The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy Novellas 2016

by Paula Guran

  The drafter of Charter ’08, Liu Xiaobo, returned to China from overseas. He made a speech at the square vowing to go on a hunger strike until there was true reform. The whole nation was inspired. Young people began to arrive from everywhere in China and the mass movement gained momentum. Even ordinary citizens in Beijing mobilized to support the students. Heizi, for example, often came by on his tricycle to bring us food and water.

  “Eat and drink!” he shouted. “You need your strength to fight those fucking bums sitting in Zhongnanhai.”

  Shen Qian had published some provocative essays in the past and she was a fan of Liu Xiaobo. Her influence among the students made her one of the leaders in the movement. She came by to discuss with me how to motivate the students in the Chinese Department to play a more active role. Stimulated by her fervor, I felt I had to do something for the country, and in the famous triangular plaza at the heart of Peking University’s campus, I made a speech denouncing the corrupt, bureaucratic student council and calling for all students to free themselves from government control and to form a democratic, independent, self-governing body. Amazingly, many professors and students applauded my speech, and a few days later the Students’ Autonomous Federation came into existence. Shen Qian was elected one of the standing committee members, and because she felt I had some talent, she asked me to join the Federation’s publicity department. Thus I became a core member of the movement. I felt as though my talent had finally been properly recognized.

  We created a command center in the square where our daily routines resembled those of a mini-government: receiving student representatives from all across the country, announcing various proclamations and programs, issuing open letters, and engaging in vigorous debate over everything as though the future of the entire nation depended on us. News that our compatriots in Hong Kong and Taiwan were also supporting us and donating funds filled us with even more zeal. We laughed, we cried, we screamed, we sang, all the while dreaming of forging a brand-new future for China with our youth and passion.

  One day, at the beginning of June, I was in a crude tent at the edge of the command center writing a new program for the movement. The weather was humid and hot, and I was drenched in sweat. Suddenly, I heard Shen Qian call out, “Baosheng, look who’s here to see you!”

  I emerged from the tent. Qiqi was standing there in a sky-blue dress, carrying a small pack on her back and looking tired from her journey. Overcome by joy and surprise, I couldn’t speak, and Shen Qian made fun of us.

  Since Shen Qian had never met Qiqi before, she gave her a careful once-over and said, “So this is Baosheng’s mysterious girlfriend. . . . ”

  Qiqi blushed.

  Finally, after getting rid of Shen Qian, I peppered Qiqi with questions: “How did you get here? Did you come with other students from Nanjing University? That’s great! I heard about the protests in Nanjing, too. Who’s in charge of your group? I’ve just drafted a new program for the movement and it would be useful to get some feedback—”

  “Is this all you have to say to me after all this time?” Qiqi interrupted.

  “Of course not! I’ve really missed you.” I hugged her, laughing, but soon turned serious again. “But the movement is running out of steam and the students are splitting into factions. . . . The hunger strike isn’t sustainable, and I’ve been discussing with Liu Xiaobo how to develop the movement and extend it. . . . Come, take a look at my draft—”

  “Baosheng,” Qiqi interrupted again. “I stopped by your home. Your mother asked me to come and talk to you.”

  A bucket of cold water had been poured onto the fire in me. “Oh,” I said, and nothing more.

  “Your mother is really worried about you. . . . ” Qiqi’s voice was gentle. “It’s almost time for you to receive your post-graduation job assignment. You know how important that is. Stop messing around with these people. Come home with me.”

  “Qiqi, how can you say such a thing?” I was disappointed as well as angry. “ ‘Messing around’? Look at the tens of thousands of students assembled in this square! Look at the millions of citizens beyond them! All of Beijing—no, all of China—has boiled over. Everyone is fighting for the future of our country. How can we go back to studying in a classroom?”

  “What can you possibly accomplish? You’ll never overcome the government. They have the army! Also, some of your proposals are too radical; they’re impossible—”

  “What do you mean, impossible?” I was very unhappy with her. “The army serves the people. The soldiers will never point their guns at us. Some of the students are talking to them already. Don’t worry. I’ve heard that the bureaucrats in the central leadership are terrified. They’ll soon be willing to compromise.”

  Qiqi sighed and sat down, looking miserably at me.

  We talked and talked, but there was no resolution. In the end, I refused to leave the square, and Qiqi stayed with me. That night, we slept in the same tent. We talked about the national and international situation and the movement’s prospects, but we couldn’t agree on anything and started to argue. Eventually, we stopped talking about these matters and simply held each other.

  We reminisced about our childhood together, and then I could no longer hold back. I kissed her, first her face, then her lips. That was the first time we really kissed. Her lips were soft and chapped, which broke my heart. I kissed her deeply and would not let go . . .

  In the dark, it happened naturally. With so many young people in the square, our lovemaking was an open secret. Normally I despised such behavior, and felt that couples who engaged in it tarnished the sacred nature of our protest. But now that it was happening to me, I couldn’t resist, and felt our actions were a natural part of the movement itself. Maybe some nameless anxiety about the future also made us want to seize this last moment of total freedom. Every motion, every gesture was infused with awkwardness and embarrassment. We were clumsy and raw, but passion, the irresistible power of youthful passion, eventually brought that fumbling, ridiculous process to a conclusion of sweet intimacy that surpassed understanding.

  6.

  The next day, we heard the news that troops had arrived just outside Beijing to enforce martial law. A vanguard had already entered the city, preparing to clear the square.

  Should we retreat? The command center held a meeting and opinions were divided. Liu Xiaobo advocated retreat to prevent the loss of lives. Due to Qiqi’s influence, I also supported Liu’s suggestion. But the commander-in-chief, Chai Ling, was indignant and refused to budge. She even called us cowards and said that we must resist to the utmost, even with our lives. Her words inspired all the other attendees and those advocating retreat were silenced. In the end, most of the students stayed to follow Chai Ling’s orders.

  That night was especially hot. Qiqi and I couldn’t fall asleep, and so we lay outside the tent, whispering to each other. “You were right,” I said. “Chai Ling is too stubborn. I don’t think any good will come of this. I’ll tell Liu Xiaobo tomorrow that we’re going home.”

  “All right.” She leaned her head against my shoulder and fell asleep. I followed soon after.

  I startled awake with the noise of the crowd all around me. The stars in the summer sky overhead were eerily bright. It took me a moment to realize that all the lamps on the square were extinguished and darkness engulfed us, which was why the stars shone so bright and clear. People were shouting all around us and loudspeakers squawked. I couldn’t understand what was going on.

  “Baosheng!” Someone ran at us with a flashlight and the glare made me squint. A blurry figure came closer: Shen Qian. She was sobbing as she said, “Hurry! You have to leave! The army is clearing the square.”

  “What? Where’s Chai Ling? She’s supposed to be in charge!”

  “That bitch was the first to run away! Go, go! I still have to find Liu Xiaobo.”

  Later, I found out that a large number of armed police had come into the square with batons to break down the tents, beating any students w
ho resisted. But we couldn’t see anything at the time and everything around us was utter chaos. I didn’t know what to do, so I grabbed Qiqi by the hand and tried to follow the flow of the crowd.

  A few students from the provinces ran past us, screaming, “Tanks! Tanks! Someone got crushed by the tanks!” They collided into us and separated Qiqi from me.

  I heard Qiqi calling my name and ran toward her, shouting her name. But I tripped over a tent and couldn’t get up for some seconds while others ran over me, kicking me back down. By the time I finally struggled up, I could no longer hear Qiqi and didn’t know where she was. Helpless, I tried to continue in the same direction I’d been headed. A chaotic crowd surrounded me, but there was no Qiqi. I screamed her name. Then someone started singing “The Internationale” and everyone joined in. I couldn’t even hear my own voice.

  Caught up in the tumultuous crowd, I left Tiananmen Square.

  In this manner, we were forcefully removed from the square—at least no shots were fired. However, elsewhere in the city, there were more violent encounters between the army and the protestors, and gunshots were heard from time to time. I returned home, hoping against hope, but Qiqi had not been there. Ignoring the objections of my parents, I ran back toward the city center.

  By then it was dawn, and scattered tanks and soldiers could be seen in the streets. Bloody corpses lined the roads, many of them young students. I felt as though I was in the middle of a battlefield and terror seized me. But the idea that something had happened to Qiqi terrified me even more. Like a crazy man, I looked everywhere for her.

  At noon, I ran into one of my friends from the command center. He brought me to a secret gathering, where I found Shen Qian and Liu Xiaobo. Many were wounded, and Shen Qian, her face drained of blood, shivered as Liu held her. I asked them if they had seen Qiqi.

  Shen Qian started to sob. My heart sank into an icy abyss.

  Tearfully, Shen Qian explained that Qiqi had found them as the square was being cleared, and they retreated together. They encountered a column of soldiers at an intersection, and, not fully understanding the situation, they denounced the soldiers. The soldiers responded by firing upon them and a few of the students fell. They turned to run again, only realizing after a while that Qiqi was no longer with them. Shen retraced their steps and found Qiqi lying in a pool of blood, not moving. They had wanted to save Qiqi, but the soldiers were chasing them and they had no choice but to keep running.

  She was sobbing so hard by now that she could no longer speak.

  I demanded that Shen Qian tell me the exact location and then dashed madly toward the address. At the intersection, I saw the smoking, burnt remnant of an army truck. Inside was the charred corpse of a soldier. In a pool of blood next to the intersection lay a few more bodies, but I didn’t see Qiqi. Forcing down my nausea, I searched all around, though I was hoping to find nothing.

  But then I saw Qiqi’s sky-blue dress under one of the wheels of the army truck. Blood had stained it purple, and protruding from the skirt was a section of her perfect calf, ending in a bloody mess.

  Shivering, I approached. An overwhelming stench of blood filled my nose. I felt the sky and the earth spin around me and could no longer stand up. Everything was speeding away from me, leaving only an endless darkness that descended over me, extinguishing my last spark of consciousness.

  By the time I woke up, it was dark again. I heard the sound of occasional gunshots in the distance. A column of soldiers passed no more than two meters from me, but they ignored me, probably thinking I was just another corpse. I lay still, stunned, and for a moment I forgot what had happened—until the terrifying memory returned and crushed me with despair.

  I couldn’t blame Chai Ling, or the students who had run into Qiqi and me and separated us from each other, or even the soldiers. I knew that the real culprit responsible for Qiqi’s death was me, because I didn’t listen to her.

  That night, I became a walking corpse. I dared not look at Qiqi’s body again. Wandering the city on my own, I paid no attention to the fearsome soldiers or the criminals who took advantage of the chaos to loot and rob. Several times I saw people fall down near me and die, but somehow, miraculously, I was spared. The world had turned into a nightmare from which I could not awaken.

  The next day, as a long column of tanks rolled down the Avenue of Eternal Peace, I stepped in front of them. Passersby watched, stunned. I wanted the tanks to crush me beneath their treads. . . .

  But I didn’t die. Plainclothes officers grabbed me and pulled me off the street. I was thrown into a dark room and interrogated for a few days. By then I had recovered some of my senses and managed to tell them what had happened. I was certain I would be sentenced to death or at least be locked away for years. My heart had already died, and I didn’t care.

  Unexpectedly, after a few months of detention, I was released without even a trial. My punishment was quite light: expulsion from Peking University.

  7.

  By the time I was released, order had been restored. After the violent crackdown that ended the protests, the government became unexpectedly magnanimous. General Secretary Jiang stepped down, and although Deng Xiaoping retained power, the reformist Zhao Ziyang became the new General Secretary, and another reformist leader with a good reputation, Hu Yaobang, also took up an important political post. Most of the participants in the protests were not punished. Even Liu Xiaobo was allowed to continue teaching at a university, though he would no longer be permitted to leave the country. The government’s final summary of the protests was this: the university students made legitimate demands; however, international forces took advantage of them.

  Supposedly, the international forces were working against the entire socialist camp, not just China. They stirred up trouble in Eastern Europe, too, hoping to encircle and contain the Soviet Union. In the end, the Western powers failed utterly in this plan. The Soviet Union not only survived, but also installed socialist governments in Czechoslovakia, Poland, and several other Eastern European countries. These satellites formed the Warsaw Pact with the Soviet Union to counteract the power of NATO. The U.S. and the U.S.S.R. thus began a “Cold War.”

  After my release from prison, Qiqi’s mother came to our home and demanded to know where her daughter was. During the interim months, she had almost gone mad with the lack of any news about Qiqi. She came to Beijing only to find that I had been locked up as well.

  I fell to my knees in front of her and tearfully confessed that I was responsible for Qiqi’s death. At first she refused to believe me, but then she kicked and beat me until my parents pulled her off. She collapsed to the ground and sobbed inconsolably.

  Qiqi’s mother never forgave me, and she broke off all contact with my family. Later, I went to Shanghai a few times, but she refused to see me. I heard that she had fallen on hard times and I tried to send her some money and necessities, but she always returned my packages unopened.

  On the day of Qiqi’s death, my mental state had broken down so completely that I didn’t even remember to collect her body. Now it was too late even to give her a decent burial. No doubt she had been cremated en masse with the other unclaimed corpses. A spirited young woman in the spring of her life had disappeared from the world, and it was as if she had never existed.

  No, that was not quite true. I did find a purple hairclip in my pocket. I remembered Qiqi taking it off the night we were in the tent together, and I had pocketed it without thinking. This was my last memento of her.

  I found everything in my home that held memories of Qiqi and put them together on the desk: the hairclip, bundles of letters, little presents we had given each other, a few photographs of the two of us, and that copy of Season of Bloom, Season of Rain. Every day, I sat in front of this shrine and tried to relive all the moments we had shared, as though she was still by my side. I spent half a year like this—maybe I had gone a bit mad.

  At the Spring Festival, as the family gathered for New Year’s dinner, my mother brok
e down in tears. She said she couldn’t bear to see me like this. She wanted me to stop living in the past and go on with my life. I sat at the table dully for a long while.

  I steeled myself and carefully packed up all the objects on my desk and placed them at the bottom of my trunk. I kept the bundle with me always but seldom looked at those mementos again. Life had to go on, and I did not want to experience that heart-rending pain and sense of guilt anew.

  Though I was expelled from school, General Secretary Zhao indicated that he was interested in a more enlightened administration that would let bygones be bygones, and the professors in my department who sympathized with my plight managed to give me my diploma through back channels. I couldn’t find a job, though. When I was younger, companies recruited on campus for graduates, but after the reforms, all jobs were assigned by the state. Since my record was stained by my participation in the protests, I was no longer part of the system and no job would be assigned to me.

  Heizi had also lost his job because of his support for the students. The two of us got together and figured we’d try our luck at starting a business. Back then, Zhao Ziyang was pushing through price reforms aimed at addressing the transition from market economy to planned economy, and prices for everything had skyrocketed. Everybody around the country was hoarding and life was becoming harder for the average person. Since many everyday goods were in short supply, the government started to issue ration tickets for food, clothing, and so on, to limit the amount anyone could purchase. If we were clever and bought and sold goods at the right times, we stood to make a good profit.

  Heizi and I planned to go to Guangdong in the south, which was more developed than the rest of China. Although my parents didn’t want me to be so far away from home, they were glad to see me trying to get my life back on track and gave us their life savings as starting capital. There were many opportunities in those days, and Heizi and I quickly brought some T-shirts back to Beijing, which we sold at a significant markup. Not only did we recoup all our capital, we even managed to make tens of thousands in profit. And thus we became two so-called “profiteers” who traveled all over China, searching for opportunities. Sometimes Heizi and I struck gold, but other times we were so poor we didn’t know where our next meal would come from.