The Song of Everlasting Sorrow: A Novel of Shanghai (Weatherhead Books on Asia)

by Anyi, Wang

  She turned to Jiang Lili. “Maybe you won’t change into a new outfit or put on some makeup, but at least go wash your face!”

  Her words had something in them of intimacy, but it was an unwilling intimacy. Jiang Lili did as she was told and went to the washroom, emerging with a slightly cleaner face.

  She then proceeded to take the box containing the hair ornaments from Wang Qiyao’s hand, saying, “This is for me!”

  She acted as though she wanted to press the ornaments directly against her heart. Instead of turning back, Wang Qiyao hastened into the parlor. Jiang Lili tried to follow, but was immediately surrounded by a group of relatives.

  The rest of the evening, Jiang Lili tightly held Wang Qiyao’s hand, leading her around the party. A few people recognized her and went over to chat and say hello. Wang Qiyao gradually relaxed a bit and started to feel much more cheerful. But no matter what, she couldn’t pry her hand free—she felt as if she was handcuffed to Jiang Lili. Meanwhile, Jiang Lili would give Wang Qiyao’s hand a little squeeze from time to time, as if there were some secret that only the two of them shared. But such forced intimacy only made Wang Qiyao ill at ease. However, no trace of uneasiness showed on her face and she continued to act as if she and Jiang Lili were the best of friends. That this Jiang Lili seemed to be a completely different person from the Jiang Lili she knew from school was a matter of genuine astonishment to Wang Qiyao, but for the time being she couldn’t worry about it—she was too busy dealing with the people at the party. Everyone and everything around her seemed to float past her eyes without leaving any clear impression: all was vibrant and beautiful, an enchanting scene indeed. Guests took turns playing the piano in the corner and the intermittent rhythm of the dancing keys was bewitching. The parlor began to grow stuffy, so someone opened the French window leading out onto the tiled terrace; just a few steps down lay the garden. The terrace light was on and one could faintly make out the intertwined branches of the withering lilac out in the garden. Jiang Lili led Wang Qiyao out onto the terrace. She didn’t say a word, but simply gazed out in silence over the darkened garden. Annoyed by this odd behavior, Wang Qiyao turned to go back inside, saying she was chilly.

  Back inside, the parlor presented a boisterous scene, as a group of kids surrounded a young couple, grabbing for the sweets they were distributing. What remained of the birthday cake lay under the branchlike lamp in scattered pieces like a dismembered carcass, the whipped filling strewn over the platter. Half-empty coffee cups littered the room. The party was coming to a close; as the evening approached its climax, everyone seemed to be forgetting their manners. A young man came up to Wang Qiyao in an aggressive and rather theatrical attempt at making a pass. Wang Qiyao blushed, not knowing how to react. Instantly pulling a long face, Jiang Lili drew Wang Qiyao away, telling the young man not to make a fool of himself. Not long after that, the first of the guests departed; others quickly followed suit and began to say their good-byes. The area around the coatrack became a confusing disarray of people searching for their coats. Jiang Lili paid no heed to any of the other well-wishers and only said a proper farewell to Wang Qiyao.

  Before finally releasing Wang Qiyao’s hand, Jiang Lili told her that she considered this day their mutual birthday, a day to be shared together. She spoke these words with a heartbroken expression and, having let go of Wang Qiyao’s hand, rushed upstairs to her room. Feeling like a prisoner set free, Wang Qiyao couldn’t keep from heaving a sigh of relief. The crowd around the coatrack had mostly dispersed, and only two or three older guests stood in the foyer talking with Jiang Lili’s mother. As Wang Qiyao took her coat off the rack, Jiang Lili’s mother turned around to say goodbye and thank her for coming. She told Wang Qiyao how happy she had made her daughter and expressed the hope that she would come again. She saw Wang Qiyao all the way out, and even after Wang Qiyao had gone to the end of the street, she could still see the silhouette of Jiang Lili’s mother standing in the doorway.

  That night marked the beginning of Wang Qiyao’s friendship with Jiang Lili. When they saw each other at school, they acted as before, keeping their relationship a secret. Their relationship was nothing like the friendship Wang Qiyao had enjoyed with Wu Peizhen, or the kind most schoolgirls have with their best friends—always inseparable, with endless secrets to share. Each had her own reasons for not wanting to flaunt their friendship. Wang Qiyao didn’t want to give people the impression that she was fickle when it came to friendship, taking up one and then another—but deep in her heart, even though she might not admit it, she actually kept her friendship with Jiang Lili a secret out of pity for Wu Peizhen. Jiang Lili, on the other hand, simply wanted to be different, because she always insisted on going against the crowd and doing things her own way. Her first rule in life was quite simple: everything was based on her formula of taking the road less traveled. Each had an idea about friendship different from that of most other schoolgirls—neither thought of herself as part of the mainstream. Wang Qiyao’s reason for wanting to be different came from experience, and Jiang Lili’s came from the novels she read. The former had a hint of maturity, while the latter was a kind of literary romanticism. Neither one was entirely on track, but, since they were both deceiving themselves, albeit in different ways, they ended up together.

  They kept to themselves at school but were inseparable once outside the campus gate. Jiang Lili insisted on bringing Wang Qiyao along wherever she went and, since it was Lili’s mother who usually invited her, Wang Qiyao could never bring herself to refuse. Wang Qiyao virtually became a member of the Jiang family. She went everywhere with them. It wasn’t long before their friends and relatives all became very close with Wang Qiyao—she was indeed one of them. Owing to her proper manners and her status as something of a celebrity, people began to treat her better than they did Jiang Lili, so that, before long, the tables were turned and she ceased to be invited out as Jiang Lili’s friend, while Jiang Lili was invited out as her friend. Wang Qiyao had clearly become the one in favor—but she never forgot her place and took special care to treat Jiang Lili even better than before.

  Jiang Lili’s birthday party was followed by an interminable series of other parties. Nearly all were hosted by friends and relatives of the Jiang family; one led to another and they seemed never to end. Everyone at the parties looked familiar, as if they were all one big family. Although the partygoers came in all shapes and sizes and engaged in different professions, after a first meeting they were just like old friends. The parties followed the same basic pattern, and it did not take long until Wang Qiyao figured out how things worked. She knew that she needed to maintain her composure in order to set herself apart from the noise and excitement at these parties. She knew that she needed to dress plain and neat in order to show herself off against the rainbow of colors and carnival of the night. And she even knew that she had to maintain a genuine persona in order to create a contrast with the overly effusive people who were always eager to shower one another with compliments and favors. She seemed innately to know that “the string is easily broken when strung too tight.” Understanding too that she was not one destined to climb to great heights, she kept to her philosophy of “less is more” and remained calm and composed. The result was not immediately apparent, but as time went by it had its effect and gradually Wang Qiyao began to win over their hearts.

  She was the single white peony amid a sea of violet and crimson. Hers was the only unaccompanied vocal piece in a long program of orchestrated medleys. She was a haven of silence in the midst of bombastic debates and ramblings. Wang Qiyao brought something new to those parties—a creative something that carried with it the resolution to persevere—while at the same time she maintained enough perspective to see things as they were. At every party she attended she always felt as if she had to depend on herself for everything. Everyone else seemed to stand in the host’s position, coming and going as they pleased while, as the only guest, in her comings and goings she was always controlled by others. She also
realized that Jiang Lili was her only true friend at these parties; wherever they went, they went hand in hand. Jiang Lili actually despised parties, but was willing to make this sacrifice in order to be with Wang Qiyao. The two became party regulars. The few times they didn’t show, everyone asked about them, so that their names wound up circulating all around the parlor. Being occasionally absent from the parties was also a part of Wang Qiyao’s philosophy of “less is more”—a rather extreme part at that.

  The party—what the Shanghainese call paitui—is the very life of the Shanghai night. Neon lights and dance halls form the outer shell of this sleepless city, but its soul is the party. Parties lie at the innermost core of the city, behind quiet shady boulevards in the parlors of Western-style residences; the pleasure they impart is wrapped in people’s hearts. The lights at these parties are always dim, casting shadows that whisper the language of the heart. But this language of the heart speaks with a European accent, in classical and romantic styles. And the life of the Shanghai party is always the proper young lady; she is the center. Myriad passions play out in silence; romance lies deep under the skin. Forty years hence, no one will remember these passions and this romance; in fact, no one will be able even to imagine what it had been like. The passion and romance of that era was a dynasty; splendid and glorious, it was a heavenly kingdom. The Shanghai skies mourn; they bemoan the loss of that passion and romance. The Shanghai wind tantalizes, and the waters surrounding her are a washed-out carmine.

  Wang Qiyao is one little piece of that passion and romance, not the part that rivets all eyes and becomes the center of attention, but the part that serves as ballast for the heart. She is the heart of hearts, always holding fast and never letting anything out. Supposing there was no Wang Qiyao, the parties would become nothing but hollow, heartless affairs, perfunctory displays of splendor. She was the most meaningful part of this passion and romance. She was that desire that lurks in the soul; if not for this desire, there would be no reason for passion and romance. As a result, passion and romance have found their roots, coloring Shanghai with that thing called mood. The mood casts a magic on every place and every thing, causing them to speak words more gorgeous than song.

  Wang Qiyao strolled into the Shanghai night. The night scene was set against the dim lamps of longtang alleys as well as the lights shining on the cloth backdrops of photo salons. No longer was this night an out-of-context photograph—it now had a story behind it; no longer still, it moved. Its movement was not the movement of the camera at the film studio, for the camera’s movement told someone else’s story. The movement of the night belonged to Wang Qiyao herself. Win or lose, she seemed to be in control of her own destiny—but not entirely. That belongs to the great sky beyond the stars, looming over the Shanghai nightline and enveloping the entire city. Turning white by day and black by night, transforming with the passage of the seasons, this corner of the sky is obscured by buildings and city lights, which serve as its camouflage, yet it withstands thunder and lightning and all the chaos of the world, eternally and boundlessly stretched out overhead.

  Miss Shanghai

  The peaceful atmosphere of 1946 arrived only after what seemed an eternity of chaos. Suddenly all one seemed to hear was good news; anything negative merely set the stage for good news to follow. Shanghai was an optimistic city that always looked on the bright side, in its eyes even bad news had its good side. It was also a city of pleasure that found it difficult to get through the day unless it could find something to make it happy. When torrential floods hit Henan province and people all over China were donating to the disaster relief effort, Shanghai offered its passion and romance—holding a Miss Shanghai beauty pageant to raise money for the flood victims.

  The news of the pageant spread quicker than wildfire and, in the flash of an eye, everyone in the city knew about it. “Shanghai” was already a virtual synonym for modernity, but “Miss Shanghai” captured even better the modern cosmopolitanism of the city—after all, what could be more modern than a beauty queen? It stirred up the feelings of the people, for who in this city did not worship modernity? Here even the sound of ticking clocks seemed to echo the footsteps of modernity. People paid more attention to the election of their beauty queen than the election of their new mayor; after all, what did the mayor have to do with them? Miss Shanghai, however, was a feast for the eyes and everyone got a share. The newspaper that printed the first news of the pageant sold out within an hour of hitting the stands, but there was no time to print more copies, as other papers were immediately reprinting the contents of the article in special edition extras. The news spread along the trolley lines all over the city.

  How romantic the whole affair was! It was a scene directly out of a dream, but suddenly that dream was coming true. No one could sit still, and hearts pounded like thunderous drums, dancing to the rhythm of the three step. Even the city lights seemed to grow dizzy with excitement, twinkling and flickering. What besides “Miss Shanghai” could possibly be closer to this city’s heart? The heart of Shanghai was like a naive child, shamelessly savoring her own pleasure. Each and every citizen wanted to have their vote, selflessly offering their opinions on the new image of beauty.

  The first person to suggest that Wang Qiyao enter the pageant was the photographer Mr. Cheng. After their first session, Mr. Cheng had done two outdoor photo shoots with Wang Qiyao, who seemed to get better each time: always calm and collected, she didn’t so much as bat an eye. It was as if she could read Mr. Cheng’s mind and knew exactly what he wanted. Wang Qiyao’s beauty was the kind that grows slowly over time; it never diminished, only increased. In Mr. Cheng’s eyes, Wang Qiyao was a goddess, incomparable, unrivaled. Convinced that the “Miss Shanghai” pageant was being held especially for her, he earnestly suggested that Wang Qiyao try out for it—there couldn’t have been a more perfect beauty queen. Mr. Cheng was not the only reason Wang Qiyao signed up. She didn’t have nearly as much confidence in herself as Mr. Cheng had. Moreover, he wasn’t the one who would be auditioning for the pageant. There was no way Mr. Cheng could understand the heart-rending vicissitudes she had been through. She wasn’t about to do anything without properly thinking it through. But Mr. Cheng’s suggestion did set her thinking. Over time, the endless parties she was going to had begun to blur together; she felt she was wandering aimlessly back and forth, not getting anywhere. Thus Mr. Cheng’s suggestion ignited a spark in her heart—even if it was only a dull flash of light.

  Then one night, at the wedding reception of one of Jiang Lili’s distant cousins, Jiang Lili suddenly announced Mr. Cheng’s suggestion to all the guests. A wedding is the last place for such an announcement to be made—it was as if Jiang Lili was intentionally trying to steal the spotlight from the bride and groom. Everyone’s gaze immediately fell upon Wang Qiyao, who, although angry, couldn’t very well show it. But the announcement of Wang Qiyao’s beauty queen bid seemed to be a good omen. Even if the big red lanterns decorating the hall had not been intended for her, the jubilant atmosphere no longer belonged solely to the bride and groom. The newlyweds were a propitious sign, as were the lucky day, the wine in their cups, and the carnation on the bride’s breast. Even the streetlights outside were radiant and glowing, and so were the gorgeous images of the billboard beauties; everything was lit up in a mood that was ready for pleasure. Wang Qiyao didn’t place too much blame on Jiang Lili for what she did, in fact, some part of her was even thankful. Perhaps it was all fate? she thought. Who could know? And so she grabbed the opportunity and never looked back.

  Jiang Lili acted as though she were the one entering the pageant. The whole thing had barely begun and she was already busy running all over town getting things ready. Even Lili’s mother was mobilized, and she promised to make a cheongsam for Wang Qiyao to wear the day of the pageant. Jiang Lili dragged her off to party after party, as if Wang Qiyao was on an exhibition tour. Jiang Lili had never learned the art of tact, and when she met people at these parties the first words tumbling out
of her mouth always had to do with garnering votes for Wang Qiyao. She didn’t care whether they even knew Wang Qiyao, let alone how uncomfortable and embarrassed she was making her friend. Jiang Lili had finally found a channel for her willful and domineering nature, and she used it to get what she wanted. In carrying out her campaign to promote her friend, she behaved as if both Wang Qiyao and the very title of “Miss Shanghai” were her exclusive property and she their sole agent. It was a good thing that she had sincerity written all over her face, otherwise things might easily have gone terribly wrong. Wang Qiyao was a rare beauty: this was her firm belief, and she took it upon herself to introduce this beauty to society and advance her cause. By selecting the beautiful Wang Qiyao as her most intimate friend, Jiang Lili could beautify a part of herself.

  The title of “Miss Shanghai” actually meant nothing to her—all that was important to Jiang Lili was Wang Qiyao. She wanted to win over Wang Qiyao’s favor; it was, in fact, a little sad to see. Her parents and siblings she treated like enemies, reserving all her affection for Wang Qiyao, who seemed to be the longed-for target of her love. But this love issued not only from Jiang Lili. Much of it came from the novels she had read. Wang Qiyao could hardly bear it. Wang Qiyao pitied her for being caught up in a vicious circle—wanting what she couldn’t have, never appreciating what she did have, and becoming a terror to everyone, herself included. It was only out of sympathy that Wang Qiyao let her carry on as she did, but even she sometimes had to step in and say a few words when Lili went too far. At these reprimands, Jiang Lili immediately turned into a naive child uncertain of what she had done wrong, fear and confusion written all over her face. But deep down she never admitted she was wrong.