The Big Red Book of Modern Chinese Literature

by Yunte Huang

  “Lovely.” Juemin sighed. “A perfect example of ‘moonlight like frost.’ ” And he joined Juehui in his stroll. But the younger boy remained silent.

  “Qin is really intelligent . . . and brave. A fine girl,” Juemin couldn’t refrain from commenting, a pleased smile on his face.

  Juehui still said nothing, for his mind was occupied by another girl. He walked slowly behind his brother.

  “Do you like her? Are you in love with her?” Juemin suddenly grabbed him by the arm.

  “Of course,” Juehui replied automatically. But he immediately amended, “Who are you talking about? Sister Qin? I don’t really know. But I think you love her.”

  “That’s right.” Juemin was still gripping his arm. “I love her, and I think she could love me too. I haven’t said anything to her yet. I don’t know what to do. . . . What about you? You said you also love her.”

  From the sound of his voice and the way his fingers trembled on Juehui’s arm, the younger boy could tell that his brother was highly agitated, even without seeing his face. Lightly he patted Juemin’s hand and said with a smile, “Go to it. I’m not competing with you. I wish you success. I love Qin only like an elder sister.”

  Juemin did not reply. He stared at the moon for a long time. At last, when he had calmed down somewhat, he said to Juehui, “You’re really a good brother. I was wrong about you; it got me all upset. I don’t know what makes me so jealous lately. Even when I see Jianyun and Qin talking together, I feel annoyed. Do you think I’m silly? Are you laughing at me?”

  “No, I’m not laughing at you,” Juehui answered sincerely. “I sympathize with you. Don’t worry. I don’t think Jianyun will compete with you either.” Then in another tone of voice, “Listen, what’s that?”

  A sound like quiet, subdued weeping spread softly, pervading every corner of the moonlit night. It was not a human voice, nor was it the cry of a bird or insect. The sound was much too light, too clear, for that. At times it seemed to rise in pitch, a persuasive plaint issued directly from the soul. Then it slowly faded again until it became almost inaudible, like the merest hint of a breeze. But one was still aware of a vibration in the atmosphere, charging the very air with sadness.

  “What is it?” Juehui repeated.

  “Big Brother playing a bamboo flute. The past few nights, he’s been playing only when it’s very late. I hear him every night.”

  “What’s troubling him? He wasn’t like this before. That bamboo flute has such a mournful sound!”

  “I don’t know exactly. I think it’s probably because he’s heard that Cousin Mei has come back to Chengdu. That must be it. He keeps playing those same mournful tunes, and always so late at night. . . . He probably is still in love with her. . . . I haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights. I keep hearing his flute. It seems to carry a warning, a threat. . . . I’m in practically the same situation with Qin now as Big Brother was with Cousin Mei. When I hear that flute I can’t help fearing I’ll go the same road as he. I don’t dare to even think about it. I’m afraid I couldn’t live if it ever came to that. I’m not like him.” Juemin’s voice shook with emotion. He was almost in tears.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll never go Big Brother’s road,” Juehui consoled him. “Times have changed.”

  He looked up again at the full moon, bathing the night with its limitless radiance. An irresistible strength seemed to well up within him as he thought of Mingfeng.

  “You’re so pure,” he murmured. “You alone are as unsullied as the moon!”

  24

  One night, after the electric lights in the compound had been turned off, Mingfeng was called to the apartment of Madam Zhou. The fat face of the older woman was expressionless in the feeble glow of an oil lamp. Although she could not guess what Madam Zhou was going to say, all day Mingfeng had a premonition that something bad was about to happen to her. She stood before Madam Zhou with trembling heart and gazed at her unsteadily. They both were silent. The fat face seemed to swell gradually into a large, round object that wavered before Mingfeng’s eyes, increasing her feeling of fear.

  “Mingfeng, you’ve been with us for several years. I think you’ve worked long enough.” Madam Zhou began very deliberately, though still speaking more quickly than most people. After these first few words, her speed increased, until the syllables were popping from her lips like little pellets.

  “I’m sure you also are quite willing to leave,” she continued. “Today, Venerable Master Gao instructed me to send you to the Feng family. You are going to be the concubine of the Venerable Master Feng. The first of next month is an auspicious day; they will call for you then. Today is the twenty-seventh. That still leaves four days. From tomorrow on, you needn’t do any work. Take things easy for the next few days, until you go to the Feng family. . . .

  “After you get there, be sure to take good care of the old man and the old lady. They say he’s rather strange; his wife’s temper is none too good either. Don’t be stubborn; it’s best to go along with their whims. They also have sons and daughters-in-law and grandchildren living together with them. You must respect them too.

  “You’ve been a bondmaid in our family for several years, but you ­haven’t gained anything from it. To tell you the truth I don’t think we’ve treated you very well. Now that we’ve arranged this marriage for you I feel much better. The Feng family is very rich. As long as you remember to act according to your station, you’ll never want for food or clothing. You’ll be much better off than Fifth Household’s Xi’er. . . .

  “I’ll think of you after you leave. You’ve looked after me all these years and I’ve never done anything to reward you. Tomorrow I’ll have the tailor make you two new sets of good clothing and I’ll give you a little jewelry.” The sound of Mingfeng’s weeping interrupted her.

  Although every word cut the girl’s heart like a knife, she could only let them stab. She had no weapon with which to defend herself. Her hopes were completely shattered. They even wanted to take away the love she depended upon to live, to present her verdant spring to a crabbed old man. Life as a concubine in a family like the Fengs could bring only one reward: tears, blows, abuse, the same as before. The only difference would be that now, in addition, she would have to give her body to be despoiled by a peculiar old man whom she had never met.

  To become a concubine—what a disgrace. Among the bondmaids “concubine” was one of the worst imprecations they would think of. Ever since she was very small Mingfeng felt that it was a terrible thing to be a concubine. Yet after eight years of hard work and faithful service that was her only reward.

  The road ahead looked very black. Even the thread of light which her pure love had brought her, even that was snapped. A fine young face floated before her. Then many ugly visages leered at her, horribly. Frightened, she covered her eyes with her hands, struggling against this terrifying vision.

  Suddenly she seemed to hear a voice say, “Everything is decided by Fate. There is nothing you can do about it.” An overwhelming disappointment took possession of her, and she wept brokenheartedly.

  Words were flying from Madam Zhou so fast it was difficult for her to stop at once. But when she heard the girl’s tragic weeping, she paused in surprise. She couldn’t understand why Mingfeng was so upset, but she was moved by her tears.

  “What’s wrong, Mingfeng?” she asked. “Why are you crying?”

  “Madam, I don’t want to go!” sobbed Mingfeng. “I’d rather be a bond­maid here all my life, looking after you, and the young masters and the young mistresses. Madam, don’t send me away, I beg you. There’s still a lot I can do here. I’ve only been here eight years. I’m still so young, Madam. Please don’t make me marry yet.”

  Madam Zhou’s maternal instincts were seldom aroused, but Mingfeng’s impassioned pleas struck a responsive chord. The older woman was swept by a feeling of motherly love and pity for the girl.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t be willing,” she said with a sad smile. “
It’s true, the Venerable Master Feng is old enough to be your grandfather. But that’s what our Venerable Master has decided. I must obey him. After you get there, if you serve the old man well, things won’t be so bad. Anyhow you’ll be much better off than married to some poor workingman, never knowing where your next meal is coming from.”

  “Madam, I’m willing to starve—anything but become a concubine.” As Mingfeng blurted these words, the strength drained from her body, and she fell to her knees. Embracing Madam Zhou’s legs, she begged, “Please don’t send me away. Let me stay here as a bondmaid. I’ll serve you all my life. . . . Madam, have pity, I’m still so young. Pity me. You can scold me, beat me, anything—only don’t send me to the Feng family. I’m afraid. I couldn’t bear that kind of life. Madam, be merciful, pity me. Madam, I’ve always been obedient, but this—I can’t do it!”

  Endless words were welling up from her heart into her throat, but something seemed to be stopping her mouth, and she could only swallow them down again and weep softly. The more she cried the more stricken she felt. The tragedy was too overwhelming. If only she could cry her heart out, she might have some relief.

  Looking at the girl weeping at her feet, Madam Zhou was reminded of her own past. Sadly, maternally, she stroked Mingfeng’s hair.

  “I know you’re too young,” she said sympathetically. “To tell you the truth, I’m against your going to the Feng family. But our Venerable Master has already promised. He’s the kind who never goes back on his word. I’m only his daughter-in-law. I don’t dare oppose him. It’s too late. On the first, you must go. Don’t cry. Crying won’t do any good. Just gather your courage and go. Maybe your life will be comfortable there. Don’t be afraid. People with good hearts always get their just rewards. Get up now. It’s time for you to be in bed.”

  Mingfeng hugged Madam Zhou’s legs tighter, as if they were the only things that could save her. With her last strength she cried despondently, “Don’t you have even a little pity for me, Madam? Save me. I’d rather die than go to the Feng family!”

  Raising her tear-stained face, she looked into Madam Zhou’s eyes and stretched forth her hands pleadingly. “Save me, Madam!” Her voice was tragic.

  Madam Zhou shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do,” she replied sadly. “I don’t want you to go, myself, but it’s no use. Even I can’t go against the decision of the Venerable Master. Get up now, and go to bed like a good girl.” She pulled Mingfeng to her feet.

  Mingfeng offered no resistance. All hope was gone. She stood dazedly before Madam Zhou, feeling that she was in a dream. After a moment, she looked around. Everything was dim and dark. She was still sobbing soundlessly. Finally, she brought herself under control. In a dull, melancholy tone she said, “I’ll do what you say, Madam.”

  Madam Zhou rose wearily. “Good. As long as you’re obedient I won’t have to worry about you.”

  Mingfeng knew it was no use to remain any longer. She had never been so miserable in her life. “I’m going to bed, Madam,” she said listlessly. She slowly walked from the room; her hand pressed to her breast. She was afraid her heart would burst.

  Madam Zhou sighed as she watched the girl’s retreating back, sorry that she was unable to help her. But, half an hour later, this comfortable, well-fed lady had forgotten all about Mingfeng.

  The courtyard was dark and deserted. Feeble lamplight gleamed in Juehui’s window. Originally Mingfeng had intended to return to the servants’ room but now, seeing the light, she walked softly toward Juehui’s quarters. The light was seeping through the tiny openings in the curtain, casting a pretty pattern on the ground. That curtain, the glass windows, that room, now seemed particularly adorable to Mingfeng. She stood on the stone porch outside the window and gazed unwinking at the white gauze curtain, holding her breath and being as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the boy inside.

  Gradually, she imagined she could see colors on the white curtain; they became even more beautiful. Beautiful people emerged from the maze of color—boys and girls, very handsomely dressed, with proud and haughty bearing. They cast disdainful glances at her as they passed, then hurried on. Suddenly, the one she thought of day and night appeared in their midst. He gazed at her affectionately and halted, as if he wanted to speak to her. But crowds of people came hurrying and pushing from behind him, and he disappeared among them. Her eyes sought him intently, but the white gauze curtain, hanging motionless, concealed the interior of the room from view.

  Mingfeng drew closer, hoping to get a look inside, but the window was higher than her head, and after two unsuccessful attempts, she stepped back, disappointed. As she did so, her hand accidentally bumped against the windowsill, making a slight noise. From within the room came a cough. That meant he wasn’t asleep. She stared at the curtain. Would he push it aside and look out?

  But inside it became quiet again, except for the low sound of a pen scratching on paper. Mingfeng rapped softly against the windowsill. She heard what sounded like a chair being shifted, then the scratching of the pen again, a bit faster. Mingfeng was afraid if she rapped any harder, she might be overheard. Juemin slept in the same room. Clutching a final hope, she again tapped, three times, and called softly, “Third Young Master.” Stepping back, she waited quietly. She was sure he would come out this time. But again there was nothing but the rapid scratching of the pen and the low surprised remark, “Two a.m. already? . . . And I’ve a class at eight in the morning. . . .” And the sound of the writing resumed once more.

  Mingfeng stood dully. Tapping again would be no use. He wouldn’t hear it. She didn’t blame him, in fact she loved him all the more. His words were still in her ears, and to her they were sweeter than music. He seemed to be standing beside her—so warm, so very much alive.

  He needed a girl to love him and take care of him, and there was no one in the world who loved him more than she. She would do anything for him. But she also knew there was a wall between them. People wanted to send her to the Feng family, soon too, in four days. Then she would belong to the Fengs; she’d have no opportunity to see him again. No matter how she might be insulted and abused, he’d have no way of knowing. He wouldn’t be able to save her. They’d be separated, forever separated. It would be worse than if they had been parted by death.

  Mingfeng felt that a life of that kind was not worth living. When she had said to Madam Zhou, “I’d rather die than go to the Feng family,” she had meant it. She was really considering death. The Eldest Young Miss had often told her that suicide was the only way out for girls who were the victims of Fate. Mingfeng believed this fully.

  A long sigh from the room broke in on her wild thoughts. Mournfully, she looked around. All was still and very dark. Suddenly she remembered a similar scene of several months ago. Only that time he had been outside her window, and the conjecture he had overheard then had today become a reality. She recalled all the details—his attitude toward her, how she had said to him, “I’ll never go to another man. I give my vow.”

  Something seemed to be wringing her heart, and she was blinded by tears. The lamplight from the window shone down on her head piti­lessly. Eagerly she gazed at the beams, a hope slowly forming in her breast. She would cast all caution to the winds, rush into his room, kneel at his feet, tell him her whole bitter story, beg him to save her. She would be his slave forever, love him, take care of him.

  But just then, everything went black. The lamp had been turned out. She stared, but she could see nothing. Rooted to the spot, she stood alone in the night, the merciless night that hemmed her in from all sides.

  After a few moments, she finally was able to move. Slowly she groped her way through the disembodied darkness toward her own room. After a long time, she reached the women servants’ quarters. She pushed open the half-closed door and went in.

  A wick was sputtering feebly in a dish of oil. The rest of the room was all darkness and shadows. Beds on both sides of the room were laden with corpse-like figures. Harsh snores from the
bed of the fat Sister Zhang struck out in every direction in a very frightening manner. They halted the startled Mingfeng in the doorway, and for a moment she peered anxiously around. Then with dragging feet she walked over to the table and trimmed the wick. The room became much brighter.

  About to take off her clothes, Mingfeng was suddenly crushed by a terrible depression. She threw herself on her bed and began to cry, pressing her head against the bedding and soaking it with her tears. The more she thought, the worse she felt. Old Mama Huang, awakened by the sound of her weeping, asked in a muzzy voice, “What are you crying about?”

  Mingfeng did not answer. She only wept. After offering a soothing word or two, Mama Huang turned over and was soon fast asleep again. Mingfeng was left alone with her heartbroken tears. She continued to cry until sleep claimed her.

  By the next morning Mingfeng had changed into a different person. She stopped smiling, she moved in a leaden manner, she avoided people. She suspected they knew about her; she imagined they were smiling disdainfully, and she hurried to get away. If she saw a few servants talking together, she was sure they were discussing her. She seemed to hear the word “concubine” everywhere, even among the masters and mistresses.

  “Such a pretty girl,” she thought she heard the Fifth Master say. “It’s a shame to make her a concubine of that old man.”

  In the kitchen she heard the fat Sister Zhang angrily comment, “A young girl like that becoming the ‘little wife’ of an old man who’s half dead! I wouldn’t do it for all the money in the world!”

  It got so that Mingfeng was afraid to go anywhere for fear of hearing contemptuous remarks. Except when she had to join the other servants for her two meals a day, she hid in her room or in the garden, alone and lonely. Once in a while, Xi’er or Qianer came to see her. But they were both very busy, and they could only steal out briefly for a comforting word or two.