Peach Blossom Paradise

by Ge Fei

  “What would he do that for?” Xiumi asked.

  Fair-haired Tan Si snorted. “Dummies do dumb things, I guess.”

  When he wasn’t teaching, Ding Shuze loved catching all kinds of flying insects. In time, he got so good at it that he could nab anything that flew—mosquito, moth, or housefly—right out of the air on his first try. If his target landed on a wall, he would simply smack it with his open palm; he never missed. Any six-legged creature that flew into his house was doomed. But the clay pot breaks beside the well, and generals die on the battlefield, so they say, and even the best are bound to make mistakes.

  “A fly made it through the window this morning, and Teacher couldn’t get it. I think his eyes are getting worse with age. But he got really aggravated looking all over the room for the fly. Then he spied it on the wall and slammed it with his hand as hard as he could. But guess what? It wasn’t a fly, it was one of the big nails sticking out of the wall! It took him forever to pull his hand off the nail, the whole time howling with pain.” Tan Si collapsed on his desk in a paroxysm of laughter. Xiumi laughed along with him for a while, but threw him a warning glance when she caught sight of Ding Shuze coming back through the skywell.

  Her teacher wanted more recitation. She recited from the Book of Odes and the abridged Comprehensive History while Ding Shuze lay back in his rattan chair, whimpering and sucking his teeth, his heavy stomach rising up and down. Xiumi accidentally giggled. Ding Shuze frowned and asked her what she was laughing at, but Xiumi merely rolled her eyes at him. There was nothing he could say or do.

  “Enough, enough, enough.” Ding Shuze sat up in his rattan chair and looked over to the fair-haired boy, who was suppressing more giggles with all his strength. “Tan Si, come over here.” Hearing his name called, Fair-Hair slid out of his chair and stood before his teacher. “You too,” the teacher said to Xiumi.

  Reaching into his inner pocket, Ding Shuze produced a letter, which he handed to Xiumi. “I need the two of you to take this letter to Xia village for me. You both know the way to Xia village, yes?” The two children nodded. Xia village wasn’t far from Puji; Xiumi went to market days there with Lilypad.

  Having just put the letter into Xiumi’s hands, Ding Shuze took it back. The envelope hadn’t been sealed yet; Ding Shuze blew the flap open and plucked out the contents with his good hand. He read the letter front to back one more time, nodding as he went, before returning it to the envelope and handing it again to Xiumi.

  “Head east on the main road at the west end of Puji and go straight until the road curves hard. At the end of the curve you should be able to see Xia village. When you get to the village entrance, you’ll see a pond with a burial mound like an island in the middle of it, covered in grass and reeds and whatever. But look past that to the three willow trees growing on the other side of the pond; the door that faces the middle tree belongs to the Xue family. I want you to give the letter to Master Xue personally. If he’s not there, do not give it to anyone else, just bring it back here. Do not forget. Tan Si likes horsing around and getting into trouble, so Xiumi, you need to watch him: don’t let him go play in the river. If the master wants to write a reply, just wait and then bring it back to me. If he doesn’t, that’s fine, just come straight back here.”

  Just as Ding Shuze finished his instructions, another thought crossed his mind and he asked Xiumi, “After I read that letter a second time, did I put it back in the envelope?”

  “You did,” Xiumi replied.

  “I put it back?” Ding Shuze asked again.

  “I saw you put it in. Do you want to check for yourself?” She handed it over. Ding Shuze pinched the envelope and peered inside before finally relinquishing it to Xiumi.

  •

  Xiumi led Tan Si eastward, along the avenue by the river. “This letter must be important,” Tan Si said. “I saw the teacher writing it this morning. He put it in the envelope and took it out to read again four or five times.”

  Xiumi asked Tan Si if he had ever met Master Xue. Tan Si said he’d seen him twice at Ding Shuze’s house. He was a rich man, and had a big mole on his face.

  The first half of their route took them past the big temple at the eastern end of the village.* It had fallen almost completely in ruin; its grand hall sat like a half-plucked chicken, black rafters exposed beneath a scant patchwork of broken roof tiles. Only the side chambers were still habitable. Xiumi remembered stepping inside once with Lilypad on the way home from market day to get out of the rain. An outdoor stage made of earth once stood in the front of the temple, but no opera had been performed there for many years, the stage overgrown with grass and weeds. No one had bothered with the temple for ages, and only beggars and itinerant monks found shelter beneath its roof. When locals wanted to burn incense or pray to Buddha, they went across the river.

  Xiumi and Tan Si arrived at Xia village around noon. Just as their teacher had said, they found the pond, with three large willow trees on its opposite bank. Master Xue’s front door was shut and didn’t swing open when pushed, indicating the door bar was down. Tan Si knocked, but no one responded. Xiumi put an ear to the door and could hear the sound of voices though couldn’t quite make out the conversation. She turned around and noticed someone in a wide felt hat fishing beside the pond. At the sound of knocking, the figure bent down and turned to look toward them, but when Xiumi tugged on Tan Si’s sleeve and pointed to the pond, the figure ducked down into the weeds and disappeared.

  Tan Si beat on the door several times and even yelled inside without eliciting any response. “Let’s just slip the letter under the door and be done with it,” he told Xiumi.

  “That’s no good, Mr. Ding told us to give it to the master in person.”

  “The door bar is down, so someone has to be home. How come nobody’s answering?” Tan Si put his face to the door frame to peer inside. Suddenly he tumbled back, and sat right down with a surprised Ai-ya!

  The door opened—not completely, just enough for a robed servant to lean out and look at them. “Who are you?”

  “You scared me, you scared me!” Tan Si sat on the doorstep and wailed.

  “We’re looking for Master Xue,” Xiumi replied.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Puji.” Xiumi turned once more toward the pond. The fisherman was still there, crouched down, hat pulled low, but clearly staring through the reeds in their direction. In the bright light of the summer sun, Xiumi could see that he had a noticeable hunch to his back.

  The servant looked them over carefully before saying in a low voice, “Follow me.”

  The outer door gave way to an extremely narrow vestibule with walls reaching so high they shrouded the interior in heavy shadow. A second door at the far end led to the courtyard itself, where the inhabitants resided. No wonder they had knocked for so long without anyone hearing.

  Entering the courtyard, Xiumi saw two horses, one white and one chestnut, swinging their tails lazily beneath the tall locust tree to which they were tethered. The warm, sharp smell of fresh horse manure lingered in the air. There must have been several guests, as Xiumi could hear a commotion of voices from inside that sounded like an argument. They passed through the open skywell and reception room into a large rear courtyard, in the southwest corner of which stood an open pavilion that was packed with people. The servant stopped them beneath the corridor on one side of the courtyard, and told them to wait while he informed the master of their arrival. The servant’s voice was soft and imploring like a woman’s, though he was a man.

  Once the servant left, Xiumi turned to Tan Si. “Why did you scream like that? You scared me to death.”

  “I was peering through the door and I didn’t expect that idiot to be standing right there. His face got so close to mine that our eyelashes almost touched. Wouldn’t you have been scared?”

  Xiumi’s gaze suddenly changed direction, and her expression darkened. “Wha
t’s he doing here?”

  “Who?” Tan Si asked, looking quizzically at Xiumi. Xiumi’s face had gone from green to pale, and her jaw began clenching involuntarily as she shrank back. She said nothing but tugged insistently on Tan Si’s sleeve. Looking across the courtyard, he realized she was referring to one of the three men who had emerged from the pavilion walking toward them. The servant was leading the way for a powerfully built man with a large black mole next to his eyebrow and Zhang Jiyuan, who was holding a teacup and saucer. The three men stopped in front of the children, and Master Xue addressed them in a booming voice: “What business do you have with me?”

  A stupefied Xiumi pulled out her teacher’s letter with a quivering hand, and passed it to Tan Si, who delivered it to the men. Xiumi never even looked up.

  Master Xue took the envelope and looked at it with an annoyed expression. “It’s this Ding Shuze again.” He tore the envelope open and stepped into the sunlight to read the letter.

  Zhang Jiyuan moved to Xiumi’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here visiting friends,” he said in a soft voice. “I didn’t expect I would run into you; what a surprise.”

  Xiumi’s heart pounded, and an awful nervous sensation filled her shoulder. She didn’t dare look up at him, though her heart quietly screamed, Get it off! Take your filthy hand off! She wanted to squirm away, but her feet weren’t listening to her. Her shivering grew more intense.

  Finally, Zhang Jiyuan removed his hand. His body smelled faintly of tobacco. His cup and saucer clinked as he drank his tea. Moments later she heard him chuckle. Then he lowered his face to her ear and whispered, “Look at how frightened you are. Don’t be scared, Mr. Xue and I go way back. We have some things to talk about.”

  Xiumi ignored him. His hot breath made her ears itch. She noticed that several people inside the pavilion were leaning against a pillar and talking in low voices. A pear tree next to the pavilion had been recently felled.

  Finishing the letter, Master Xue laughed. “Ding Shuze. The old cur won’t leave me alone.”

  “Let me guess, he wants you to help him find a post to fill in the capital?” Zhang Jiyuan asked.

  “You got it. He keeps going on about how he was blood brothers with my father, then waxes poetic. But when I asked my father about it, he said he had never heard of the man.” The master snorted again. “Unreadable crap.”

  “Little does he know that yesterday’s imperial historian is tomorrow’s target practice. He’s really picked a great time to get in on the action,” Zhang Jiyuan replied derisively.

  “No doubt about it. And the man’s over seventy—is it really worth it for him?” Master Xue pondered. Turning to Tan Si, he said, “Go back and tell Mr. Ding that I’ve received his letter, and will call on him personally at a later date.” Then he cast a searching look at Xiumi and at Zhang Jiyuan. “Since your niece is here, why don’t we let them rest awhile, and they can stay for lunch.”

  “My niece doesn’t leave the house often,” Zhang Jiyuan replied, “and I believe that seeing me here so suddenly has given her a bit of a shock. Why don’t we let them return home posthaste.”

  “That’s fine too.”

  •

  The same servant showed them out. As they stepped through the skywell, they heard Master Xue and Zhang Jiyuan burst into laughter. Though she had no idea what the two of them might be laughing about, she could tell from their sniggering that it was something despicable. She hated him so much, she could taste it. Tan Si started peppering her with questions: Where had her uncle come from? How come he’d never seen him in Puji? Why was he here? If he was her uncle, why was she so frightened? Xiumi marched forward, head down, saying nothing, through the shadowy hallway and into the blazing sun outside. The servant mumbled, “Forgive me if I lead you no further,” and slammed the door.

  The area outside was completely deserted; even the old fisherman across the pond had disappeared. Tan Si asked, “Why would they bury a dead person out in the middle of a pond?” Xiumi knew he was talking about the mound in the middle of the pond, but the subject had already lost interest for her. She pushed his arm and pointed toward the water. “Did you see anyone out there fishing just a while ago?”

  The fair-haired boy said he hadn’t.

  “He was just over there fishing when we arrived. Where did he go?”

  “He probably went home to eat. Why do you care when he goes fishing?”

  They circled around to the side of the pond where the fisherman had been. Through the reeds, Xiumi caught sight of a bamboo pole floating in the water, a light wind turning it slowly in the pond. She reached down and fished it out, only to discover that it was nothing more than the pole itself without line or hook.

  Tan Si was pestering her to go; his stomach growled audibly. The two of them set off homeward, one following the other. Xiumi couldn’t help but feel she was in the middle of a waking dream. Where had Zhang Jiyuan come from, and what had brought him to Puji? And who exactly was Master Xue? And the old man in the felt hat, crouching by the pond and pretending to fish without a line or hook?

  She began to suspect that beyond the ostentation of her own house stretched an entirely different world, a silent world so large it had no end to it. They met no one on the road home. The sky looked higher and vaster than it ever had before, and the ditches, gullies, knolls, river currents, and even sunlight seemed like mirages.

  Arriving back in Puji, Xiumi sent Fair-Hair back to Mr. Ding’s place to deliver Master Xue’s reply, while she herself went straight home. Seeing Lilypad washing mosquito nettings by the pond, Xiumi approached her, and asked, “Hey, Bigmouth, do you know if there’s really a Master Xue in Xia village?”

  “You mean Xue Zuyan? Of course. His dad is some high official in the capital,” Lilypad replied.

  Xiumi gave an absentminded “Oh” and headed upstairs to her room.

  *Black Dragon Temple: First built in 1621. Local legend states that in the days of the temple’s construction, a huge black dragon appeared in the southwest corner of the temple grounds, lingering for three days. A lightning strike and resulting fire in 1842 significantly damaged the structure. Converted to a private school in the Republican period, it was rebuilt fully in 1934. In 1957, it became the Puji Primary School. In 1987, it was restored to its original state, and its name changed to Lasting Grace Temple.

  6

  ONE EVENING at dinner, Zhang Jiyuan decided to tell his “three-legged chicken” joke one more time. Although he had told it just a few days earlier, he launched into the encore with enthusiasm, leaving most of the table in stitches. Magpie laughed because she really thought the joke was funny; Zhang Jiyuan could tell it fifty times, and it would still make her titter so hard her teeth would clink on her rice bowl. Mother laughed out of politeness, chuckling audibly a couple of times to indicate she was paying attention. Lilypad was most likely laughing at Magpie, and the fact that a dried-up old joke everyone in the village knew by heart could still amuse her. Baoshen laughed because he was good-natured, and laughed with everyone; besides, he was leaving the following morning to pick up his son at Qinggang. Still, his laughter sounded a bit forced.

  Only Xiumi didn’t laugh.

  Zhang Jiyuan winked at her several times as he told his joke. His gaze was hard to read; it felt as if he sought some kind of understanding about their meeting that morning, or recognition of a commonly held secret. Though she kept her head down, Xiumi felt the glitter of his eyes, as though they were communicating in a language of their own that floated out from behind wet eyelids and hung midair in the evening light. With her eyes on her food, she endured Zhang Jiyuan’s joke to the very end, when a confused Magpie blurted out, “But how could the chicken have three legs?” The table exploded with laughter again; she obviously still didn’t get it.

  Baoshen finished his dinner first. He set down his bowl and chopsticks, straightened his cuffs, and
excused himself. Lilypad looked over to Mother and said, “You shouldn’t have given him his travel money so early. You know he’s just going to throw it down that bottomless pit behind the village.”

  “How do you know he’s going to Miss Sun’s?” Mother asked.

  “Hah. That little kitten came by this morning to borrow a bamboo sieve. I saw them in the hallway, hands all over each other like they were right about to—”

  Mother stopped Lilypad with a look, and then glanced at Xiumi, as if to determine whether or not the girl understood what they were talking about.

  After Zhang Jiyuan finished, he sat back and didn’t move, as usual. He cleaned his teeth with a toothpick, then cleaned his nails, and after he had dug under all ten of them, he put the toothpick in his mouth again. He fiddled with the lamp and stared through the skylight, as if he had something on his mind. Finally, he pulled his pipe and tobacco tin from his pocket, filled the bowl, lit it by the lamp flame, and started puffing away.

  From out of nowhere, Grandma Meng burst into the kitchen, looking for Baoshen. “He can’t play mahjong tonight,” Lilypad said, laughing. “He’s got another woman on his arm.”

  “Perfect,” Grandma Meng replied. “Baoshen is the worst. He wins a few pennies, and then starts humming. It drives you so crazy, you lose even more!” She began pestering Mother to join her. Unable to fend off Grandma Meng’s entreaties, Mother said, “Fine. I’ll play a few rounds with you tonight.” Before she left, she ordered Magpie and Lilypad to put bamboo screens on top of all the mattresses.

  “That’s the thing to do,” Grandma Meng added. “You’ll need those to sleep on, after a hot day like today.” She dragged Mother away.

  •

  With Mother gone, Lilypad was in charge. She sent Magpie off to boil water to disinfect the screens; the bamboo would probably be wormy after a year of no use. Xiumi asked Magpie to add a little more water so she could wash her hair. “You wash your hair in the evening, you may never get married,” Lilypad warned.