6
Lu Yin
Lu Yin (1898-1934)
From birth, Lu Yin (born Huang Luyin) faced a
series of challenges and setbacks that plagued her
short life. Her mother, an illiterate and superstitious
woman, considered Lu Yin an evil presence in the
family because her own mother died on the very
day of Lu Yin's birth. Lu Yin's father was an educated
Qing dynasty bureaucrat but was indifferent to his
infant daughter, and she was sent to live with a wet
nurse in the countryside. She was later essentially
L U Y I N
abandoned by her family in a Protestant missionary
school outside Beijing. Ironically, it was her family's
rejection that enabled Lu Yin to obtain the education
she needed to become a professional writer and
teacher, and to develop the fierce independence for
which she would later become famous.
In 1919, after teaching and saving her money for
two years, Lu Yin enrolled in the newly opened
Beijing Women's Normal College along with future
women writers Feng Yuanjun and Su Xuelin, and
later Shi Pingmei. Lu Yin flourished at the college.
She became involved in May Fourth student politics,
published her first essays and short stories in
the school's literary magazine, and forged deep
friendships with several of her classmates, most
notably with Shi Pingmei. Like so many women
writers of the period, Lu Yin launched her literary
career while still a student with the encouragement
of a male mentor. The well-known literary critic
Zheng Zhenduo, also a native of Fujian, recommended
one of Lu Yin's early stories for publication
in the influential literary journal Short Story
Monthly in 1921. Lu Yin never stopped writing
after this, publishing a steady stream of fiction,
essays (both personal and political), and poetry
until her tragic death after childbirth, at the age of
36, in 1934.
In an autobiography written shortly before her
death, Lu Yin divided her literary career into three
periods. Her first stories followed patterns typical
of early May Fourth realist Woman Question fiction
by depicting young women and men whose
lives and dreams are derailed by the dictates of traditional
Confucian rules of decorum, particularly
the custom of arranged marriages. After a series of
ill-fated teaching jobs and love affairs, the style and
attitude of Lu Yin's writing changed dramatically.
No longer did she write with an optimism and idealism
for the future; instead the first-person narrators
in her pieces agonized over the futility of life.
L U Y I N 137
The two selections translated here, "After Victory"
and "News From the Seashore," a response to her
close friend Shi Pingmei's letter "Lusha" (see the
previous section of this anthology), are both from
this middle period of Lu Yin's literary career. Before
her untimely death, Lu Yin changed her style yet
again as she experimented with fictional biography,
travel writing, and novels in an attempt to produce
the more socially engaged writing that came into
vogue in the 1930s.
Published in 1925 in Short Story Monthly, "After
Victory" is similar to Lu Yin's best-known work, the
novella "Seaside Friends." Both are long, emotionally
brooding pieces written in the first person and
embedded with letters and conversations telling the
stories of several college girlfriends. After graduating
with high hopes for their futures and marrying
their "true loves" (thereby, refusing to allow their
parents to arrange marriages for them), the friends
discover that life after the "victory" of breaking with
traditional social conventions and obtaining an
education does not offer them the satisfaction they
had expected. The characters are lonely, despondent,
and mourning the loss of the support and intimacy
of close female friendships and the hopes and
dreams of their college days. Lu Yin's style is not
subtle, but it was hugely popular among the first
graduates o'f women's high schools and colleges,
who were by the mid-1920s beginning to feel that
their aspirations were not being achieved.
Shortly after Lu Yin completed "Seaside Friends,"
her first husband, Guo Mengliang, died suddenly,
leaving her with an infant daughter. Wandering from
her in-laws' home back to Shanghai and then finally
to Beijing, Lu Yin fell into a deep state of depression
that no doubt influenced the dark, melancholic tone
of her stories and letters from the mid- 1920s. The letter
translated here, "News From the Seashore," was
written for her closest friend Shi Pingmei (whom she
called Bowei) and published in Women's Weekly in
L U Y I N
1925. The death of Shi Pingmei in 1928 plunged Lu
Yin further into despair. In 1930, she married her second
husband, the poet Li Weijian. Their marriage
caused a great stir—particularly after the couple serialized
their love letters in a newspaper in 1931—as Li
Weijian was nine years Lu Yin's junior. Unfortunately,
Lu Yin's tragic death came only a year after she had
written optimistically, "I would like to devote my
entire life to literature, and I hope that when I write
my autobiography at sixty I will have written two or
three successful works."
AFTER VICTORY
(1925)
The room here is way too cramped; a rectangular desk in front of the
window occupies an entire third of the room, and with the addition of
two sofas and a small tea table, there's barely enough space to turn
around in. The courtyard is square and neat, like a piece of dried tofu;
there are markings on the ground, but no one has ever planted any
grass or flowers there. No matter how apparent the signs of spring are
elsewhere, the notes of the swallow songs, the moans of the cuckoo, and
the yawns of the blooming flowers never reach this little courtyard.
This does, however, spare the room's occupants some sadness, for they
live like old monks at the base of a deserted mountain cliff; neither the
light of spring nor the hues of autumn ever disturb them, leaving their
minds free and untroubled. Yet the passing breeze and the birds seem
t o take pity on their solitude and ennui, and occasionally drop hints
that spring has arrived or autumn is drawing near. But in fact, like the
sound of footsteps in a deserted valley, even these signs can be somewhat
intrusive.
144 L U Y I N
A lengthy spell of spring showers has filled the past few days and the
grey sky and endless pattering of falling rain have naturally left the room's
occupants feeling rather lethargic. When Pingzhi sat up in bed, the dark
clouds were still thick in the sky. He looked about the room and, feeling
cold and gloomy, yawned lazily, pulled the covers up around him, and
dozed off again just as his wife, Qiongfang, came in from the rear room.
Seeing that Pingzhi had fallen back asleep, she didn't disturb him but just
sat down at the desk, staring off blankly. As she straightened up some old
newspapers, she happened to notice an unopened letter that was, as it
turned out, from her friend Qinzhi. She quickly cut it open and read:
My dear friend Qiongfang,
Life is truly unpredictable! Since our parting three years ago,
your life has changed completely. I hear that you've already
become a mother and your baby is even talking. Oh, Qiongfang!
How strange this is! The last time I saw you, you were little more
than a naive, innocent child yourself. And now, everything is
completely different. It's not just you, I too can only look back
on the past with a deep sense of nostalgia! I want to tell you
everything that has happened to me since we parted: When I left
Beijing and wrote you my last letter, I felt that I would roam
about to the ends of the earth forever. Had this happened, you
probably would have lamented that I was a lost soul who had
never managed to find her true calling. On every clear moonlit
evening, a storm would have blown up in your subconscious and
you would have shed a few painful tears for the drifter! Yet truth
be told, I too can be counted among those who have achieved
"victory." After bidding farewell to my friends, I was planning to
go abroad to study at the end of the summer, but unfortunately,
once the news leaked out that Shaoqing and I were about to
leave, his father learned of it and forbade us to depart without
getting married. We would have to wait until after we were married
to finally carry out our plan to venture overseas.
And how was I feeling at the time? Certainly I was not
unhappy about bringing my life as a drifter to an end, but whenever
I contemplated all the sacrifices I would have to make once
I got married, I couldn't help but feel hesitant! But, Qiongfang,
eventually I let my emotions win out and last spring, amid plum
blossoms and narcissus blooms, we made our bows to the ances-
L U Y I N
tors and prostrated ourselves before the gods of love! On our
honeymoon, we went to the place where long ago you and I once
spent those days by the seashore—that little thatched hut carpeted
with the fallen petals of pear tree flowers and lined with
bright red bricks and windows facing the white froth of the
crashing waves. We sat on the rocky cliffs by the shore, quietly
staring out to sea; one moment filled with joy, the next with sadness.
Qiongfang, such a mood of joyful melancholy defies
description. All in all, when I think back to when I first married
Shaoqing after having endured so many hardships, I should be
pleased to have achieved such a victory; yet whenever I recall the
past, I can't help feeling overwhelmed with grief. However much
a dream life may be, we were living in an even deeper dream
state, for in that brief moment of infatuation we felt that the
world was smiling on us and even the mountains and streams
seemed happy for us!
During our honeymoon we were drunk with love; nothing
could have altered our feelings for each other. We felt only the
deepest devotion and everything seemed bright; we never gave a
single thought to the future. Luckily, spring was just at its most
enchanting; warm breezes were blowing and the blooming flowers
all smiled upon us, while bees and butterflies fluttered and
danced about. Whenever we got tired of staying inside our little
hut, we would stroll together along a remote dirt pathway. There
was a cemetery for foreigners nearby that was usually very
peaceful. Often, some sentimental individual would have left
bunches of fresh flowers on the graves for the departed souls.
Sometimes there would be roses, their blossoms bent toward the
sun, sometimes snow-white flowers mixed together with pale
yellow camellias and sea roses. And all the while the holiest of
tombstone angels stared up at the sky as if blessing the dead.
And as we sat at the angel's shining feet, it blessed us too. This
beautiful remote place brought a sense of balance to us after the
frenzied lifestyle we were used to. We sat leaning against each
other and, whether we were exchanging our innermost feelings
or singing love songs, other than a few occasional eavesdropping
spring birds or some spirits peeking at us from behind marble
gravestones, nothing ever disturbed us!
But before we knew it, this pretty picture faded and our profound
passionate love gradually came to feel very common-
L U Y I N
place. Of course, reality also prevented us from going on so
leisurely and carefree. Soon Shaoqing went back to work. He
would leave every morning at eight and not return again until
four or five in the afternoon and I would be left alone in this
quiet, remote courtyard. Before long, the wheels in my mind had
begun turning again as I contemplated all manner of things,
both past and present. Marriage—what they call the biggest
event of one's life—was resolved, yet life was not that simple and
there were numerous other events aside from this major one!
Housework was one. Customarily, of course, it's supposed to be
a woman's sole responsibility after marriage. But I could never
reconcile myself to leaving it at that, and the moment I began
questioning whether women were born simply to take care of
the house, I couldn't help wondering what the future held for
me. It's true! I was still teaching at the time, which helped console
me, and I also had a lot of free time to read, so my unsettled
mind was comforted, at least temporarily.
Before long the rainy season began; the sky was dark and
gloomy during the day and it rained off and on. The air was so
heavy and close that I began to feel dull and bothered again. One
afternoon, Xiaoyu braved a storm and came over for a chat. She
talked about married life and how depressed she felt. "As for the
joys of marriage," she said, "there's nothing to it." When I thought
about it later, I found myself agreeing with her, but seeing how
despondent she was at the time, I did my best to comfort her. I
reasoned, "Our marriages may not be perfect, but marriage is
nothing more than a social arrangement, and having already
reached this point, we must force ourselves to cheer up. Staying
single for the success of one's career is quite the rage now, but
leading a spiritually empty life might only be worse. Besides,
where there is a will there is always a way, and there's no reason
why we shouldn't be able to make a contribution to society after
getting married. One must simply not get too used to personal
comfort and pleasure, so as to avoid turning as dull as a coat rack;
that in itself should be satisfying enough. Why make yourself suffer
for some elusive and empty notion of fame and glory?"
Xiaoyu listened to my lengthy explanation but still looked quite
sad. Afterward she said again, "You are much stronger willed than
I am. I'm already too listless and weak, the best I can do is just
accept things as they are. And then there will be children . . .
L U Y I N 147
they'll hold me down even more... how can I even begin to think
about making a contribution to society?"
Oh, Qiongfang, what are your thoughts after reading about
this conversation?
The truth is, Xiaoyu is not alone in feeling nostalgic about the
past, troubled by the present, and fearful of the future. I was
always the one who was supposed to be able to figure things out,
but have I? Whatever happened to the aspirations I had when I
left school, let alone the dreams I had as a child? My lofty wish
to sacrifice myself for the human race still remains nothing
more than a wish! It used to be that whenever I learned of some
great historical figure, I would devoutly prostrate myself before
him or her and cry. I remember when the famous Indian poet
came to China last spring, I admired his demeanor, his shining,
peaceful eyes that seemed to embrace the entire universe, and
the clarity of his ideas and purpose, which revealed the most
fundamental and purest human nature.2
As I quietly listened to
his magnificent theories, I was moved to tears! I cried out of
admiration for him, but mostly over my own inferiority!
Last week I got a letter from Zong. She knows what an anxious
mood I've been in lately and urged me not to be so bothered
by the praise or condemnation of the world. Ever since I
received her letter, I have really felt that she has a much stronger
will than we do. Don't you agree?
The strangest thing is that I have recently grown nostalgic
about the idyllic maiden days of my past. Qiongfang, you must
still remember that beautiful early autumn morning when the
fields were green with just a hint of deep yellow. It was very early
in the morning, only about six o'clock, and although the first
rays of sunlight had begun to penetrate the sky, the cold wind on
our faces already made it feel like late autumn as we walked
together so excitedly on that path to the park. When we entered
the park, we heard the rustling of the wind blowing through dry
leaves. The birds, already startled from their dreams, turned to
the rising sun and combed their wind-ruffled feathers with little
beaks, and the magpies flew off with their friends in search of
food. We were the only people in the park other than a lone
2
- A reference to Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore, who visited China in 1924.
L U Y I N
worker sweeping the pathways and a vendor arranging his tables,
chairs, and dishes. Arriving at the rock garden, you found a
clean, white stone to sit on while I reclined on the green grass
beside you. You once joked that I was crazy, but since that day,
such picture-perfect moments seem to exist only in dreams, and
my craziness exists only in your memory!
The evening before last, Shaoqing went out to see a friend and
I stayed behind in this cold, desolate room all by myself. It was a
beautiful, moonlit night—so bright that I turned out the light, sat
on the sofa facing the window, and observed a long flower-shaped
shadow cast across the snowy white curtains. I couldn't restrain
myself from going out to take a closer look and discovered some
wiry yellow flowers blooming by a little rock in the garden. A silvery
light flooded the white-pebbled ground as I gazed up at the
stars glowing in silence here and there. The tips of the willow
branches in the next courtyard cast shadows on the ground, rising
and falling in the wind like silver waves. As I was enjoying this
scene, I suddenly remembered that spring, years ago, when you,
Zong, and I were traveling together in Japan. There was one
night—the evening we went by boat to Hiroshima—when not
long after boarding the ship at dusk, we noticed a full moon
slowly rising from the horizon where the sea and sky met. It
reached the middle of the sky and its dazzling brightness as it
reflected off the cold green ocean waters was overwhelming.
Twinkling stars vied with the lights on shore to illuminate the
ocean surface, and each time the waves surged, thousands of tiny
flames sparkled on the water. Everyone else on the boat had gone
to sleep by ten o'clock, and only the rhythmic sound of the sea
slapping against the sides of the boat could be heard. A bleak,
chilly scene—it was as if we had been plucked off of this mixedup
world and placed down all alone onto a cold, mysterious
deserted island. We leaned on the railing without speaking and
stared at the moon, ready to entrust everything to the care of the
cloudy sky and the green ocean. Only when the boat was about to
weigh anchor did we finally go back inside. Having reached such
a level of exhilaration, rid of the troubles of the world, how could
we imagine that as soon as we got back, daily affairs would entangle
us once again? Oh, Qiongfang! The moon remains the same
year after year, but people are always changing. Tonight I mourn
for the past. Why do I feel so sad?
L U Y I N 149
Qiongfang! All these thoughts of the past make the life before
me seem dull and insipid. How can I describe my situation after
"victory"? For months I've been forcing myself to act content.
When others criticize me for being eccentric, I can only hang my
head and accept their words in silence!
This past May, Wenqi came from her hometown for a visit
and we just sat and stared at each other in silence, as if there
were no words adequate to express our feelings, though a single
glance into one another's eyes was enough to immediately
understand the dark secrets we each hid in our hearts. Wenqi,
of course, can be proud: up until now she has managed to
maintain her virgin life and regard us as the odd ones. But
Qiongfang, no mortal can hide from the shackles of humanity,
can they? I am sure you must be curious to know how she is
faring now.
Do you remember how after we all went our separate ways,
Wenqi accompanied her father back to their hometown? At first
she just took it easy; her family lives in the countryside in an area
surrounded by water, and the beautiful scenery was enough to
wash away her troubles. She'd purchased a lot of Buddhist tracts
that she read with her mother every day and taught her little
brothers and sisters, so life remained free from worldly cares.
But who would have guessed that within six months, the people
of her village would discover that she had an education and
insist that she come to the city and be the principal of the first
girl's elementary school there? Finally, at the urging of many
people, she abandoned her life of spiritual self-cultivation for a
frantic and busy job. Last month she sent me this letter:
Qinzhi,
I was so happy to receive your unexpected letter! I read
the poem you enclosed over and over; it stirred up old
feelings and emotions and made me feel quite distracted.
I haven't been doing much writing recently other than an
occasional song for my little students when I am feeling
motivated. My spare time is very limited—there are so
many trivial matters to attend to and my colleagues are
not even worth mentioning. Only busy people can truly
understand this situation. Alas, such an unnatural burden
L U Y I N
of work wears me out. How can I plan a course of selfstudy
comparable to that of my friends who can simply sit
at home and read? I'm in such agony!
Qiongfang! Just reading this single paragraph of Wenqi's letter
brought back memories of our frenzied early days in Beijing, so
I know how keeping busy can also alleviate boredom at times.
With all of this talk I have not yet gotten to tell you about
Wenqi's recent situation. Do you know Shaoqing's friend
Changjun? He's a very intelligent and warm person, about thirty
or so this year, with a baby face that gives him a kind, yet very
poised and unaffected manner. When I tell you he's not yet married,
however, you might think it rather strange as China, after
all, is a country where people marry young, so what sort of a
person is it who has reached the age of thirty without getting
married? Actually there's an explanation: Changjun was married
at twenty, but sadly his wife passed away three or four years ago
and he has never remarried. He is good friends with Shaoqing
and comes to our home often; one day when I received a picture
Wenqi had sent me, Changjun happened to see it and we soon
got to talking about her life and studies. Changjun was very
impressed and asked us to introduce them. When I thought
about it at the time, I decided it would be a good idea, and
immediately wrote a letter to Wenqi. However, you know Wenqi
is not really very assertive and always obeys her family, so without
knowing whether it would work out or not, we just thought
we would give it a try. Later we had someone mention it to her
father and were surprised to learn how much he approved of
Changjun, so after this it was naturally easy to persuade Wenqi.
Later, when Wenqi brought her students on a visit to our school,
she had a chance to meet Changjun. Changjun is very learned
and articulate, and Wenqi herself is a woman of high mind and
spirit, so during the two weeks she was here they gradually got
to know one another. But Wenqi still hesitated to make a move,
mainly, I am sorry to say, because of us! A few days ago I received
another letter from her:
Qinzhi!
I haven't heard from you in quite some time. Aren't you
feeling out of touch? I put your last letter among those I
L U Y I N
intended to answer a long time ago, but in the end I didn't
because I really am very busy and my mind is terribly dull.
But why have you been so quiet? I know that you have all
kinds of things to worry about now that you've started a
family. I received a letter from Xiaoyu in which she wrote:
"When I think back to our school days, I want to abandon
my present life." Her letter brought back many memories
and I began to feel that life now was dull indeed. I learned
a new saying recently: "The hand that rocks the cradle rules
the world." Allow me to be the one to share this with you!
During an education conference this summer in Nanjing,
several of my friends started saying: "Women's education
in China today is a great failure. Once women who
have received higher educations get married, not only do
they have little skill in managing the household, but they
also lack the energy to take up work in society. They simply
turn into a class of upper-crust drifters." What do you
think of such talk? What's the point of higher education for
women if they abandon their work in society the minute
they get married?
I've let my thoughts wander and now I've written a
great deal without realizing it. Perhaps you don't want to
read such depressing thoughts, but now I've already written
them, so I'll send the letter to you anyway! Why not
give it some thought? I really want to hear what family life
is like for you!
There is something else that I want to tell you, Xiaoyu,
and everyone else: Even though our classmates predicted
that our futures would be mediocre at best, how can we
accept this? I think we should remain undaunted and work
toward the future. But what can we do to forge ahead?
How should we plan our futures? I sincerely hope that you
can give me some guidance!
Qiongfang, it sounds as though Wenqi really has begun to have
her doubts about us, doesn't it? Yet the truth is, it's hard to blame
her, since even we can't say we don't have doubts about our own
fates. But I feel that even though a married woman does face
many obstacles that keep her from working for social change,
that doesn't mean that it's absolutely impossible for her to care
about social causes. We feel discouraged now, not just because
L U Y I N
we can't free ourselves from housework, but also because society
doesn't have anything for us to do. In China today, it's hardly
worth mentioning how the people's labor is exploited by the
bureaucracy, but now even our sacred educational system has
begun to decline just as quickly! Under the current system, I
doubt that students can really be taught well. I doubt the sincerity
of any academic undertaking, let alone any other sordid
occupation. Teachers who mechanically repeat things just like
recording machines, for example, simply can't live up to the
expectations of their students or themselves.
I remember when I was a teacher in Beijing, one day after
class as I sat in the teachers' lounge, I suddenly felt very selfconscious.
My heart began to burn and I felt extraordinarily
ashamed as it dawned on me that I was one of the biggest frauds
on earth. I shouldn't be fooling those innocent children or
myself, I thought, for when I put on that "serious face" to teach
the children, did I really know anything more than they did?
Perhaps I was just better at deceit and trickery! Whenever they
felt upset and started to cry, adults would always say to them:
"It's shameful to cry" or "One must always put on a smiling face
in front of others." Oh, what can be said about such an unnatural
way of life? What can an education that destroys human
nature accomplish? And how many people who are working as
educators really feel that education is a sacred undertaking?
They just grab a book of teaching materials, muddle through an
hour, collect an hour's pay, and that's the end of the story! Well,
I don't think that the women who compete with men for this
dirty teaching rice bowl are necessarily any better off than those
who stay quietly at home taking care of the housework. They
shouldn't feel ashamed of accepting any meager reward men
will give them for it!
As for there not being much else for a woman to do besides
teaching, simply put, in China today everything is in a state of
disarray. Everyone knows that women can't find occupations,
but what of all those men without work? They once received
higher educations as well. Just think how many of them there
are. Of course a large number of such men are just plain lazy,
but don't the majority of them actually want to do something,
but can't?
Qiongfang, when our school was looking for a new principal,
you can't imagine how many people maneuvered to get the job.
L U Y I N
Well, if I were to begin to tell you even some of the details about
how people jockeyed for the position, education circles would
really lose face. Alas, with society in such a condition, we'll never
have a bright future without radical change!
But regardless of everything else, Wenqi's letter is really quite
inspiring. The truth is, the Chinese family system is more than
enough to wear down any woman's willpower. I feel that ever
since I got married, my old friends have grown fewer and fewer,
while the friends I have now are either simply social friends or
else relatives with whom I have no real rapport. We either just go
through the motions with fixed pleasantries to cope with each
other halfheartedly or play cards or see a show. Any intellectual
discussions are out of the question. I can hardly find a friend with
whom I can have an intimate conversation and besides, there are
so many household matters to take care of. The minute I open
my eyes in the morning, I find myself hopelessly caught up in the
web of daily affairs. It's not easy to sit down calmly and read, let
alone take up some other activity. Oh, Qiongfang, it's pitiful how
stupid people really are—before getting married, we dream of
living full and satisfying lives after marriage, but in the reality of
this flawed world, we wind up with nothing but regrets!
All this reminds me of Lengxiu. You probably still remember
her lively and carefree personality, but have you heard about her
recent situation? She's even more pitiful than the rest of us—she's
really the one who's lost out the most! When we were all going to
school together, no one would ever have guessed that with her
proud outlook on everything, she would fall the lowest. She
always said that life was a big experiment and never followed anyone
too readily. She was even less anxious about the ways of love,
but in the end it was with the hope of a final "victory" that she
bravely stepped into this particular experiment. Although there
were many sharp brambles along the way that might have pricked
at her feet, she did not let them slow her down. When she was first
introduced to Wenzhong, no one could foresee that the two
would fall in love, as Wenzhong was already married and Lengxiu
had always held herself in such high regard. In the end, however,
Cupid's bow brought them together, but after the marriage they
returned to Wenzhong's hometown, where his first wife still lived.
Wenzhong and Lengxiu had sought the first wife's approval
before marrying, so on the surface at least, everyone put on
friendly smiles when they met. But according to Lengxiu's letter,
L U Y I N
her feelings changed completely soon after she arrived there; she
always sensed some deep regret lodged in her heart that she could
not quite express. As she lay in bed every night before falling
asleep, she would ponder how true love could not tolerate a third
party—even if the person were nothing more than a formality,
love would be marred. Because of this, her lively spirit gradually
faded. I remember some especially moving words of hers:
I was once able to use my sharp eyes to evaluate life, just like
those pessimistic, world-weary philosophers who realize
that the world is a sea of suffering, that everything has a
limit, and everything is a void, yet can never free themselves
from the bonds of the human world. I have discovered
nothing extraordinary in the course of my own life. I have
been fooled by love and I have shed tears; and I have
wielded the sharp sword of knowledge to stab at a fragile
heart. I once resembled a weak little lamb who, full of hope,
joined an enormous flock of sheep to seek the most fitting
partner. In my imagination, a perfect love was as simple and
clear as the cloudless autumn sky; nothing could stop me
from a harmonious union. It was also like a frost-covered
chrysanthemum in midautumn with a mysterious, pervasive
fragrance reserved for only a few exceptional people
while the bees and butterflies barely got a chance.
It isn't hard to achieve these hopes, but poor Lengxiu found that
even after she had cleared a spot for a garden in a remote and
barren spot and planted rose seeds, the brambles still had their
roots intact and found a way to flourish. Her clear sky was eventually
obscured by passing clouds and the lively fire in her soul
was nearly extinguished by a gust of cold wind. What does she
feel as she sits silently engulfed in her sadness before a flickering
lamplight? Who can blame her each time she lets out a deep
mournful sigh? Last March, she sent me the words to a new
poem she had written and I was upset for days after reading it.
Unfortunately I have lost her original text, but I can still vaguely
remember it. It went something like this:
The rain pours, the wind drones on,
The stars shed tears, the clouds weep.
L U Y I N
I sit in silence by the lamplight,
How deep my sorrow!
I bemoan what is lacking on earth,
The oceans of hate can never be filled!
Longing for you, I grow all the more sorrowful.
Ending my infatuation, I end up confused!
How sad! How sad!
Why can't I attain enlightenment?
Why do I falter on the wrong path?
Ashamed by the words of Western thinkers
That say: perfection or nothing!
Qiongfang, how does reading such a mournful poem make you
feel? Still, I think we should not shed tears of compassion for
Lengxiu alone, but also for the countless other Lengxius living in
a transitional era such as this one. If Lengxiu, having been unable
to secure a flawless love, has already come to such an end, then
what of all those others—such as Wenzhong's first wife—who
bear empty tides but can't find even a morsel of love? How can
we even begin to fathom their misery and sorrow?
Oh, Qiongfang, I used to say that Lengxiu was a free bird who
became entangled in the grim net of human affairs only after
obtaining the victory she fought so hard for! She gained nothing
from it but a heart of misery that consumed her strong will and
courage. When I think about it now, I can't help but bemoan the
fact that women in China today are altogether too pitiful!
The day before yesterday, Xiaoyu's daughter turned one
month old, so I went to their home and found Xiaoyu sitting
with her baby sleeping in her lap. Seeing me, the corners of
Xiaoyu's eyes suddenly turned red and she said, "It's still better to
stay single, we've all taken the wrong path!" Oh, how painful her
words were! We really were all so stupid. How heroic it seemed
when we fought with our families and willingly sacrificed everything
for love! We've all managed to achieve this victory, but now
after victory our joys are few and our troubles great. And we have
little to aspire to. What happiness is left in life, when all the
thoughts that were once so comforting are suddenly wiped away?
We used to think that if we found a true partner in love, then we
could give up our other ideals. Now, the outcome of our experiment
shows that nothing is beyond the control of circumstances.
L U Y I N
Otherworldly joys appear to me now only late on clear, starry
nights when I suddenly meet with the flower spirits and feel that
I've drifted to the corners of the universe and am suspended
between heaven and earth. As for the celestial island of endless
skies and seas, and scenery of fine grasses and delicate flowers, I
must wait a long time—till death—before I can hope to see
them. Qiongfang, my days pass so slowly, and I can hardly console
myself any longer. Lost in thought in this isolated room, I
feel as if I'm drifting away. I had originally planned to go on vacation
with Shaoqing to Italy next spring, hoping the scenery
would help alleviate my malady, but that was just wishful thinking
as there is always the question of money. Instead, we can only,
as the saying goes, "sketch pictures of food to satisfy our hunger."
Thank you, Qiongfang, the knowledge that you are still writing
helps lift my spirits. I've always wanted to do the same, but as
the years have passed I've gotten caught up in life, and at some
point my lofty aspirations faded away. The few times I have written,
I've just been putting words on paper; where can I find any
inspiration to water the barren fields of my mind and make the
flowers bloom again? Qiongfang, can you predict what the future
holds for me?
Qinzhi
\fter finishing Qinzhi's letter, Qiongfang felt as if something were
ged in her chest. She looked around at her own surroundings; natural
uty, an ideal life, these are no more than castles in the sky. Without
iking, she sighed. "This is all there is to life after 'victory.'"
Pingzhi had already awakened and could not help overhearing her. He
ed, "What did you say?" Qiongfang did not want to reveal the secret
ler heart, so she simply laughed and said, "It's late, aren't you getting
yet?" Pingzhi answered lazily, "What is there to do? There is no point
jetting up!" Qiongfang could not hold back a sigh. "There's no point
iving!" Pingzhi replied, "That's right, there is no point at all in living."
rhis strange conversation ended there, leaving nothing but a slight
iibling in both of their hearts.