‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ I said. ‘I’m going back to Chengdu.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Twenty Volkswagen Passats entered the precinct courtyard. In line with Bighead’s requirements, every car had been spray-painted blue and equipped with the best police lights and sirens. The anti-smear windscreens and external trimmings were flawless. Bighead looked delighted but at the same time he was shouting at his minions to check all the cars, and even blustered to me, ‘If there’s anything wrong with your cars, I’ll send you to Pi County.’
Pi County was the biggest jail in Chengdu. I bowed obsequiously, just like Chinese did to the Japanese army in old times.
‘Of course I wouldn’t dare,’ I said.
Secretly I was thinking: Just see how I get my revenge on you later, you bastard.
We’d arranged to have dinner with Li Liang at the Workers’ Café — my idea. The patron was a celebrity in local cultural circles who Li Liang had admired for a long time.
In Chengdu you come across a lot of these so-called creative types. Li Liang was always bragging that he’d drunk tea with this poet or eaten with that artist. As a supposed man of culture, I’d try to sound politely impressed. But Bighead had zero patience and inevitably poured cold water on Li Liang’s enthusiasm.
‘You paid the bill, I suppose? How much? Seven hundred? Couldn’t you have used that money to buy us more drink?’
I’d laugh but Li Liang would glare and say that Bighead was a philistine who only knew how to stuff his face. His very existence was an insult to the refined.
The dinner was an opportunity for Li Liang to meet the patron, which I hoped would be a reason for him to come out with us. Li Liang, the addict, lived a regular life. Every day he stayed home drinking tea, reading, playing computer games and getting a fix every couple of hours. He looked calmly indifferent to everything. Bighead and I had ceased trying to persuade him to stop shooting up. That day at his place we’d gone on at him for ages but he still wouldn’t agree to go to the rehab centre. His nose was running as he looked everywhere for needles. Half an hour later he emerged from the bedroom and told us, ‘You don’t understand this. Just leave.’
Li Liang had lost weight and his face was pale, but he was in quite good spirits. He’d quit drinking and didn’t talk much, spending most of the night listening to Bighead and me talking about the cars. It wasn’t until the patron came over to say hello that he showed some life, and they chatted for a while about the current state of Chengdu’s arts scene. Bighead pretended to snore but we hadn’t finished eating before Li Liang himself yawned massively and a big stream of snot ran down to his mouth. His eyes were glazed.
‘Is something up?’ I asked him.
He didn’t answer as swaying slightly, he picked up his leather bag and made his way towards the bathroom. Bighead gave me a look. My heart sank, and I chewed my chopsticks as I thought: Li Liang is finished.
I remembered an incident in our university days, when Li Liang and I were returning to Chengdu by train, and came across two farm labourers also going back to Sichuan. They were dark, dirty and strong and had taken our seats, where they were cracking watermelon seeds and making a mess everywhere. I asked them to return our seats and they didn’t listen, just started cursing me. I was furious, and took out the Mongolian knife Bighead had given me. Li Liang said the expression on my face was terrifying. When those guys saw it, they left resentfully. When we sat down, I told Li Liang what I’d learnt from this response: It was better to be beaten to death than scared to death.
He said, ‘It doesn’t really matter. It’s still death at the hands of others. A true man should be able to control his death. Being killed can’t compare with committing suicide.’
Looking at his shaking back in the restaurant, I felt nervous. How would I judge him if he were to die now?
The next time I saw Bighead Wang he pointedly mentioned the fleet of cars I’d helped him buy. I knew what he was after and handed him an envelope: inside was 14,000 yuan. Bighead grabbed the envelope with amazing speed and put it into his bag as if he was a thief. His face bloomed like a flower and he gave me a a look of almost religious devotion. Actually, the whole business had gone quite smoothly; twenty cars with a mark-up of 1,700 each. After Bighead’s cut, I still had 20,000 left.
I’d made a big show of wanting to split this with my sister, but she’d told me, ‘The best payment would if you could sort out your own life and not give Mum and Dad any more cause to worry about you.’
My nephew Dudu chimed in. ‘Uncle is a bad boy. He always gets Grandma mad.’
Last week I’d told my mother that I wanted to move out. She was upset, but silently packed my stuff for me. I guiltily told her that I was so busy that I had to work overtime every day and that was why I wanted to live closer to work.
She sighed, ‘You’re big enough to make your own decisions. As long as everything goes smoothly, that’s OK.’
When I walked out through the yard, I saw the old lady on the balcony, tearfully looking down at me.
When I failed my university entrance exams the first time round, the old man was furious. He cursed me, saying that I a playboy. He even compared me with Uncle Wang’s son.
‘Look at Wang Dong! The same school, the same age as you. How come he can get accepted by Beijing University?’
I was already depressed, and flew into a rage on hearing this. I brought up the subject of genetics.
‘Why don’t you add that Uncle Wang is a deputy department chief? If I’ve amounted to nothing, it’s your fault!’
His eyes blazed and he gave me a resounding slap. My mother restrained his hand, which was poised to repeat the blow, and condemned his use of force. It would have been OK if she hadn’t said anything, but when she did it fanned my feelings of being wronged. I opened the door and ran away, determined never to return. I was seventeen and didn’t understand anything about life, about what it meant to have a home. Ten years later, I’d come to understand, but once again I was walking out of the only home I had.
The place I was moving to was empty. There was no TV, no stereo, just a big bed. I didn’t go home at night till it was really late. Sometimes I thought ‘home’ was just a place you slept. Scholars and poets had said it was a haven or a nest where you could lick your wounds. That was bullshit. The person who you slept with could betray you at any time, but a bed would always be there. It was a constant, which you could lie on, rely on, loyal to the end.
My window faced the street, and every morning I woke early because of the noise of the cars outside. People from outside the city came to Chengdu with their hopes and dreams, while I, a native son, lived out my nightmares to the sound of their footsteps.
On the bus home from the Chongqing business trip, I called Zhao Yue’s cellphone. She asked what I wanted.
‘I miss you,’ I said. ‘Can I come home and see you?’
She refused and sounded uncomfortable. It seemed it wasn’t convenient for her to talk right then.
I asked jealously, ‘Is Yang Tao with you now?’
She was silent for about half a minute, then hung up. I dialled again but was told: The phone you dialled is turned off. Please call later.
I felt empty and staggered into the bus toilet where I stared with abhorrence at my old and ugly reflection in the metal mirror. At that moment, the bus made a sharp turn, and sent me slamming into the wall. Zhao Yue’s words that day she caught me with Tofu Queen rang in my ears: ‘Worthless! You’re worthless!’
Emerging from the bathroom after washing my face, I attempted to boost my confidence by flirting with the attendant.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ I told her.
She gave a scornful smile and ordered me back to my seat.
‘We’ll arrive in Chengdu soon. Go home and tell your wife that.’
I said that my wife had died. The other people on the bus raised their heads and stared at me.
I was tired of city life, weary of its pr
etensions. After leaving the Workers’ Café, Bighead and I saw Li Liang home and then sat by the river for a while. We talked about times past. I confided to him that I’d probably leave in a few months since my boss wanted to transfer me to Shanghai. Bighead frowned at this and kept smoking. The Funan River, outlined by a few sparse lights, made a turn beside us, flowing silently to the east. All Chengdu people viewed the river as their mother; it was the vessel of their happiness and sorrows, partings and reunions. The laughter and tears of millions of Chen Zhongs and Zhao Yues merged here, flowing to the ocean, mighty and powerful, erasing everything.
Bighead stamped out his cigarette. ‘It’s late, let’s split. If I don’t go home now, Zhang Lan Lan will take sleeping pills again.’
A few months before, I’d invited Bighead when I entertained some clients at the Yellow Dragon resort. He was having difficulties with his wife at that time. He left work without telling her he was going out and was even audacious enough to turn off his phone. At the resort we had a big gambling session and Bighead won more than 17,000 yuan. He was in an ebullient mood and took a woman to his room that night. Their lovemaking was as loud as the thunder of guns and could probably be heard miles away. Wang Yu from Neijiang admired it a lot. ‘Your classmate has so much energy’ he said. ‘His fucking has almost demolished the building.’
After Bighead went home, however, Zhang Lan Lan became suspicious. Perhaps he didn’t pay her his usual attentions. Apparently she interrogated him with the aid of specialist police appliances including an electric baton. Bighead fought back however, and handcuffed her to the bed for three hours. After she got free, Bighead’s wife took a large quantity of sleeping pills. She left a will that cursed her husband’s ancestors, and said, I will haunt you even when I become a ghost.
She survived but I didn’t dare to visit his home for a couple of months after that.
Handing Bighead another Zhonghua cigarette, I said, ‘Screw you. I was asking for your advice. Can you at least pretend to care?’
He lit the cigarette and thought.
‘Will it be any different if you go to Shanghai? It’s not about where you are. — you won’t be happy until you do something about your temper.’
After a pause, he looked at me intently and then said, ‘Do you know why I’ve never liked Zhao Yue?’
Why?
He raised his voice and said, ‘Since you two are divorced, I may as well tell you. I once caught her doing it with another man.’
My jaw dropped but no words would come out.
Bighead tossed away his cigarette and added, ‘She said that if I didn’t tell you, I could do anything I liked with her.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I called Zhao Yue to tell her I was leaving for Shanghai. There was what I interpreted as stunned silence, as if she didn’t know what to say. Finally she said: ‘So when are you coming back?’
She definitely sounded upset. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered how at her graduation she’d embraced me and said, ‘Even if you don’t love me, I still want to go to Chengdu and be with you!’
For a brief moment I felt like abandoning my plan — but then I remembered Bighead’s words and my heart became as hard as a stone.
‘What’s left in Chengdu for me?’ I said. ‘When I go, I don’t plan to return.’
It sounded like Zhao Yue was crying. Softly putting down the receiver, I studied the cruel smile on my face in the bedroom mirror.
Bighead Wang had said that the guy was Yang Tao. The incident had occurred a few months back, while I’d been doing company training in Nanjing. Bighead said they didn’t have a stitch on, and hadn’t even locked the door. Zhao Yue had remained calm, whereas Yang Tao appeared paralysed by shock. Bighead said he’d wanted to kill Yang Tao, but a completely naked Zhao Yue had blocked him, not letting him land a blow. According to Bighead, Zhao Yue hadn’t seemed embarrassed at all. Apparently Zhao Yue went looking for Bighead afterwards, and tearfully promised that she’d never do it again and would be faithful to me from now on. Bighead said that any time he mentioned Zhao Yue I got mad, so he didn’t dare tell me.
He kept his head down. Meanwhile, my body was shaking, my mind racing. Finally I lunged at Bighead and pushed him to the ground like a piece of meat. My eyes were red. Punching his nose, I told him, ‘How could you not tell me? If I ever consider you as a friend again I’m not a human being!’
That evening I started to plan my revenge. Deceit was like a sheathed knife: when the truth came out, it hurt people. I had to make Zhao Yue pay a proper price, pay for everything. Otherwise, I thought, what’s the point of me still being alive?
I had 60,000 or so in savings; the 50,000 Old Lai in Chonqing had promised me hadn’t trickled into my account yet. But there was enough money to pay for a hit on Yang Tao. In high school I had a classmate called Liang Dagang who’d done a few years in the army. Afterwards, he worked as a bodyguard for a pawnbroker and car racketeer dealing mostly in stolen goods; around half of the stolen cars in Chengdu passed through his hands. Liang Dagang opened his own company last year, to collect debts on people’s behalf. It was said that he already had one death on his conscience. I’d bumped into him recently in Ran Fang Street and he said he wanted to underwrite all our company’s debts — to give us protection in the case of any legal difficulties.
He let his jacket fall open slightly and at his waist I glimpsed the muted glint of a gun.
I’d told Zhao Yue that I was off in a fortnight and if I wasn’t wrong, she’d be worrying now about our property. After our divorce we’d agreed that the apartment would go to her but all the contracts were in my name. Zhao Yue was one for details: there was no way she’d let me leave with things still like that. Her apparently emotional reaction to the news of my move was definitely fake, and I vowed to myself that from now on I’d never believe her tears. My guess was that she’d be concerned that I was planning to go back on my word and try to take the apartment.
Shortly before our wedding, we’d argued about a prenuptial agreement; everything had gone smoothly until then. We’d just been to the Golden Bull hospital for our medical inspections. Zhao Yue’s face was red as she told me the doctor had prodded her until she nearly wet herself. I guffawed, which made her more embarrassed, so I consoled her by saying, ‘This is a good thing. No one wants us to suffer mechanical failure in the middle of production.’ And I made a gesture to show that I didn’t mind displaying my equipment in front of the doctor.
She hit me, laughing. ‘You’re a complete bastard.’
It seemed that marriage required a lot of specialist training. At the marriage preparation class later that day, I whispered to her, ‘We should do a pre-nup. How about it?’
She didn’t like the idea. ‘We haven’t even got married yet and you’re already thinking of throwing me over,’ she said.
‘You really are a peasant,’ I told her. ‘What does this have to do with divorcing or not? Modern people need to think modern.’
In spite of everyone else looking at us, Zhao Yue stormed out in a huff. ‘Yes, I’m a peasant, so what? If there’s anyone willing to sign a pre-nup with you, go and find her!’
My first instinct was to stay put, but I forced myself to follow her. She went on at me for ages, furious, wounded and hurt, and I only saved the situation by reciting a parody of Xin Qiji’s poem:
In front of a three-wheeled car
on a rubbish tip
Chengdu drifter
get out your cock
you’re being sweet
but she’s still mad.
Zhao Yue smiled through her tears. ‘If Xin Qiji knew that you’d done such stupid things with his poem, he’d be the one that was mad with you.’
Then she told me seriously, ‘I refuse to go to lawyers. I agreed to be married to you for our whole lives.’
My heart ached exquisitely as I embraced her thin waist.
A monk at Wenshu Temple had once said to me: ‘See through things; everything is fals
e!’ Now I realised how stupid I was. Who made me so lacking in intelligence?
It was Zhao Yue who requested a meeting. After work, I drove straight to the Fragrant Hotpot Restaurant in Xiyan district. Five months before I’d refused to go there when Zhao Yue asked me. Now it was too late, too late for everything.
‘If I hadn’t turned you down that day, do you think we’d still be together now?’ I asked in a sentimental voice.
Zhao Yue’s head dropped. ‘Is there any point in asking that now?’
Her mouth trembled. It seemed she wanted to cry again.
I’d rehearsed my lines. Zhao Yue couldn’t cope with other people’s emotions. When we watched Titanic, long before anyone else she’d started to cry as though she was dying. That was my first strategic objective tonight: to get her emotional. I drank beer and looked fondly at her. Actually my heart was becoming hard like metal.
‘Now that I’m moving to Shanghai I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ I told her. ‘Perhaps I won’t even be able to return for your and Yang Tao’s wedding.’
Zhao Yue kept up her pretense. ‘Yang Tao and I are just friends. Who says I’m going to marry him?’
I managed to feign a happy expression.
‘You mean I still have a chance?’
‘You’re going to Shanghai,’ she said. ‘How can you take care of me?’
Now we’d got to the critical topic and I fixed her with a sorrowful look.
‘I’ll always wait for you,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter where you are, whether or not you’re married, I’ll wait. I’ll use the rest of my life to make up for my mistake.’
My tone was as respectful as at a funeral. Zhao Yue’s eyes gradually filled with tears.
Buttering people up was always one of my greatest weapons in seducing women. At school when I was chasing the school beauty, Cheng Jiao, many of my competitors were taller, more handsome and richer than me. In the end though, I won her. The first time I got her clothes off, my bedroom skills were still raw and she had to show me the ropes, sighing, ‘I’ve been deceived by your fearless mouth.’
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