In the summer of 1945, a Chinese cultural delegation came to visit the Soviet Union. Among the delegates was the pro-Communist poet and scholar Guo Moruo, who had been a longtime time friend of Yomei’s father’s. So she was eager to see the old man, who was also from Sichuan and who used to visit Yomei’s parents back home. But then Young Zeng appeared at the broadcasting station one afternoon. Flapping his red-rimmed eyes, he told Lily that none of them should go see Mr. Guo because the man was affiliated with the Nationalist government in Chongqing and was a reactionary. Though it was already hot these days, Zeng was wearing a black trilby hat that covered his balding head and that made him appear foppish. Lily was baffled by his eagerness to prevent others from meeting Guo Moruo. In fact, Guo was known as a progressive intellectual and a Communist sympathizer. On top of that, he had been a friend of Zhou Enlai’s for decades. Mao Zedong also liked him.
Young Zeng’s meddling infuriated Yomei, who believed that his admonishment was merely his own little maneuver. Regardless, she went to see Guo Moruo and even took Lily along with her, saying it would do her friend good to get to know the dignitary, who was also an accomplished playwright and archeologist, a man of letters par excellence. Together they went to the Moskva Hotel, where the cultural delegation was staying. Mr. Guo, wearing a herringbone suit and a silk necktie, was delighted to see Yomei. He noticed Lily’s nervous state but didn’t ask why. He praised Yomei for studying theater arts, saying she would become a force that the older generation in China’s theater circle would have to reckon with, and that it would be wonderful if she could direct one of his plays someday. He gave them each a business card whose embossed words said that he was the head of the Third Bureau of the Nationalist government’s Political Department, that he was the author of the long poem Goddess, and the translator of War and Peace.
They also talked about Father Zhou and Chairman Mao, who had both been in Chongqing lately and met Mr. Guo. He assured her that they were well, that there should be a peaceful time ahead now that Japan had surrendered. Seizing a moment when Lily was away to get some beverages for them, Yomei asked him, “Uncle Guo, I have a personal question that I hope you won’t mind me asking.”
“Of course not. What do you want to know?”
“It’s said that two years ago my dad, Zhou Enlai, knelt in front of Chairman Mao at a meeting. Was that true?”
“Well,” said Mr. Guo. He looked astonished, his silver-bound glasses flashing. “I was not in Yan’an, so I was not at the scene. I heard of the rumor, though I can’t tell if it was true. Please don’t take it seriously, and don’t let it affect you. You’re going to be an expert in spoken drama. Try to live a life somewhat detached from politics, which can be capricious and perilous. Only the arts are constant and can last.”
At this point, Lily returned with a few bottles of kvass. She said to Mr. Guo, “Try this Russian soda and see if you like it.” She uncapped a bottle and poured the foaming drink into handleless cups.
“This is rich and tastes like beer, but fruitier and yeasty,” he said after a large sip. “Is it alcoholic?”
“No,” Lily told him. “Everyone drinks it here, even small kids.”
“This is good. I can’t get tipsy as I will have to go to a public gathering.”
There was a literary event that evening, a poetry reading by both Russian and Chinese poets. Mr. Guo invited Yomei and Lily to attend it with him, but they couldn’t, saying they had to work and study. They knew Young Zeng would be there to keep an eye on the attendees and then report to the USSR’s Department of Internal Affairs, so they’d better avoid the gathering.
Uncle Guo’s indirect confirmation of the hearsay about Zhou Enlai’s going to his knees made Yomei mindful. She loved Father Zhou and was glad she regarded him as no more than a paternal figure. Deep down, she knew she was attracted to him, loving his handsome looks, charismatic personality, sophisticated demeanor, discerning intelligence. If there had not been a father-daughter relationship, something more intimate might have developed between them, but now she could say for certain that he was just her father, and she ought to accept him as just that, with both his virtues and flaws.