White Magnolia in Front of the Building: Liu Xinwu's Latest Short Story Collection

Author: Liu Xinwu
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2000-07-01
Features: Preface E Li gave Liu Teacher this new collection as a preface, and I was both happy and apprehensive. First, let me talk about the apprehension. Liu Teacher has published over ninety of his own monographs both domestically and internationally, and many authoritative figures have written prefaces for his books. Just mentioning a few names like Bing Xin, Feng Mu, Wang Meng, Lin Jinlan, and Liu Zaifu is already quite impressive. Now, how could it be me? Who am I? I am a true commoner, having only known Liu Teacher since 1992 through Wu Zuoguang. Later, I became his personal assistant. My personal expertise is in seal carving, and while my other hobbies, such as calligraphy, painting, and stamp collecting, are quite broad, literature is ranked last, and I don’t belong to the so-called "literary youth." I have never had the urge to write novels or poetry, to be honest, and I rarely read literary works—even Liu Teacher’s works, I haven’t read all of them. As his assistant, my main role is to run errands for him, and I never interfere with his writing. I enjoy associating with Liu Teacher and many other older-generation cultural figures, and I run errands for them because I believe reading their "books" of character is truly a rare spiritual pleasure. My friendship with Liu Teacher has lasted eight years, spanning the turn of the century, and our interactions have always been very pleasant. But this time, he didn’t just ask me to run around between publishers for his book; he formally "bothered" me to write a preface for his new collection, and I was truly hesitant, almost wanting to say "no" for the first time. However, in the end, I accepted the task. After living with Liu Teacher for many years, I deeply understand his personality—he never ( means to be insincere or (fūyǎn) means to be insincere or perfunctory) anyone and would never take advantage of others. His "bothering" me to write a preface was said with genuine sincerity. Liu Teacher is very well-known in society, and some colleagues, including editors and journalists who haven’t truly interacted with him much, especially certain individuals with official titles or status, think he has a big ego and is difficult to get along with, or at least has an eccentric personality, too detached from the "circle." I don’t intend to defend Liu Teacher for this, but he has always been able to treat those often overlooked or even discriminated against by society, such as laid-off workers from state-owned enterprises, migrant workers, and residents living in narrow courtyard houses in hutongs, with equality, even forming friendships with them. Some chapters in this collection tell the stories of such characters, showing Liu Teacher’s understanding and care for them. This is something that people who always move in "upper" circles, no matter how imaginative, could never fabricate. Some of the prototypes for these characters, as well as certain events and details, I witnessed but didn’t pay much attention to at the time. Only after reading the related articles did my heart "thump" as I realized, in a moment of laughter or shock, that I had gained some insight. Of course, the areas of life Liu Teacher is involved in are actually quite broad and rich. Although he has rarely attended meetings in recent years, he has actively participated in many civilian social activities. Scholars both domestically and internationally, as well as some high-profile individuals in my opinion, have greatly valued him, and he enjoys interacting with them because there is no utilitarianism in their gatherings—they meet out of mutual interest, making their conversations extremely enjoyable. This is why his writing is not solely focused on the "lower" strata; he portrays and analyzes all levels of society, from top to bottom, integrating them into a collection that can be seen as leaving behind a colorful and vivid "record" for China across the centuries, especially for Beijing. Now, Liu Teacher has presented such a "photobook," and I sincerely wish him joy! This new collection by Liu Teacher has at least three distinctive features. First, almost every article features vivid character portrayals and storylines, so you could call it a collection of short stories. Second, these "short stories" are cleverly conceived, humorous in language, and have enduring charm, making them thought-provoking. Many of them are non-fiction works, so they can also be enjoyed as exquisite essays and (s (sībǐ) means essays). Third, the articles are relatively short, most only a thousand or two thousand words, making them especially suitable for people in today’s fast-paced lives to read casually during brief leisure moments. Several articles in this collection, such as "Winter Sea Watcher," were featured multiple times on CCTV’s "Television Essay" program alongside interviews with Liu Teacher. "White Magnolias in Front of the Building" prompted a response from the renowned Hong Kong essayist Dong Qiao. "The Crochet Hook" moved the famous Singaporean writer You Jin to write an article expressing her admiration and analysis. "Pork Belly" was published in a newspaper supplement in early 2000 and quickly received several letters of appreciation from readers (who are not so easily moved to write to authors these days). Liu Teacher probably wouldn’t want to mention these things, but I bring them up to reassure readers—my words may not hold weight, but these articles are truly beneficial upon opening and are widely recognized. I still have several notes from Liu Teacher that I’ve kept, where he always used the phrase "" (fánqǐng, meaning "to trouble"). Whenever I did something for him, he would earnestly say "" (xièxie, meaning "thank you"). At first, I would tell him, "Don’t keep saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ like this; it’ll make us distant." But he always remained the same, insisting, "I can’t help but ask and thank." Now, I must admit that his manner is both a genuine expression of sincerity and a reflection of a truly well-thought-out humanistic spirit, as well as a high level of morality and refinement, and I have come to cherish it. Liu Teacher himself no longer writes prefaces, and he asked me to thank China Radio and Television Publishing House, the editor-in-chief Liu Yuzhao, the readers who supported him, and all other individuals—all with sincere gratitude, not mere formality. Ah, Liu Teacher! The problem with him is that he sometimes lacks the "etiquette" of flattery! But on the other hand, many of his affairs, including his literary achievements, are perhaps all the better for him because he always treats those willing to collaborate and interact with him with genuine sincerity! February 19, 2000, the Lantern Festival in the Year of the Dragon:
Fragment: The Eighth Bao Mu Willow Husband was a geologist, and traveling was his norm. He would just grab his bag and leave, and she never sent him off. He never looked back when he went downstairs to leave. He left again this time. When the door slammed shut behind him, she was just finishing clearing the dishes at the dining table, her expression as calm as ever. But after the door closed, she put down what she was doing and went to the balcony. She stood on the balcony, looking down. Below the balcony was a road. Along the roadside stood a row of Bao Mu willows. The crowns of the Bao Mu willows were large and lush, and from the upstairs view, they didn’t look like steamed buns but like tents. She habitually counted the eighth Bao Mu willow to the east of the balcony and waited. She knew that in about five or six minutes, her husband’s figure would appear beneath that willow. Their building had its entrance on the side without a balcony. To exit the building and reach the subway entrance, one had to pass by the eighth Bao Mu willow, after which they would be obscured by a security booth. Every time, she would joyfully see her husband’s sturdy back at the expected time and place. Especially the canvas travel backpack, redesigned by her under her husband’s guidance, she would silently send her blessings to his back and the backpack. That day, she went to the balcony as usual, but suddenly felt unaccustomed, because her husband’s back did not appear. He had to take the subway straight to Beijing Station and could not deviate from that route; how could he not be under the eighth Bao Mu willow? In her panic, she acutely realized how important this brief and certain glimpse was to her! She couldn’t help but run downstairs. The entrance was empty. Unconsciously, she arrived under the eighth Bao Mu willow and looked around in all directions. Could he have burrowed underground or flown to the sky? It was truly unbelievable. She almost ran into the security booth to report him missing. When she returned to her home upstairs, her son tried to talk to her, but she didn’t hear him, only the sound of an ambulance growing louder as it approached and then receded. She inexplicably lost her temper with her son, her heart heavy as if blocked by a pebble. For several days, she felt listless. She sometimes laughed at herself privately, and at other times, she deduced from logical reasoning that something was not right. Finally, one evening, she received a call from him, far away. She couldn’t help but say, "Where have you been? You’ve killed me!" Her husband was puzzled, so she confided everything in him. She told him how every time she said goodbye, she appeared calm on the surface but would always run to the balcony to watch his back beneath the eighth Bao Mu willow. After a moment of silence on the phone, her husband’s deeply moved voice came through: "Silly woman! The day I left, I just ran into our building’s Wang. Their company’s car was taking him to the station, so I hitched a ride. You’re so stubborn! But I know that willow, yes, the eighth Bao Mu willow. Do you know? Every time I come back from a business trip, don’t look at me like I’m fine when I enter the door. But the moment I step under that willow, I can’t help but look up at our balcony, at our window. Sometimes I stand there for several minutes, especially at night, that window with its lights—it makes my heart full of love for you!" Hanging up the phone, she noticed her son standing in front of her. Her son was asking her, "Mom, why are you crying?"