down the steps into the courtyard, he spied Mistress Chen and Aunt Shen (the wife of his uncle Keding) sitting on the veranda outside his grandfather’s room. Juehui hesitated, then made a detour around his brother Juexin’s quarters and entered the large garden.
Passing through a moon-gate, he came to a man-made hill. The paved path he was following here forked into two branches. He chose the one to the left, which went up the slope. Narrow and twisting, it led through a tunnel. When Juehui emerged again on the other side, the path started downward. A delicate fragrance assailed his nostrils, and he struck off in the direction from which it seemed to be coming. Moving down slowly through the bushes, he discovered another small path to the left. Just as he was turning to it, the view before him suddenly opened up, and he saw a great sea of pink blossoms. Below was a plum tree grove with branches in full flower. Entering the grove, he strolled along the petal-strewn ground, pushing aside the low-hanging branches.
In the distance, he caught a glimpse of something blue shimmering through the haze of plum blossoms. As he drew nearer, he saw it was a person dressed in blue coming in his direction over the zigzag stone bridge. A girl, wearing a long braid down her back. Juehui recognized the bondmaid Mingfeng.
Before he could call to her, she entered the pavilion on the isle in the middle of the lake. He waited for her to emerge on the near side. But after several minutes there was still no sign of her. Juehui was puzzled. Finally, she appeared, but she was not alone. With her was another girl, wearing a short purple jacket. The tall girl’s back was toward him as she chatted with Mingfeng, and he could only see her long plait, not her face. But as they came closer over the zigzag bridge leading from the near side of the isle, he got a look at her. It was Qianer, a bondmaid in the household of his uncle Ke’an.
As the girls neared the shore, he hid among the plum trees.
“You go back first. Don’t wait for me. I still have to gather some blossoms for Madam Zhou,” said Mingfeng’s crisp voice.
“All right. That Madam Wang of mine is a great talker. If I’m out too long she’ll grumble at me for hours.” Going through the grove of plums, Qianer departed along the path by which Juehui had just come.
As soon as Qianer disappeared around a bend, Juehui stepped out and walked toward Mingfeng. She was breaking off a low-hanging branch.
“What are you doing, Mingfeng?” he called with a smile.
Concentrating on her task, Mingfeng hadn’t seen him approach. She turned around, startled, on hearing his voice. She gave a relieved laugh when she recognized him. “I couldn’t imagine who it was! So it’s you, Third Young Master!” She went on breaking the branch.
“Who told you to gather blossoms at this hour of the day? Don’t you know that early morning is the best time?”
“Madam Zhou said Mrs. Zhang wants some. Second Young Master is going to take them over.” Mingfeng stretched for a branch that was heavily laden with blossoms, but she couldn’t reach it, even standing on tiptoe.
“I’ll get it for you. You’re still too short. In another year or so you might make it,” said Juehui, grinning.
“All right, you get it for me, please. But don’t let Madam know.” Mingfeng stepped aside to make room for Juehui.
“Why are you so afraid of Madam Zhou? She’s not so bad. Has she scolded you again lately?” Juehui reached up and twisted the branch back and forth, twice. It snapped off. He handed it to Mingfeng.
“No, she doesn’t scold me very often. But I’m always scared I’ll do something wrong,” she replied in a low voice, accepting the branch.
“That’s called—Once a slave, always a slave! . . .” Juehui laughed, but he wasn’t intending to deride Mingfeng.
The girl buried her face in the blossoms she was holding.
“Look, there’s a good one,” Juehui said cheerfully.
She raised her head and smiled. “Where?”
“Don’t you see it? Over there.” He pointed at a branch of a nearby tree, and her gaze followed his finger.
“Ah, yes. It has lovely blossoms. But it’s too high.”
“High? I can take care of that.” Juehui measured the tree with his eye. “I’ll climb up and break the branch off.” He began unfastening his padded robe.
“No, don’t,” said Mingfeng. “If you fall you’ll hurt yourself.”
“It’s all right.” Juehui hung his robe over a branch of another tree. Underneath, he was wearing a close-fitting green padded jacket. As he started up the tree, he said to Mingfeng, “You stand here and hold the tree firm.”
Setting his feet on two sturdy branches, he stretched his hand toward the blossom-laden branch he was after. It was out of reach, and his exertions shook the whole tree, bringing down a shower of petals.
“Be careful, Third Young Master, be careful!” cried Mingfeng.
“Don’t worry,” he responded. Cautiously maneuvering himself into another position, he was able to grasp the elusive branch. With a few twists, he snapped it off. Looking down, he saw the girl’s upturned face.
“Here, Mingfeng, catch!” He tossed her the branch. When it was safely in Mingfeng’s hand, he slowly climbed down the tree. “Enough,” she said happily. “I’ve got three now; that’s plenty.”
“Right. Any more and Second Young Master won’t be able to carry them all,” laughed Juehui, taking up his robe. “Have you seen him around?”
“He’s reciting by the fish pond. I heard his voice,” Mingfeng replied, arranging the flowers in her hand. Observing that Juehui had only draped his robe over his shoulders, she urged, “Put it on. You’ll catch cold that way.”
As Juehui was putting his arms through the sleeves, the girl began walking off along the path. He called after her:
“Mingfeng!”
Stopping, she turned around and asked with a smile, “What is it?” But when he didn’t answer, and only stood smiling at her, she again turned and walked away.
Juehui hastily followed, calling her name. Again she halted and turned. “Yes?”
“Come over here,” he pleaded.
She walked up to him.
“You seem to be afraid of me lately. You don’t even like to talk to me. What’s wrong?” he asked, half in jest, toying with an overhanging branch.
“Who’s afraid of you?” Mingfeng replied with a gurgle of laughter. “I’m busy from morning till night. I just haven’t the time for talk.” She turned to go.
Juehui held out a restraining hand. “It’s true. You are afraid of me. If you’re so busy, how do you have time to play with Qianer? I saw you two just now in the isle pavilion.”
“What right have I to chat with you? You’re a Young Master; I’m only a bondmaid,” Mingfeug retorted distantly.
“But before we used to play together all the time. Why should it be any different now?” was Juehui’s warm rejoinder.
The girl’s brilliant eyes swept his face. Then she dropped her head and replied in a low voice, “It’s not the same now. We’re both grown up.”
“What difference does that make? Our hearts haven’t become bad!”
“People will talk if we’re always together. There are plenty of gossipers around. It doesn’t matter about me, but you should be careful. You have to uphold your dignity as one of the masters. It doesn’t matter about me. I was fated to be just a cheap little bondmaid!” Mingfeng still spoke quietly, but there was a touch of bitterness in her voice.
“Don’t leave. We’ll find a place to sit down and have a long talk. I’ll take the blossoms.” Without waiting for an answer, he took the branches from her hands. Surveying them critically, he broke off two or three twigs and threw them away.
He set off along a small path between the plum grove and the edge of the lake, and she silently followed him. From time to time, he turned his head to ask her a question. She answered briefly, or responded with only a smile.
Leaving the grove, they crossed a rectangular flower terrace, then went through a small gate. About ten paces beyond was a tunnel. The tunnel was dark, but it was quite straight and not very long. Inside, you could hear the gurgling of spring water. On the other side of the tunnel, the path slanted upward. They mounted about two dozen stone steps, followed a few more twists and turns, and at last reached the top.
In the center of the small graveled summit was a little stone table with a round stone stool on each of its four sides. A cypress, growing beside the flat face of a large boulder, spread its branches in a sheltering canopy.
All was still except for the chuckling of a hidden brook, flowing somewhere beneath the rocks.
“How peaceful,” said Juehui. He placed the blossoms on the table; after wiping the dust off one of the stone stools, he sat down. Mingfeng seated herself opposite him. They couldn’t see each other clearly because of the blossoms heaped between them on the little table.
With a laugh, Juehui shifted the branches to the stool on his right. Pointing to the stool on his left, he said to Mingfeng, “Sit over here. Why are you afraid to be close to me?”
Silently, Mingfeng moved to the place he had indicated.
They faced each other, letting their eyes speak, letting their eyes say the many things words would not express.
“I must go. I can’t stay too long in the garden. Madam will scold me if she finds out.” Mingfeng stood up.
Taking her arm, Juehui pulled her down again to the seat. “It doesn’t matter. She won’t say anything. Don’t go yet. We’ve just come. We haven’t talked at all. I won’t let you go!”
She shrank a bit from his touch, but made no further protest.
“Why don’t you say anything? No one can hear us. Don’t you like me anymore?” Juehui teased. He pretended to be very downcast.
The girl remained silent. It was as if she hadn’t heard him.
“You’re probably tired of working for our family. I’ll tell Madam that you’re grown up now, to send you away,” Juehui said idly, with affected unconcern. Actually he was watching her reaction closely.
Mingfeng turned pale, and the light went out of her eyes. But her trembling lips did not speak. Her eyes glistened like glass, and her lashes fluttered. “You mean it?” she asked. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Juehui knew his teasing had gone too far. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He was only testing her; and he wanted to pay her back for that cold remark. It had not occurred to him that his words could cause her so much pain. He was both satisfied and regretful over the results of his experiment.
“I’m only joking.” He laughed. “You don’t think I’d really send you away?” But his laughter was forced, for he had been very moved by her emotion.
“Who knows whether you would or not? You masters and mistresses are all as changeable as the winds. When you’re displeased there’s no telling what you’ll do,” sobbed Mingfeng. “I’ve always known that, sooner or later, I’d go the road of Xi’er, but why must it be so soon?”
“What do you mean?” Juehui asked gently.
“What you said. . . .” Mingfeng still wept.
“I was only teasing you. I’ll never let that happen to you,” he said earnestly. Taking her hand and placing it on his knee, he caressed it soothingly.
“But suppose that’s what Madam Zhou wants,” demanded Mingfeng, raising her tear-stained face.
He gazed into her eyes for a moment without replying. Then he said firmly, “I can take care of that, I can make her listen to me. I’ll tell her I want to marry—” Mingfeng’s hand over his mouth cut him short. He was quite sincere in what he was saying, although he hadn’t really given the matter much thought.
“No, no, you mustn’t do that!” the girl cried. “Madam would never agree. That would finish everything. You mustn’t speak to her. I just wasn’t fated. . . .”
“Don’t be so frightened.” He removed her hand from his mouth as he said this. “Your face is all streaked with tears. Let me. . . .” He carefully wiped her face with his handkerchief. This time she did not draw back. Wiping the tear-stains, he said with a smile, “Women cry so easily.” He laughed sadly.
Mingfeng smiled, but it was a melancholy smile, and she said slowly, “I won’t cry anymore after this. Working for your family I’ve shed too many tears already. Here together with you, I certainly shouldn’t cry. . . .”
“Everything will be all right. We’re both still young. When the time comes, I’ll speak to Madam. I definitely will work something out, I mean it,” he said comfortingly, still caressing her hand.
“I know your heart,” she replied, touched. Somewhat reassured, she went on, half in a reverie, “I’ve been dreaming about you a lot lately. Once I dreamed I was running through the mountains, chased by a pack of wild animals. Just as they almost caught me, someone rushed down the slope and drove them away. And who do you think it was? You. I’ve always thought of you as my savior!”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t realize you had so much faith in me.” Juehui’s voice shook. He was deeply moved. “I haven’t taken nearly good enough care of you. I don’t know how to face you. Are you angry with me?”
“How could I be?” She shook her head and smiled. “All my life I’ve loved only three people. One was my mother. The second was the Elder Young Miss—she taught me to read and to understand many things; she was always helping me. Now both of them are dead. Only one more remains. . . .”
“Mingfeng, when I think of you I’m ashamed of myself. I live in comfort, while you have such a hard time. Even my little sister scolds you!”
“I’m used to it, after seven years. It’s much better now, anyhow. I don’t mind so much. . . . I only have to see you, to think of you, and I can stand anything. I often speak your name to myself, though I’d never dare say it aloud in anyone else’s presence.”
“You suffer too much, Mingfeng! At your age, you ought to be in school. A bright girl like you. I bet you’d be even better than Qin. . . . How wonderful it would be if you had been born in a rich family, or even in a family like Qin’s!” Juehui said regretfully.
“I never hoped to be a rich young miss; I’m not that lucky. All I want is that you don’t send me away, that I stay here and be your bondmaid all my life. . . . You don’t know how happy I am just seeing you. As long as you’re near me, my heart’s at ease. . . . You don’t know how I respect you. But sometimes you’re like the moon in the sky. I know I can’t reach you.”
“Don’t talk like that. I’m just an ordinary person, the same as everyone else.” His low voice trembled and tears rolled from his eyes.
“Be quiet,” she warned suddenly, grasping his arm. “Listen. Someone’s down there.”
They both listened. The sound, when it reached them, was very faint. Mingled with the babble of the hidden spring, it was difficult to distinguish clearly. They finally recognized it as the voice of Juemin singing.
“Second Young Master is going back to the house.” Juehui rose and walked to the edge of the hilltop. He could see a small figure in gray flitting through the pink haze of the plum blossoms. Turning to Mingfeng he said, “It’s Second Young Master, all right.”
Mingfeng hastily rose to her feet. “I must go back. I’ve been out here too long. . . . It’s probably nearly dinnertime.”
Juehui handed her the plum blossoms. “If Madam Zhou asks why you’re so late, make up an excuse—anything will do. . . . Say I asked you to do something for me.”
“All right. I’ll go back first, so we won’t be seen together.” Mingfeng smiled at him, and started down the slope.
He walked with her a few steps, then stood and watched her slowly descend the stone stairway and disappear around the face of a bluff.
Alone, he paced the hilltop, all his thoughts devoted to Mingfeng. “She’s so pure, so good . . .” he murmured. Walking over to the little table, he sat down opposite the place she had just vacated, and, resting his elbows on the stone surface, supported his head in his hands and gazed off into the distance. “You’re pure, truly pure . . .” he whispered.
After a while, he rose abruptly, as if awakening from a dream. He looked all around him, then hurried down the path.
THE MOONLIGHT WAS lovely that night. Juehui couldn’t sleep. At one in the morning, he was still strolling about the courtyard.
“Why aren’t you in bed, Third Brother? It’s cold out here.” Juemin had come out and was standing on the steps.
“With a beautiful moon like this, sleep is a waste of time,” Juehui replied carelessly.
Juemin walked down the steps into the courtyard. He shivered. “It’s cold,” he repeated, and raised his head to look at the moon.
There wasn’t a cloud in the night sky. A full moon sailed through a limitless firmament, alone, chaste, its beams lulling all into slumber, coating the ground and the roof tiles with silver. The night was still.
“Lovely.” Juemin sighed. “A perfect example of ‘moonlight like frost.’ ” And he joined Juehui in his stroll. But the younger boy remained silent.
“Qin is really intelligent . . . and brave. A fine girl,” Juemin couldn’t refrain from commenting, a pleased smile on his face.
Juehui still said nothing, for his mind was occupied by another girl. He walked slowly behind his brother.
“Do you like her? Are you in love with her?” Juemin suddenly grabbed him by the arm.
“Of course,” Juehui replied automatically. But he immediately amended, “Who are you talking about? Sister Qin? I don’t really know. But I think you love her.”
“That’s right.” Juemin was still gripping his arm. “I love her, and I think she could love me too. I haven’t said anything to her yet. I don’t know what to do. . . . What about you? You said you also love her.”
From the sound of his voice and the way his fingers trembled on Juehui’s arm, the younger boy could tell that his brother was highly agitated, even without seeing his face. Lightly he patted Juemin’s hand and said with a smile, “Go to it. I’m not competing with you. I wish you success. I love Qin only like an elder sister.”
Juemin did not reply. He stared at the moon for a long time. At last, when he had calmed down somewhat, he said to Juehui, “You’re really a good brother. I was wrong about you; it got me all upset. I don’t know what makes me so jealous lately. Even when I see Jianyun and Qin talking together, I feel annoyed. Do you think I’m silly? Are you laughing at me?”
“No, I’m not laughing at you,” Juehui answered sincerely. “I sympathize with you. Don’t worry. I don’t think Jianyun will compete with you either.” Then in another tone of voice, “Listen, what’s that?”
A sound like quiet, subdued weeping spread softly, pervading every corner of the moonlit night. It was not a human voice, nor was it the cry of a bird or insect. The sound was much too light, too clear, for that. At times it seemed to rise in pitch, a persuasive plaint issued directly from the soul. Then it slowly faded again until it became almost inaudible, like the merest hint of a breeze. But one was still aware of a vibration in the atmosphere, charging the very air with sadness.
“What is it?” Juehui repeated.
“Big Brother playing a bamboo flute. The past few nights, he’s been playing only when it’s very late. I hear him every night.”
“What’s troubling him? He wasn’t like this before. That bamboo flute has such a mournful sound!”
“I don’t know exactly. I think it’s probably because he’s heard that Cousin Mei has come back to Chengdu. That must be it. He keeps playing those same mournful tunes, and always so late at night. . . . He probably is still in love with her. . . . I haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights. I keep hearing his flute. It seems to carry a warning, a threat. . . . I’m in practically the same situation with Qin now as Big Brother was with Cousin Mei. When I hear that flute I can’t help fearing I’ll go the same road as he. I don’t dare to even think about it. I’m afraid I couldn’t live if it ever came to that. I’m not like him.” Juemin’s voice shook with emotion. He was almost in tears.
“Don’t worry. You’ll never go Big Brother’s road,” Juehui consoled him. “Times have changed.”
He looked up again at the full moon, bathing the night with its limitless radiance. An irresistible strength seemed to well up within him as he thought of Mingfeng.
“You’re so pure,” he murmured. “You alone are as unsullied as the moon!”
24
One night, after the electric lights in the compound had been turned off, Mingfeng was called to the apartment of Madam Zhou. The fat face of the older woman was expressionless in the feeble glow of an oil lamp. Although she could not guess what Madam Zhou was going to say, all day Mingfeng had a premonition that something bad was about to happen to her. She stood before Madam Zhou with trembling heart and gazed at her unsteadily. They both were silent. The fat face seemed to swell gradually into a large, round object that wavered before Mingfeng’s eyes, increasing her feeling of fear.
“Mingfeng, you’ve been with us for several years. I think you’ve worked long enough.” Madam Zhou began very deliberately, though still speaking more quickly than most people. After these first few words, her speed increased, until the syllables were popping from her lips like little pellets.
“I’m sure you also are quite willing to leave,” she continued. “Today, Venerable Master Gao instructed me to send you to the Feng family. You are going to be the concubine of the Venerable Master Feng. The first of next month is an auspicious day; they will call for you then. Today is the twenty-seventh. That still leaves four days. From tomorrow on, you needn’t do any work. Take things easy for the next few days, until you go to the Feng family. . . .
“After you get there, be sure to take good care of the old man and the old lady. They say he’s rather strange; his wife’s temper is none too good either. Don’t be stubborn; it’s best to go along with their whims. They also have sons and daughters-in-law and grandchildren living together with them. You must respect them too.
“You’ve been a bondmaid in our family for several years, but you haven’t gained anything from it. To tell you the truth I don’t think we’ve treated you very well. Now that we’ve arranged this marriage for you I feel much better. The Feng family is very rich. As long as you remember to act according to your station, you’ll never want for food or clothing. You’ll be much better off than Fifth Household’s Xi’er. . . .
“I’ll think of you after you leave. You’ve looked after me all these years and I’ve never done anything to reward you. Tomorrow I’ll have the tailor make you two new sets of good clothing and I’ll give you a little jewelry.” The sound of Mingfeng’s weeping interrupted her.
Although every word cut the girl’s heart like a knife, she could only let them stab. She had no weapon with which to defend herself. Her hopes were completely shattered. They even wanted to take away the love she depended upon to live, to present her verdant spring to a crabbed old man. Life as a concubine in a family like the Fengs could bring only one reward: tears, blows, abuse, the same as before. The only difference would be that now, in addition, she would have to give her body to be despoiled by a peculiar old man whom she had never met.
To become a concubine—what a disgrace. Among the bondmaids “concubine” was one of the worst imprecations they would think of. Ever since she was very small Mingfeng felt that it was a terrible thing to be a concubine. Yet after eight years of hard work and faithful service that was her only reward.
The road ahead looked very black. Even the thread of light which her pure love had brought her, even that was snapped. A fine young face floated before her. Then many ugly visages leered at her, horribly. Frightened, she covered her eyes with her hands, struggling against this terrifying vision.
Suddenly she seemed to hear a voice say, “Everything is decided by Fate. There is nothing you can do about it.” An overwhelming disappointment took possession of her, and she wept brokenheartedly.
Words were flying from Madam Zhou so fast it was difficult for her to stop at once. But when she heard the girl’s tragic weeping, she paused in surprise. She couldn’t understand why Mingfeng was so upset, but she was moved by her tears.
“What’s wrong, Mingfeng?” she asked. “Why are you crying?”
“Madam, I don’t want to go!” sobbed Mingfeng. “I’d rather be a bondmaid here all my life, looking after you, and the young masters and the young mistresses. Madam, don’t send me away, I beg you. There’s still a lot I can do here. I’ve only been here eight years. I’m still so young, Madam. Please don’t make me marry yet.”
Madam Zhou’s maternal instincts were seldom aroused, but Mingfeng’s impassioned pleas struck a responsive chord. The older woman was swept by a feeling of motherly love and pity for the girl.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t be willing,” she said with a sad smile. “It’s true, the Venerable Master Feng is old enough to be your grandfather. But that’s what our Venerable Master has decided. I must obey him. After you get there, if you serve the old man well, things won’t be so bad. Anyhow you’ll be much better off than married to some poor workingman, never knowing where your next meal is coming from.”
“Madam, I’m willing to starve—anything but become a concubine.” As Mingfeng blurted these words, the strength drained from her body, and she fell to her knees. Embracing Madam Zhou’s legs, she begged, “Please don’t send me away. Let me stay here as a bondmaid. I’ll serve you all my life. . . . Madam, have pity, I’m still so young. Pity me. You can scold me, beat me, anything—only don’t send me to the Feng family. I’m afraid. I couldn’t bear that kind of life. Madam, be merciful, pity me. Madam, I’ve always been obedient, but this—I can’t do it!”
Endless words were welling up from her heart into her throat, but something seemed to be stopping her mouth, and she could only swallow them down again and weep softly. The more she cried the more stricken she felt. The tragedy was too overwhelming. If only she could cry her heart out, she might have some relief.
Looking at the girl weeping at her feet, Madam Zhou was reminded of her own past. Sadly, maternally, she stroked Mingfeng’s hair.
“I know you’re too young,” she said sympathetically. “To tell you the truth, I’m against your going to the Feng family. But our Venerable Master has already promised. He’s the kind who never goes back on his word. I’m only his daughter-in-law. I don’t dare oppose him. It’s too late. On the first, you must go. Don’t cry. Crying won’t do any good. Just gather your courage and go. Maybe your life will be comfortable there. Don’t be afraid. People with good hearts always get their just rewards. Get up now. It’s time for you to be in bed.”
Mingfeng hugged Madam Zhou’s legs tighter, as if they were the only things that could save her. With her last strength she cried despondently, “Don’t you have even a little pity for me, Madam? Save me. I’d rather die than go to the Feng family!”
Raising her tear-stained face, she looked into Madam Zhou’s eyes and stretched forth her hands pleadingly. “Save me, Madam!” Her voice was tragic.
Madam Zhou shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do,” she replied sadly. “I don’t want you to go, myself, but it’s no use. Even I can’t go against the decision of the Venerable Master. Get up now, and go to bed like a good girl.” She pulled Mingfeng to her feet.
Mingfeng offered no resistance. All hope was gone. She stood dazedly before Madam Zhou, feeling that she was in a dream. After a moment, she looked around. Everything was dim and dark. She was still sobbing soundlessly. Finally, she brought herself under control. In a dull, melancholy tone she said, “I’ll do what you say, Madam.”
Madam Zhou rose wearily. “Good. As long as you’re obedient I won’t have to worry about you.”
Mingfeng knew it was no use to remain any longer. She had never been so miserable in her life. “I’m going to bed, Madam,” she said listlessly. She slowly walked from the room; her hand pressed to her breast. She was afraid her heart would burst.
Madam Zhou sighed as she watched the girl’s retreating back, sorry that she was unable to help her. But, half an hour later, this comfortable, well-fed lady had forgotten all about Mingfeng.
The courtyard was dark and deserted. Feeble lamplight gleamed in Juehui’s window. Originally Mingfeng had intended to return to the servants’ room but now, seeing the light, she walked softly toward Juehui’s quarters. The light was seeping through the tiny openings in the curtain, casting a pretty pattern on the ground. That curtain, the glass windows, that room, now seemed particularly adorable to Mingfeng. She stood on the stone porch outside the window and gazed unwinking at the white gauze curtain, holding her breath and being as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the boy inside.
Gradually, she imagined she could see colors on the white curtain; they became even more beautiful. Beautiful people emerged from the maze of color—boys and girls, very handsomely dressed, with proud and haughty bearing. They cast disdainful glances at her as they passed, then hurried on. Suddenly, the one she thought of day and night appeared in their midst. He gazed at her affectionately and halted, as if he wanted to speak to her. But crowds of people came hurrying and pushing from behind him, and he disappeared among them. Her eyes sought him intently, but the white gauze curtain, hanging motionless, concealed the interior of the room from view.
Mingfeng drew closer, hoping to get a look inside, but the window was higher than her head, and after two unsuccessful attempts, she stepped back, disappointed. As she did so, her hand accidentally bumped against the windowsill, making a slight noise. From within the room came a cough. That meant he wasn’t asleep. She stared at the curtain. Would he push it aside and look out?
But inside it became quiet again, except for the low sound of a pen scratching on paper. Mingfeng rapped softly against the windowsill. She heard what sounded like a chair being shifted, then the scratching of the pen again, a bit faster. Mingfeng was afraid if she rapped any harder, she might be overheard. Juemin slept in the same room. Clutching a final hope, she again tapped, three times, and called softly, “Third Young Master.” Stepping back, she waited quietly. She was sure he would come out this time. But again there was nothing but the rapid scratching of the pen and the low surprised remark, “Two a.m. already? . . . And I’ve a class at eight in the morning. . . .” And the sound of the writing resumed once more.
Mingfeng stood dully. Tapping again would be no use. He wouldn’t hear it. She didn’t blame him, in fact she loved him all the more. His words were still in her ears, and to her they were sweeter than music. He seemed to be standing beside her—so warm, so very much alive.
He needed a girl to love him and take care of him, and there was no one in the world who loved him more than she. She would do anything for him. But she also knew there was a wall between them. People wanted to send her to the Feng family, soon too, in four days. Then she would belong to the Fengs; she’d have no opportunity to see him again. No matter how she might be insulted and abused, he’d have no way of knowing. He wouldn’t be able to save her. They’d be separated, forever separated. It would be worse than if they had been parted by death.
Mingfeng felt that a life of that kind was not worth living. When she had said to Madam Zhou, “I’d rather die than go to the Feng family,” she had meant it. She was really considering death. The Eldest Young Miss had often told her that suicide was the only way out for girls who were the victims of Fate. Mingfeng believed this fully.
A long sigh from the room broke in on her wild thoughts. Mournfully, she looked around. All was still and very dark. Suddenly she remembered a similar scene of several months ago. Only that time he had been outside her window, and the conjecture he had overheard then had today become a reality. She recalled all the details—his attitude toward her, how she had said to him, “I’ll never go to another man. I give my vow.”
Something seemed to be wringing her heart, and she was blinded by tears. The lamplight from the window shone down on her head pitilessly. Eagerly she gazed at the beams, a hope slowly forming in her breast. She would cast all caution to the winds, rush into his room, kneel at his feet, tell him her whole bitter story, beg him to save her. She would be his slave forever, love him, take care of him.
But just then, everything went black. The lamp had been turned out. She stared, but she could see nothing. Rooted to the spot, she stood alone in the night, the merciless night that hemmed her in from all sides.
After a few moments, she finally was able to move. Slowly she groped her way through the disembodied darkness toward her own room. After a long time, she reached the women servants’ quarters. She pushed open the half-closed door and went in.
A wick was sputtering feebly in a dish of oil. The rest of the room was all darkness and shadows. Beds on both sides of the room were laden with corpse-like figures. Harsh snores from the bed of the fat Sister Zhang struck out in every direction in a very frightening manner. They halted the startled Mingfeng in the doorway, and for a moment she peered anxiously around. Then with dragging feet she walked over to the table and trimmed the wick. The room became much brighter.
About to take off her clothes, Mingfeng was suddenly crushed by a terrible depression. She threw herself on her bed and began to cry, pressing her head against the bedding and soaking it with her tears. The more she thought, the worse she felt. Old Mama Huang, awakened by the sound of her weeping, asked in a muzzy voice, “What are you crying about?”
Mingfeng did not answer. She only wept. After offering a soothing word or two, Mama Huang turned over and was soon fast asleep again. Mingfeng was left alone with her heartbroken tears. She continued to cry until sleep claimed her.
By the next morning Mingfeng had changed into a different person. She stopped smiling, she moved in a leaden manner, she avoided people. She suspected they knew about her; she imagined they were smiling disdainfully, and she hurried to get away. If she saw a few servants talking together, she was sure they were discussing her. She seemed to hear the word “concubine” everywhere, even among the masters and mistresses.
“Such a pretty girl,” she thought she heard the Fifth Master say. “It’s a shame to make her a concubine of that old man.”
In the kitchen she heard the fat Sister Zhang angrily comment, “A young girl like that becoming the ‘little wife’ of an old man who’s half dead! I wouldn’t do it for all the money in the world!”
It got so that Mingfeng was afraid to go anywhere for fear of hearing contemptuous remarks. Except when she had to join the other servants for her two meals a day, she hid in her room or in the garden, alone and lonely. Once in a while, Xi’er or Qianer came to see her. But they were both very busy, and they could only steal out briefly for a comforting word or two.
Mingfeng wanted very much to speak to Juehui, and she was constantly seeking an opportunity. But lately he and Juemin were busier than usual. They left for school very early each morning and came home late in the afternoon. Sometimes they had dinner out. But even when they ate at home, they would go out again immediately after the evening meal and not return until nine or ten at night. Then they would shut themselves in their room and read, or write articles. On the one or two occasions she happened to meet Juehui, he gave a tender glance or a smile, but did not speak to her. Of course these were signs of his love, and she knew he was busy with serious affairs; even though he had no time for her, she did not blame him.
But the days were passing, quickly. She simply had to speak to him, to pour out her troubles, to seek his help. He didn’t seem to have any inkling of what was happening to her, and he gave her no chance to tell him.
Now it was the last day of the month. Not many people in the compound knew about Mingfeng. Juehui was completely in the dark. He was all wrapped up in the weekly magazine. Even the hours he spent at home were devoted to study and writing; he had no contact with anyone who might have told him about Mingfeng.
To Juehui the thirtieth was the same as any other day. But for Mingfeng it was the day of reckoning: either she would leave him forever or serve him forever. The latter possibility was very slim, and Mingfeng knew it. Naturally she was hopeful that he would be able to save her and that she could remain his devoted servant always. But between them was a wall which could not be demolished—their difference in status.
Mingfeng knew this very well. That day in the garden when she had said to him, “No, no. I just wasn’t fated,” she already knew. He had replied that he would marry her. But his grandfather, Madam Zhou, and all the elders were arrayed against them. What could he do? Even Madam Zhou didn’t dare go against a decision of the Venerable Master Gao. What chance would a grandson stand?
Mingfeng’s fate was irrevocably decided. But she couldn’t give up the last shred of hope. She was fooling herself, really, for she knew there wasn’t the slightest hope, and never could be.
She waited to see Juehui that day with a trembling heart. He came home after nine in the evening. She walked to his window. Hearing the voice of his brother, she hesitated, afraid to go in but unwilling to leave. If she gave up this last opportunity, whether she lived or died, she would never be able to see him again.
At long last Mingfeng heard footsteps. Someone was coming out. She quickly hid in a corner. A dark figure emerged from the room. It was Juemin. She waited until he was some distance away, then hurried into the room.
Juehui was bent over his desk, writing. He did not look up as he heard her enter, but continued with his work. Mingfeng timidly approached.
“Third Young Master,” she called gently.
“Mingfeng, it’s you?” Juehui raised his head in surprise. He smiled at her. “What is it?”
“I have to speak to you.” Her melancholy eyes avidly scanned his smiling face. Before she could go on, he interrupted:
“Is it because I haven’t talked with you these last few days? You think I’ve been ignoring you?” He laughed tenderly. “No, you mustn’t think that. You see how busy I am. I have to study and write, and I’ve other things to do too.” Juehui pointed at a pile of manuscripts and magazines. “I’m as busy as an ant. It will be better in a day or two. I’ll have finished this work by then. I promise you. Only two more days.”
“Two more days?” Mingfeng cried, disappointed. As if she hadn’t understood, she asked again, “Two more days?”
“That’s right,” said Juehui with a smile. “In two more days I’ll be finished. Then we can talk. There’s so much I want to tell you.” He again bent over his writing.
“Third Young Master, don’t you have any time now, even a little?” Mingfeng held back her tears with an effort.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” said Juehui roughly, as if reproving her for persisting. But when he observed her stricken expression and the tears in her eyes, he immediately softened. Taking her hand, he stood up and asked soothingly, “Has someone been picking on you? Don’t feel badly.”
He really wanted to put aside his work and take her into the garden and comfort her. But when he remembered that he had to submit his article by the next morning, when he recalled the struggle the magazine was waging, he changed his mind.
“Be patient,” he pleaded. “In another two days we’ll have a long talk. I definitely will help you. I love you as much as ever. But please go now and let me finish my work. You’d better hurry. Second Young Master will be back in a minute.”
Juehui looked around to make sure that they were alone, then took her face in his hands and lightly kissed her lips. Smiling, he indicated with a gesture that she should leave quickly. He resumed his position at the desk, pen in hand, but his heart was pounding. It was the first time he had ever kissed her.
Mingfeng stood dazed and silent. She didn’t know what she was thinking or how she felt. Her fingers moved up to touch her lips—lips that had just experienced their first kiss. “Two more days,” she repeated.
Outside, someone was heard approaching, whistling. “Go, quickly,” Juehui urged. “Second Young Master is coming.”
Mingfeng seemed to awake from a dream and her expression changed. Her lips trembled, but she did not speak. She gazed at him longingly with the utmost tenderness, and her eyes suddenly shone with tears. “Third Young Master,” she cried in an anguished voice.
Juehui looked up quickly, only to see her disappearing through the doorway.
He sighed. “Women are strange creatures.” He again bent over his writing.
Juemin came into the room. The first words out of his mouth were, “Wasn’t that Mingfeng who just left here?”
“Yes.” Juehui continued writing. He did not look at his brother.
“That girl isn’t the least bit like an ordinary bondmaid. She’s intelligent, pure, pretty—she can even read a little. It’s a shame that Ye-ye is giving her to that old reprobate for a concubine. It’s a real shame!” sighed Juemin.
“What did you say?” Juehui put down his pen. He was shocked.
“Don’t you know? Mingfeng is getting married.”
“She’s getting married? Who said so? She’s too young!”
“Ye-ye is giving her to that shameless old scoundrel Feng to be his concubine.”
“I don’t believe it! Why, he’s one of the main pillars of the Confucian Morals Society. He’s nearly sixty. He still wants a concubine?”
“Don’t you remember last year when he and a couple of his old cronies published a list of ‘Best Female Impersonators’ and were bitterly attacked by Students’ Tide? His kind are capable of anything. He gets away with it too—he’s got money, hasn’t he? The wedding day is tomorrow. I certainly am sorry for Mingfeng. She’s only seventeen.”
“Tomorrow? Why wasn’t I told before? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Juehui jumped to his feet and hurried out, clutching his hair. He was trembling all over.
“Tomorrow”! “Marry”! “Concubine”! “Old Feng”! The words lashed against Juehui’s brain till he thought it would shatter. He rushed out; he thought he heard a mournful wail. Suddenly he discovered a dark world lying at his feet. All was quiet, as if every living thing had died. Where was he to go in this misty space between heaven and earth? He wandered about, tearing his hair, beating his breast, but nothing could bring him peace.
Suddenly a torturing realization dawned upon him. She had come to him just now in the utmost anguish, to beg for his help. Because she believed in his love and because she loved him, she had come to ask him to keep his promise and protect her, to rescue her from the clutches of Old Man Feng. And what had he done? Absolutely nothing. He had given her neither help nor sympathy nor pity—nothing at all. He sent her away without even listening to her pleas. Now she was gone, gone forever. Tomorrow night, in the arms of that old man, she would weep for her despoiled springtime. And at the same time she would curse the one who had tricked her into giving her pure young love and then sent her into the jaws of the tiger.
It was a terrifying thought. Juehui couldn’t bear it. He had to find her, he had to atone for his crime.
He walked to the women servants’ quarters and lightly tapped on the door. Inside it was pitch-dark. He called, “Mingfeng,” twice, in a low voice. There was no answer. She must be asleep, he thought. Because of the other women, he couldn’t very well go in.
Juehui returned to his room. But he couldn’t sit still. Again he came out and went to the servants’ quarters. Pushing the door open a trifle, he could hear only snoring inside. He walked into the garden and stood for a long time in the dark beneath the plum trees. “Mingfeng!” he shouted. Only the echo replied. Several times he bumped his head against the low-hanging plum branches, scratching his forehead and drawing blood. But he felt no pain. Finally, disappointed, he slowly walked back to his own room. As he entered his room, everything began to spin.
Actually, the girl he sought was not with the women servants, but in the garden.
When Mingfeng left Juehui’s room she knew that this time all hope was gone. She was sure he loved her as much as ever; her lips were still warm with his kiss, her hands still felt his clasp. These proved that he loved her; but they were also symbols of the fact that she was going to lose him and be cast into the arms of a lecherous old man. She would never see him again. In the long years ahead there would be only endless pain and misery. Why should she cling to a life like that? Why should she remain in a world without love?
Mingfeng made up her mind.
She went directly to the garden, groping her way through the darkness with a great effort until she reached her objective—the edge of the lake. The waters darkly glistened; at times feeding fish broke the placid surface. Mingfeng stood dully, remembering many things of the past. She recalled everything she and Juehui had ever said and done together. She could see every familiar tree and shrub—so dear, so lovely—knowing that she was going to leave them all.
The world was very still. Everyone was asleep. But they were all alive, and they would continue living. She alone was going to die.
In the seventeen years of her existence she had known nothing but blows, curses, tears, toil in the service of others. That plus a love for which she now must perish. Life had brought much less happiness to her than to others; but now, despite her youth, she would leave the world first.
Tomorrow, others had their tomorrow. For her there was only a dark empty void. Tomorrow birds would sing in the trees, the rising sun would gild their branches, countless pearls would bubble on the surface of the water. But she would see none of it, for her eyes would be closed forever.
The world was such an adorable place. She had loved everyone with all the purity of a young girl’s heart, wishing them all well. She had served people without pause; she had brought harm to no one. Like other girls she had a pretty face, an intelligent mind, a body of flesh and blood. Why did people want to trample her, hurt her, deny her a friendly glance, a sympathetic heart, even a pitying sigh?
She had never owned nice clothes, nor eaten good food, nor slept in a warm bed. She had accepted all this without complaint. For she had won the love of a fine young man, she had found a hero whom she could worship, and she was satisfied. She had found a refuge.
But today, when the crisis came, reality had proved it was all an illusion. His love couldn’t save her; it only added to her painful memories.
He was not for her. His love had brought her many beautiful dreams, but now it was casting her into a dark abyss. She loved life, she loved everything, but life’s door was closing in her face, leaving her only the road to degradation.
Thinking of what this meant, she looked at her body in horror. Although she could not see clearly in the darkness, she knew it was chaste and pure. She could almost feel someone casting her into the mire. Painfully, pityingly, she caressed her body with soothing hands.
Mingfeng came to a decision. She would hesitate no longer. She stared at the calm water. The crystal depths of the lake would give her refuge. She would die unsullied.
When she was about to jump, a thought came to her, and she paused. She shouldn’t die like this. She ought to see him once more, pour out her heart to him. Perhaps he could save her. His kiss still tingled on her lips, his face still shimmered before her eyes. She loved him so; she couldn’t bear to lose him. The only beauty in her life had been his love. Wasn’t she entitled even to that? When everyone else went on living, why did a young girl like her have to die?
She pictured an idyllic scene in which she chatted and laughed and played with rich girls her own age in a beautiful garden. In this wide world she knew there were many such girls and many such gardens. Yet she had to end her young life—and there was no one to shed a sympathetic tear, or offer a word or two of comfort. Her death would bring no loss to the world, or to the Gao family. People would quickly forget her, as if she had never existed.
Has my life really been so meaningless? she thought, stricken. Her heart filled with an unspeakable grief, and tears spilled from her eyes. Strength draining from her body, she weakly sat upon the ground. She seemed to hear someone call her name. It was his voice. She halted her tears and listened. But all was quiet; all voices were stilled. She listened, hoping to hear the call again. She listened for a long, long time. But there was no sound in the night.
Then she knew. He was not coming. There was a wall eternally between them. He belonged to a different sphere. He had his future, his career. He must become a great man. She could not hold him back, keep him always at her side. She must release him. His existence was much more important than hers. She could not let him sacrifice himself for her sake. She must go, she must leave him forever. And she would do so willingly, since he was more precious to her than life itself.
A pain stabbed through her heart, and she rubbed her chest. But the pain persisted. She remained seated on the ground, her eyes longingly roving over the familiar surroundings in the dark. She was still thinking of him. A mournful smile flitted across her face and her eyes dimmed with tears.
Finally, she could not bear to think any longer. Rising tottering to her feet, she cried in a voice laden with tenderness and sorrow, “Juehui, Juehui!”—and she plunged into the lake.
The placid waters stirred violently, and a loud noise broke the stillness. Two or three tragic cries, although they were very low, echoed lingeringly in the night. After a few minutes of wild thrashing, the surface of the lake again became calm. Only the mournful cries still permeated the air, as if the entire garden were weeping softly.
(Translated by Sidney Shapiro and Wang Mingjie)