by Sheng Keyi
Mengliu pondered this as he walked home. Jia Wan had never been a close friend, so why believe him now? What was his motive?
He stopped at the entrance to the West Wing. Sadness, riding on a heart-piercing wind, stabbed at his chest. It was as if it had been lying in wait, and had attacked him with an iron bar. The pain almost doubled him over. He was breathing heavily, and tears escaped from his eyes. He was being ground into the earth. His heart cried out, Qizi! Oh Qizi! What am I going to do?
His legs felt like they were filled with lead, and his head with water, which swished as he walked with twisted steps, his shoulder rubbing against the wall. The slogans that had been painted there had already run, were no longer fresh.
‘I’m tired, so sleepy. Yes, sleepy, and thirsty, and hungry. I want to bathe. I want to have a restful sleep. I don’t want to think of anything. The birds, the wind, the shouting, the radio, love, democracy…just shut the hell up! Don’t talk to me about any of it anymore. I don’t want anyone to bother me. I just want to have a good night’s sleep.’
He had no idea how long he had slept when the door opened and woke him. He saw a girl standing in the doorway, the sun making her face blurry and her body luminous, like a white angel descended to earth. It took some effort for him to focus, and then he discovered that the girl was tall and well-built, and her head almost touched the top of the doorframe. It seemed as if she was stuck there. He did not know a girl as imposing as this one was.
She leant forward and entered the room. The halo dissipated, and the body ceased its glowing. Seeing more clearly now, Mengliu realised it was a man, Shunyu’s father.
The older man’s hair was a curly mess, his clothes dirty and in disarray. He wore a strange expression, staring at Mengliu but saying nothing. Two minutes passed like that then, with a ghastly pallor, he said, ‘This…you hold on to this first. The issue of the chuixun…wait until you come back and we can discuss it then.’ He carefully placed the lady-charming xun on the table, then turned and gave an extraordinarily grave, secretive command. ‘You must leave Beiping immediately.’
‘Why?’ Mengliu asked, frightened. ‘Why should I leave Beiping?’
‘They opened fire…’ Shunyu’s father’s voice trembled, and there were tears in his eyes. ‘Last night, they opened fire. They brought tanks in and started shooting indiscriminately. There’s blood everywhere. Shunyu…she, she caught a stray bullet…She’s dead.’
Mengliu felt a bomb exploding in his head. ‘She’s…dead?’
‘Here is a train ticket, and here’s money to use on the road. It should be enough. It should be safe in the countryside. Lie low. Go, and wait for word from me.’ Shunyu’s father was suddenly overcome with emotion.
Mengliu didn’t hear him. He rushed out, dishevelled, and Shunyu’s father grabbed after him. ‘Don’t go back there. They’ve declared martial law.’
‘But no matter what, I need to go and see…there’s still Qizi. God, Qizi! Where are they?’
‘They were the first names on the wanted list,’ said Shunyu’s father heavily.
‘It can’t be. I’ve got to go look for them.’
‘The list is growing, and if your name is on it, it will be too late.’ The old man was filled with anger now. ‘Do you want your father… to bear the pain of losing a son too?’
Mengliu’s heart sustained another heavy blow.
No, it couldn’t be true. It was a dream. He stared at Shunyu’s father, waiting for him to break into a rosy smile. The man couldn’t be angry if he had been playing a cruel joke on him.
But Shunyu’s father stood helpless and sad, his eyes knotted with a scarlet web of blood vessels. He clenched his fist tightly, then quickly went away.
Mengliu was left in a foolish daze, not quite able to come back to reality. In his trance, he saw a touch of red on the rose bush at the window. He rushed over and inspected it. A shy, fiery-red bud peeped at him, like the eye of a sleeping baby. It was the answer to the question he and Qizi had bet on. They had used their bodies as stakes in the wager. She chose red roses, and he white. She said if he won, she would give her body to him, but if she won, he had to give his body to her, with one added condition – he had to remain committed to poetry, no matter what the situation, and never give up writing. At the time he had laughed at her condition, feeling it bore no weight. He was a poet, and it was instinctive for him to write poetry, it was the very meaning of his existence. He looked at the delicate bud and almost laughed. But now the bud looked like it had been dipped in blood, and the colour was spreading. His mind suddenly became exceptionally clear.
He had to find her.
Part Two
1
They had a good breakfast of preserved meats, pickled vegetables, fried eggs and rice porridge. Mengliu washed the bowls, cups, plates, cutlery and pans, and put everything away. He couldn’t see any change in Juli. The sky outside the window was as blue as before and the birds in the garden still sang as happily. It was only Mengliu’s heart that seemed to be missing a piece, like a hole where the roof tile has broken, allowing the cold wind to enter. He took the diamonds out from under the edge of his bed and held them toward the light, trying to draw some warmth from their glow. He bathed and dried himself, then pressed the green button on the wall and received a spray of perfumed toner. After he had put on a silky white dressing gown, he turned one of the golden taps and filled a glass with beer. With his mouth still full of the taste of malt, he went to the living area and spread himself out on the sofa, his feelings for Juli overflowing. He heard music, and at first thought that he had imagined it. Then he suddenly remembered the cavity in the wall which housed the alarm and realised the music had come from there. The Swanese people listened to the same song all the time. He did not know what else was behind the hole in wall. Listening devices? Monitors? A pair of eyes? The melody was like an eraser, wiping the image of Juli from his mind, turning the vivid thick water colour painting of her into a grey filmy form. Qizi and many other women swirled in his mind, and before long they disappeared too, as if sinking into deep water. Now he was sucked into the moving green waves. Distracted, he lay on the sofa like the man of the house and rested a moment. Then he put on his robe and shoes and went out the door.
On the road, he encountered a funeral procession, The deceased, covered by a white cloth and laid upon a board, was carried by four men in white clothing. There was a musical troupe, priests and a group of sympathetic citizens, and they all sang in a soft chorus a poetic narrative of the life of the deceased. It was a calm, serene song, untouched by sadness. Mengliu watched as the funeral procession started to ascend the hill. He could no longer hear the band playing when they stopped and formed a circle, like a wreath worn on top of the hill. They seemed to be holding some sort of ceremony. The blue sky extended beyond his line of vision.
Mengliu headed east, through the deserted streets, to the foot of the mountain. There he found himself facing a complicated grey building. Two spires were raised like swords toward the sky. The heavy wooden doors were open, and on the arch above them was a carved relief. There was a stained glass window above the arch, with red and blue the dominant colours, and window frames of exquisite craftsmanship. He stepped inside. The hall was bright and spacious, under a cathedral-like dome engraved with an elaborate pattern. Light fell through the stained-glass windows, and the soft glow was reflected on the tiled floor. There was a solemn, religious atmosphere in the building, and a cold, lonely air about the hall. The crude columns were painted with dragons and phoenixes, and the carved images of curly-haired heads were distributed about the four corners of the room. The aisle stretched out straight ahead, as if it were a long tunnel through time and space. Mengliu moved deeper into the hall. The temperature suddenly dropped, and he began to shiver. Gradually, he felt the building changing. His footsteps sounded with a metallic echo, as if he were walking through a tin box. Then he seemed to sink, and the sounds were gone. The light dimmed, his vision blurred, and he
was finally plunged into total darkness. The air was filled with a strong taste of the sea. Suddenly he felt dizzy, as if the hall was moving rapidly. This feeling lasted for several seconds, then he bent over and vomited. After what seemed like half an hour, his stomach was completely emptied of its contents. A hole opened up in the wall of darkness. His vision became clear, and a strong light fell on him, as if the sun was shining so brightly it made the surroundings dreadfully pale. His eyes were bursting with pain, and he covered them with his hands to block out the light. He heard the sound of a machine clicking. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a diamond-shaped space. The strength of the light above him had weakened, and turned into the soft light of a blue sky. Music floated like snowflakes through the air.
‘Mr Yuan, we welcome you to Swan Valley,’ said a robotic voice. At the same time a metal pipe with a coin-sized opening projected out from the wall and stopped right in front of Mengliu’s face. ‘You can see me through this periscope.’
Mengliu froze for a moment, then took hold of the metal pipe and peered through it. He saw, as if in a reflection on water, a blurred image of a machine control room. It exuded a charming orange glow, and was filled with green plants. There were buttons on the wall with mysterious writing under them. In the middle of the room was a large desk and what looked like a sofa with a person perched upon it. The person gestured to him, and told him that if he adjusted the dial beneath the periscope, he would see more clearly, and in even more fantastic colours.
As he adjusted the focus, Mengliu saw a figure sitting in a chair, with hair as green as seaweed. A white veil covered half its face. Its body was glistening, as if it was wearing golden armour.
The robot seemed to laugh a little, then reached over and pressed a button. The periscope retracted.
Mengliu heard a whirring sound from the machine as it went through its operations. All around him, various sorts of equipment now began to go into action. The instruments, meters, valves and control panels had all been polished until they shone. Electronic numbers jumped as the red screen flashed, and data was generated. A body of glowing spherical electronic bulbs rotated slowly on a screen, as the robotic voice issued from it.
‘Please have a seat Mr Yuan. I am very sorry that I haven’t had time to meet you until today.’
A man came out from a gap in the wall, his bald head shining. He pushed forward a Chinese-style armchair, then stood to one side, his body stiff and his hands folded at his waist.
‘Who are you? Why did you bring me here?’ Mengliu was not willing to sit. He looked around suspiciously.
The robot laughed and said, ‘Mr Yuan, your tone is a little unfriendly. You should feel honoured to come to our beautiful Swan Valley. You are timid and weak, and you lack ideals. But you also lack spiritual support. You need a resuscitation, so we can change your shortcomings and flaws. You will become a poet with impeccable character.’
‘If I am good or bad, what is that to you? I’m just an ordinary man, and of no value to you.’ Mengliu felt that the machine spoke with a style that was vaguely familiar.
‘Ha ha ha ha. Put aside your old ways of thinking,’ the robot continued, laughing. ‘If you have any questions, feel free to ask and I will answer.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I am Ah Lian Qiu, the spiritual leader of Swan Valley.’
‘You are a woman?’
‘Sorry?’
‘A woman?!’
‘It does not matter.’
Mengliu was silent for a moment, then asked, ‘Why is sexual intercourse not allowed in Swan Valley?’
‘A single person can colour ten million years of history. That is to say, one good, great, perfect person is more beneficial than countless handicapped people, and those with lower IQs. Swan Valley strictly regulates fertility according to scientific principles. It guarantees a quality population, and that we will not produce useless citizens. So…’
‘So you seized upon excellent food, laid claim to blue skies, and captured perfection in humans…’
‘That is blunt, and rather unfriendly.’
‘You strangle human nature…’
‘It is logical to be inhumane. What use is humanity? Humane feeling is just a vat of paint. It will make a mess of everything. I am sure you can see how affluent Swan Valley is, how orderly. The people’s intelligence, their knowledge and spirit as well as their attitude toward life, are all to be commended. There is no desire, no greed, no selfishness or distraction, only good deeds. Swan Valley will be the most ideal place on earth.’
‘Yes. There is no resistance, only compliance. There is no self, only manipulation. People have been turned into robots. It is no different from castration.’
‘In Swan Valley, where everyone has ample food and clothing, how could there be any unhappiness? Who would object to such a comfortable, and agreeable life?’ When the robot had said this, it laughed wildly several times, as if it had revelled in this pleasure for a thousand years.
‘Then what do you want to do with me?’
‘To save you. To let you start over again as a poet.’
‘I am not a poet, and I don’t need saving. Please, let me go home.’
‘As far as I know, you are a good poet, but you are not the least bit patriotic.’
‘Nonsense. You would have no way of knowing what my feelings for my country are.’
‘Mr Yuan, if you were patriotic, why didn’t you join the protests all those years ago?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I have my own way of expressing my feelings for my motherland. Moreover, things were not the way you think they were. What everyone knows is just their view…’
‘You are wrong. One has a clearer perspective as an observer.
‘You are like a frog in a well.’
‘I’m sorry. I meant to praise you. You keep away from messy complications. You are wise.’
‘I do not need to talk to you about such things. You’ve violated my personal liberties.’
‘I wonder. You live like farmers in a village with no church, and yet you talk to me of individual rights? Maybe you are thinking of that girl, Suitang? Don’t worry, we can invite her here, and hope that your genes match hers. Sometimes a prodigy…’
‘No, I’ve got no relationship with her,’ Mengliu said, raising his voice. ‘I don’t want to get married, and I certainly don’t want to father a prodigy.’
‘Ha ha. Mr Yuan, don’t be so quick to reject the idea. You will come to love Swan Valley, and you will make a comfortable life here.’
‘Frankly, I do not feel your goodness. You deprive others of freedom as a means of entertainment.’
‘You are so stubborn. But you will come to understand.’
‘I just want to go home.’
‘We are prepared to make you a cultural officer, and you still want to go back? You’d rather be a zombie, entangled in self-condemnation and guilt?’
Mengliu was secretly surprised. The robot seemed to have completely mastered both his past and his hidden inner world. Yes, he admitted to himself, he did live in a spiritual prison, and he knew beyond a doubt that he had no chance of being set free. He still remembered the day very clearly. Shunyu’s father had brought him the devastating news. The red rosebud appeared. He did not board the train and leave. He had gone in search of Qizi. If she was alive, he wanted to find her, and if she was dead, he wanted to find her body. There was no one at the Wisdom Bureau. The guard’s eyes were red. The horrors he had witnessed that night reverberated in his trembling words. He described the sounds of gunfire, the tanks, the fires, and the hand-to-hand combat, the wounded and the dead, the ambulances, and the chaotic spectacle, like something out of a movie. He bade farewell to the guard, then ran to other places where she might be found, but discovered nothing. The streets were full of people in uniform, patrols searching and cross-examining people. He went to Liuli Street and found it empty. The walls of the Catholic Church were full of bullet holes. The mouth of the injured st
reet had been stopped up – the birds didn’t sing, nor was there a sound from the empty darkness of the broken windows. Beiping Street was even worse. The pavement had collapsed under the weight of the tanks, the surface of the road had been destroyed, stone structures and traffic signs ground into powder. Smoke-charred vehicles stood abandoned along the road. Some of the trees beside the road had been uprooted, and bullet holes filled the walls of the buildings on both sides. The tree trunks were covered in blood. He wanted to go along Beiping Street to Round Square, but was stopped by a man in uniform. He remained resolute, and got a blow from his gun butt as a result. He created an uproar. He wanted them to arrest him. Maybe if they did, it would be like the previous time, when he was locked up with Qizi. He begged them to take him, but they just chased him away. He was unkempt, one foot bare and the other shuffling along in a slipper. They thought he was crazy. In a daze, he sat down on the road beside a motorbike, which had been crushed to a flat, paper-like form stuck to the ground. He looked at it like it was a piece of meat. He knew the odds were against Qizi.
When he returned he just sat in the West Wing waiting for someone to come and arrest him. No one came for him, because the old landlord had told the police that Mengliu never left the house, and stayed in all day every day sleeping. On the third day, he went to the Green Flower, but the bar had been closed and Shunyu’s father arrested on charges of harbouring and abetting wanted criminals. No one knew where he had been taken.
Nearly two years later Mengliu received a letter from him. It was his dying testimony.
Unfortunately, we have no way of discussing together the question of the lady-charming xun. I promise you, it has been passed down from generation to generation in our family for six-hundred years. The words on its base, ‘meng liu’, were inscribed by my own hand. ‘Meng’ means to miss someone, and ‘Liu’ was a girl’s name. I had hoped we would be able to meet again…
The letter had been sent from a prison in the outer provinces. The envelope was postmarked with a date six months earlier.