Camel Xiangzi - [Illustrated Edition]

Author: Lao She
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: This book includes three novels. Camel Xiangzi centers its narrative around the character, weaving the plot around the fate of the protagonist. This is a unique aspect of Lao She's artistic conception. As a writer with high artistic cultivation, Lao She had a deep love for folk art, and Camel Xiangzi clearly incorporates the performance methods of folk storytelling. Camel Xiangzi was adapted into a play as early as the 1950s and became a staple production on the Beijing theater stage. It was later adapted into a film and brought to the silver screen, demonstrating its enduring appeal. The novella Crescent Moon is undoubtedly another rare masterpiece. If Camel Xiangzi depicts how the old society turned good people into villains, Crescent Moon exposes how the ruthless society forced virtuous women into prostitution. Crescent Moon portrays the tragic fate of two generations of prostitutes in the old society, using an incredibly profound brushstroke to analyze the social roots of women's downfall in pre-modern China. Through their broken and sorrowful hearts, it issues a heart-stirring cry that moves readers deeply. The Soul-Stirring Gun is a short story. It combines the small story of an individual's fate with the changing times against the backdrop of historical shifts, creating a grand scale within a brief narrative. With its grandeur, it undoubtedly belongs in the ranks of modern short story masterpieces. The Soul-Stirring Gun tells the story of a martial artist. Once the legendary sharpshooter Sha Zilong was in decline, even his disciples no longer paid him respect. Yet the story does not depict a trace of anger in him. Instead, it describes him twice, in the still of the night, facing the stars and shooting sixty-four arrows in a single breath. With just these two scenes of description, it vividly portrays his helplessness and indignation during the turbulent period of historical change, bringing to life his complex mentality in the rapidly transforming modern society. As a "People's Artist," Lao She's excellent novels are too numerous to count. This book selects three representative works from his long and short stories to delight the readers.
The laughter grew even stronger. Xiangzi walked out straightening his body, not knowing how to act because of his sudden pride. He was very happy, something he had never experienced before. Everyone's smiles were directed at him, as if he were an important person. Smiling, he took out the few pieces of cash and carefully placed them one by one into the sealed jar, thinking to himself: "This is more secure than anything else! When I have enough, I will just knock it against the wall." Clack! The cash was more numerous than tiles!
He decided never to ask anyone again. Even though Liu Siye was reliable, he sometimes seemed awkward. The money was safe with him, but he still felt uneasy. Money was like a ring—it was always better to have it in your own hands. This decision made him feel relieved, as if his belt had tightened another notch, making his chest straighter and stiffer.
The weather was getting colder, but Xiangzi seemed not to notice. With a firm resolve in mind, his world seemed to brighten. In the light, he did not feel cold.
Ice ripples appeared on the ground, and even the dirt on the side streets had hardened. Everything showed dryness and firmness. The black soil had turned slightly yellow, as if all the moisture had been drained. Especially in the early morning, frost edges lined the ridges of the earth trampled by carts. The wind, sharp and swift, scattered the morning clouds, revealing a sky as high, blue, and refreshing as ever. Xiangzi wanted to go for a ride early in the morning, the cool breeze whistling through his sleeves, making his whole body shiver like a cold shower, yet he felt exhilarated. Sometimes, the wind blew so fiercely that it almost suffocated him, but he lowered his head, clenched his teeth, and pushed forward like a fish struggling against the current against the water. The stronger the wind, the greater his resistance, as if he were fighting to the death with the gale.
Suddenly, a gust of wind hit him so hard that he could barely breathe. He closed his mouth and, after a while, let out a burp, as if he had just come up from underwater. After that, he continued to run forward, charging ahead, unstoppable. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if he were an insect being attacked by ants, shaking his whole body to resist.
What a sweat! When he finally put down the cart, he straightened his back, exhaled a long breath, wiped the yellow sand from the corners of his mouth, and felt invincible. He watched the wind, covered in dust and sand, sweep past him and nodded.
The wind bent the trees by the roadside, tore the cloth signs of the shops, cleared the newspapers from the walls, and dimmed the sun. It sang, cried, roared, and echoed. Suddenly, it rushed straight forward, like a frenzied spirit, tearing through the sky and the earth. Suddenly, it became chaotic, swirling in all directions like a demon unsure of what to do, blindly crashing around. Suddenly, it swept across, striking everything in its path, snapping branches, lifting up roofs, and snapping electrical wires. But Xiangzi stood there watching. He had just come out of the wind, and it had not affected him!
Victory was Xiangzi's!
When the wind was favorable, he only needed to hold the cart handle firmly. He didn’t have to run—the wind would push the wheels for him, as if it were a good friend. Of course, he was not blind, and he must have seen the old and weak drivers. They wore ragged clothes that were pierced through by small breezes and torn apart by strong winds. Their feet were bound with something. At the cart’s entrance, they trembled, their eyes darting like thieves. Whenever someone appeared, they rushed to ask: "Cart?!"
Once they got a ride, they warmed up, their thin and torn clothes soaked in sweat. When they stopped, their sweat froze on their backs. When the wind blew, they couldn’t lift their feet but had to drag the cart; when the wind came from above, they lowered their heads to their chests; when the wind came from below, their feet lost their footing; when the wind came from the front, they had to wave their hands as if flying a kite; when the wind came from behind, they couldn’t control the cart or themselves.
But they exhausted every method and used all their strength, dragging the cart to its destination, risking their lives for a few copper coins. After a trip, the dust and sweat merged into mud, covering their faces, leaving only three red circles around their eyes and mouths.
The days were so short and cold, and there were few people on the streets. After suffering through such a hard day, they might not even earn enough for a meal. But the old had their wives and children at home, and the young had their parents and siblings! In winter, they were as if they were in hell, with only a little more life than ghosts, yet not as carefree as ghosts. Ghosts didn’t have the burdens they had! To die like a dog on the street was their greatest peace and freedom; it was said that frozen ghosts had a smile on their faces!
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