AnYi 安亦

*For names to better match with the settings – an alternate universe roughly imitating Republican China (1911-1949), Wade-Giles spellings are used instead of Chinese Pinyin.

*This is a taster chapter, an experimental attempt, at re-telling the story of 集贤镇, an old brainchild of mine.

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It was almost dark when they let him out of prison. With both Mu Ch’i and Beans ill at home, it fell upon Ch’in Lien-kuo to bring Chang-yun back. It was very rare that it was this crowded at No.12 Plum Corners. The whole bunch had come, as a kind of welcome for Chang-yun, who had not set foot in his own house since October. Nanny Li had made her absence known that day; dinner was thus prepared by Ch’iu-wen and Ching-ssu. Mu Ch’i had tried to help, but struggled even to get out of bed, and Ching-ssu scolded her, ordering her back into the bedchambers to rest. The kitchen was too small for such a gathering, and two square tables had to be pushed up together in the small living room. Ching-ssu half-heartedly joked about the grandeur of the Gao’s family dinners in the old days, and how her second brother, a modern Leftist even then, had hated all the hypocritical etiquette of the old Chinese genteel class that Mr Gao had imposed on his children. ‘Well, things have changed quite a bit since then, no more satin dresses or ruby necklaces, or the dainty little snuff boxes from Europe. As much as I miss all the fun at Auntie Wen’s parties, I’ll have to admit I actually prefer having only to choose from three sets of cheongsam dresses and learning how to sew and cook.’

‘You’ve made remarkable progress. What would your old butler say if he could see you now?’ said Ch’iu-wen, as she distributed the dishes on the tables. 

‘Scandalised! He would be utterly scandalised!’ laughed Ching-ssu. All these years of chaos and disruption had not soured the genuine enjoyment in her laughter. ‘Poor old Ku, I would love to see him again. I don’t even know where he is; my first brother dismissed all the servants after Papa died, but I still think he should’ve kept old Ku.’

‘Let’s hope he’s safe and well with his family.’ Ch’iu-wen finished laying out the bowls and chopsticks. ‘They should be back by now, Lien-kuo and Chang-yun.’

‘Indeed, I’m sure I can hear their voices at the street corner now. Second-brother has always been a stubborn ass, but I’m really glad he’s back safe. With Pi-hai still at the front and first-brother back home in Chi-Hsien, he really is the only family I’ve got here. Thank you, Ch’iu-wen, both you and Mr Ch’in, for getting him out of trouble again. He’s probably too goose-headed to say thanks, but you must know I’m really grateful.’ 

‘Don’t be silly. It was the least I – we – could do.’ Ch’iu-wen looked down, more interested in the layout of the chopsticks than discussing Chang-yun’s arrest with Ching-ssu. ‘Dinner is ready. I hear them knocking. You go and let them in. I’ll check up on Mu Ch’i.’

Mu Ch’i barely had any appetite, having gone sick at the smell of food. She took a small bowl of rice porridge and went back inside on her own. A minute later Chang-yun and Lien-kuo entered the living room. Lien-kuo had taken him to a barber’s before coming back home, and Chang-yun looked clean and shaven, albeit a little thinner and paler, clad in a faded blue long-gown that Lien-kuo had brought up for him to change into. Ching-ssu burst into tears at the sight Chang-yun, her fists landing hard on his arm in a mixture of joy and anger. Chang-yun smiled indulgently at her, and inquired after Mu Ch’i. He came inside to see her, but she said she wanted some quiet and peace to herself. 

‘Ch’i, you’ve suffered.’ He took her thinning hands into his, his eyes sad and guilt-ridden. She gently pulled them away. ‘Don’t worry about me. The important thing is you’re back now. Go and eat first.’ There was something sorrowful and tender in her countenance, and he couldn’t make out what it was. ‘Go. They’re all waiting for you. I need some sleep anyway.’ Her fingers curled around the edges of his sleeve for a second, before she urged him back out again. 

Beans, on the other hand, seemed noticeably better at the sight of dinner and father combined. He stuck to Chang-yun’s side, with a little flush on his thin cheeks, and happily chirped about, presenting his ‘Aunties’ by turns. ‘Papa, look! Auntie Ching-ssu made sweet porridge too!’ Beans was over the moon. ‘Papa, Auntie Ch’iu-wen visited every day when you were gone, and made lots and lots of nice food! Papa, You must thank Auntie Ch’iu-wen!’

Chang-yun smiled. ‘Beans, let’s thank your Aunties together.’ Beans sprang himself between Ching-ssu and Ch’iu-wen, grasping their hands. They both stroked him on the top of his head, and joked with him. Ching-ssu picked up his bowl and chopsticks, collecting food for him from the plates on the table. Ch’iu-wen’s smile, warm and tender while directed at Beans, shifted a little as she turned towards Chang-yun, her eyes cold. The grown-ups were all determined to talk about cheerful things during the meal or played with Beans instead; Chang-yun never got a chance to speak to Ch’iu-wen. After the meal, Ching-ssu and Ch’iu-wen took away the dishes for washing, Beans following them dutifully. Lien-kuo stopped Chang-yun and led him out into the backyard.

‘Fortunate for us, this time we didn’t come across any unnecessary risks.’ Lien-kuo was always straightforward. ‘However, you’ve been in there several times now, and those on the other side have already formulated prejudice, or even hostility, to your name. Your writings are widespread enough for them to be alerted, and they can recognise your style now, even if you come up with new pseudonyms. Besides, they won’t care if they arrest the wrong writers, as long as they can make them wear the hat of spreading criminalising ideologies. People get scared, and fear stops them from speaking up. You are a brave man, Chang-yun, but you need to be careful – with everything going on at the minute, you never know what they might be up to next time. This time we are lucky that it never got up to General Chang himself; otherwise, I shudder to think what they would’ve done to you.’ 

‘They are bullies.’ Chang-yun said with a cold sneer. ‘it’s not even about my writings this time. I haven’t published anything since I quit the teaching job at the university. They just wanted an “example” to show their superiors and to scare everyone else into silence.’

‘But you just won’t stay still.’ Lien-kuo shot a sharp glance at the doors. ‘What next? What are you going to do? I think Professor Fu would like to have you back at the university; we are in dire need of teaching staff at the moment. One third of our good scholars are either in prison or have been assassinated, and a lot of them are fleeing to Hong Kong or America.’

‘I want a break; let’s wait and see if the winds go quiet and storms calm down, in the next couple of days.’ Chang-yun was tired, a bone-deep weariness creeping up inside him and surrounding him in entirety. ‘Ch’i is not well, and the school term is about to close. We may return to Chi-Hsien.’ All of a sudden, he was pining for the tranquil little town, so peaceful and quiet as if no worldly troubles had never disturbed its serenity, even though he knew that wasn’t any truer than a misty and wistful illusion he had cast upon its memories. He imagined lying in the centre of a boat, floating on the River Ch’ing, drawing a line through widening patches of sweet, broad lotus leaves on the surface of the cool, glowing waves, which reflected all the light and shadows so distinctively marked for summertime; the rowing sounds, joined with the wild singing of the cicadas hidden high up in the trees nearby, made great lullabies, so reminiscent of his teenage years. The illusion lasted only a fleeting moment. He sighed, feeling for the first time that he was perhaps growing a little old. He took a look at Lien-kuo, and noticed for the first time the strands of grey hair above his ears, as well as the barely noticeable sign of balding. Lien-kuo was forty, ‘the age beyond confusion’, so well explained by that stubborn old man two thousand years before. The foreboding weight of that number scared Chang-yun a little. 

At this moment Ching-ssu stuck her head out and yelled. ‘What are you two doing in the yard? Who’s going to take responsibility if you freeze to death? Get inside right now!’ They obeyed – Ching-ssu would certainly have talked their ears off if they hadn’t – and came across Ch’iu-wen on her way out, holding a basinful of wet clothes. 

‘Hey.’ Chang-yun began to speak, but Ch’iu-wen had already crossed the threshold and stepped into the backyard. Ching-ssu went up to him again, this time with Beans holding her hand. She put the child’s little paw into Chang-yun’s hand. ‘Well, he wants Papa. You see to him for now.’ She then ordered Lien-kuo to help with cleaning in the kitchen, while she took the medicine to Mu Ch’i. Everybody was busy with something, and in no time Ching-ssu transported herself into Beans’ room to check up on him. Beans was already asleep, tired from all the commotion and excitement in one day. Chang-yun was sitting on the edge of the small bed, gently patting him. 

‘Beans doesn’t take much after you.’ said Ching-ssu quietly. ‘Much nicer, and much quieter. This is good.’ 

‘In this world, it wouldn’t make survival easier for him to be like me.’ Chang-yun slowly got back to his feet, and suddenly noticed how Ching-ssu had also shaken off her teenage years behind her. The days when she had been the quick-tempered, slightly spoiled young lady that had a burning curiosity for everything seemed a lifetime away. His little sister had long since given up on pretty clothes and frivolous indulgences; war and revolutions had worn out their family wealth, and she had happily stepped away from the glamorous high-brow social life and into the hardships of a poorly paid secretary job. Her fiery temper and optimistic spirits remained untainted, much unlike his boyish dreams and ambitions, but they were both aging in different ways. Everybody was beginning to grow old, and that was ridiculous. They were still far from forty, still supposed to be able to indulge themselves in confusion and exploration, and yet each of them started to grow old, and would continue to do so, unless death halted their limited youth in advance, which happened far too often these days around them. 

‘Tell me, why does Ch’iu-wen seem so cross to see me?’

Ching-ssu poked him hard on the forehead. ‘How dense can you be, brother? Ch’iu-wen worked herself to death these many days, just to cover up all the mess you’ve made. She used all her connections, both she and Mr Ch’in, and you know how proud she is about these things. She even looked after your child when your wife was sick – how would that make her feel? After all, she’s not really your –’ There were a lot of things Ching-ssu wanted to say in defence of her best friend, but none seemed appropriate or entirely harmless, and she swallowed them back with mixed feelings. Chang-yun was keen to find out what was going on, and returned to the backyard, where Ch’iu-wen was hanging up the clothes. She had her sleeves rolled up high; even in the dimness of the night, he could see water drops falling from her elbows. 

‘Beans needs looking after. Go to him.’ Ch’iu-wen wasn’t looking at him.

‘I just put him to bed.’ Anxious for an answer, he stepped up in front of her. ‘Are you mad at me?’

The candidness of his words stirred up too many long-forgotten emotions. Ch’iu-wen looked up and gave him a glare. ‘Yes.’

Chang-yun wanted to ask why, but at second thoughts, he recollected all those times she ought to have been mad at him over the past decade, and was momentarily stuck for words. Ch’iu-wen sighed as she finished hanging up the last piece of clothing; it was Mu Ch’i’s cheongsam dress, one that had once cost Dr Mu seventy-four shiny silver dollars but was now faded and roughened. She pointed at the doors and suddenly poured everything out. ‘I’m mad that you’re still so reckless, even now that you have a family to provide for. Every now and then you get yourself into trouble! You have ambitions, noble ones, and I admire you for still maintaining them over all these years. But you are in your thirties now; have you never learned any kind of flexibility at all? What about your wife and child? Do you want Mu Ch’i to never stop worrying, or do you want Beans to have a father that disappears every couple of months? What if they shot you this time like they did with Professor Mei? What if they had tortured you till you broke like they tortured my father? You’ve not gone any closer to having a human heart than when you were twenty, and I am mad about that.’

Ten years. Ch’iu-wen had never lost her temper with him before. Her eyes went red and brimmed with tears, and her chest was heaving violently, but she quickly calmed herself down before he managed to make any response. ‘You really should think about how there are more than one way of doing things. With all that in mind, it’s not really my place to tell you this…’

‘Nonono, it is, Ch’iu-wen, it is! tell me!’ The look in his eyes went suddenly fervent. That kind of pure, white-hot enthusiasm had long since disappeared from his face; it was something belonging to his younger self; he was far too preoccupied these days, with secret revolutionist groups and political arrests, endless meetings down the dark, damp corridor, the monotony of his day job, the more and more frequent news of deaths of friends and acquaintances, to remember what had induced his passions and impulses in the first place. He only knew that the same impulses were shooting up in his chest again, and all the pain and joy that he had ever pined after with lingering desire but had never quite reached, came back to him in this moment, tumbling and boiling up in his soul. ‘I think I do need someone to criticise me like this, to wake me up. You know I’ve always respected your insight, Ch’iu-wen, and you are the one friend I deem most important –’

‘I’m not my brother. If you want to talk to him, burn him some incenses and paper money.’ She interrupted him abruptly. ‘And I won’t debate with you till we agree. Just think about it, when have I never made you –’ her face went sullen, and those words were never finished. Chang-yun almost hated that she wasn’t a man; otherwise he could at least have gone up and shaken her by the shoulder. 

‘I’m going home.’ Ch’iu-wen said, starting to go back inside, calling for Lien-kuo. Chang-yun cried out. ‘Shen Ch’iu-wen!’

Ch’iu-wen looked back. It was cold in the backyard; the wind swept up her fringe and bared her forehead, her face as pensive and gentle as it had been when she was a student. She had looked at him in exactly the same way ten years before, when she had been running the Shen family bookshop in Chi-Hsien and he had been helping, during his term of suspension from the university for organising the student riot. They had had so much to talk about, such big plans for the future, from running a more successful bookshop to creating a happier China. Their dreams had been pure and naïve then, undisturbed by the inevitable tragedies and misunderstandings that were to come. Ten years had gone by. A lot of things had vanished from their life, as had a lot of people. Chang-yun was lost in blankness for a long moment, and eventually said, ‘Safe trip.’ Catching the foolish look on his face, she finally let out a smile. In that flashing second he understood. He had worked hard and earnest all this life, for his country and his family, coming close to achieving nothing in his middle age, but this was the one thing that was able to give him complete comfort and bliss – to make Shen Ch’iu-wen happy. 

And the realisation cracked open a deep abyss in his heart. 

That night they lay long awake in bed. Mu Ch’i said, ‘I’m with child again.’ 

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