Swan passes over the Zao River

Author: Zhang Ling / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: Xiao Yue: Dad has to leave you for a while. The reason Dad is leaving will become clear when you're older. The place Dad is going to is north of Toronto. It's very far north. But no matter where Dad is, Dad's heart will never leave you.
"Suwu Lookout Tower." Chen Zhongyue leaned over the desk, holding a magnifying glass and searching for this strange name on a new map of Canada. Lakes and rivers swam around like tadpoles with all kinds of tails in the magnifying glass. Later, he finally broke free from the tadpoles' entanglement and found this tiny black dot in the northern part of Ontario. He opened his computer, went to Yahoo, and found several search results. Population in town: 3,400. Population outside the town: 1,800. Latitude: 52° North. Main residents: Ujibway Indigenous people. Jurisdiction: Indian Peace Accord Area 3. The text and images on the webpage gradually blurred, leaving only a few words like "peaks rising from the flatlands," fiercely occupying his entire field of vision. 52° North. Zhongyue dug out a crinkled map of China, traced the 52°–53° North latitude line, and only found a lonely place name: Mohe. He had heard of this name. His middle school geography teacher once told him that it was a county in the northernmost part of China. In other words, Suwu Lookout Tower and a county in the northernmost part of China were almost on the same latitude line. Zhongyue felt blood heat up from the soles of his feet, inch by inch, his heartbeat so loud that the entire room could hear it.
He closed the webpage and quickly typed a letter: "I accept all terms of the employment contract and will report for duty within two weeks." After finishing the letter, he lightly tapped the send button with his index finger. A crisp "ding" sound echoed as the email flew away from his computer—only then did he realize his hands were trembling slightly. Closing his eyes, he imagined the sky filled with transparent wings, carrying him with all his urgency toward that strange-named northern Canadian town.
The next day, Zhongyue began packing his belongings. The large furniture and appliances were given to Fan Xiaoxiao. His daily items were organized into four large boxes—two for the rear hatch and two for the rear seat, which should fit perfectly in a car. Closing bank accounts, inspecting his car, buying long-distance travel insurance, taking Xiao Yue for a check-up with the family doctor, and saying goodbye to his mentor, colleagues, and friends one by one. Surprisingly, these trivial tasks were handled with ease and simplicity.
A week later, Zhongyue embarked on the long journey to Suwu Lookout Tower. On the morning of departure, when the car had already reached the highway entrance, he stopped and called Fan Xiaoxiao on his phone. The phone rang for a long time before someone answered. "Is Zhongyue there?" he asked. There was a cold laugh on the other end. "How long has it been since you dropped Xiao Yue off at school? You don't even know her summer class bus arrives at 7:30?" He paused and said, "Xiaoxiao, then I'm leaving." The other end remained silent, and he hung up. Stopped by the roadside, he hesitated for a long time, realizing he had probably still been expecting Fan Xiaoxiao to say something. But what exactly did he expect her to say? In truth, no matter what she said, he had already made up his mind. She knew him, so she didn't say a word.
As the car left Toronto, the houses gradually became sparser, and fields appeared on the roadside. Corn swayed high in the wind, its yellow tassels golden. After driving for a few more hours, the houses vanished, along with the fields, leaving only vast wilderness where even the grass seemed sparse. Occasionally, ponds lay still, as if they had existed for millennia, too old to even ruffle the water's surface. Summer insects swarmed the car windows, splattering patches of fierce green juice. The road was deserted, with no cars or people in sight. The highway stretched out like a huge gray cloth, straight and unbroken, disappearing into the horizon.
Zhongyue couldn't resist rolling down the window and wildly waving his free hand outside. He felt his blood surge without an outlet, like violent waves crashing against his body, roaring rhythmically: "North, North, North."
Zhongyue's yearning for the north had, in fact, started as a vague concept. The year Zhongyue was born, Vietnam was engaged in fierce warfare. When Zhongyue was three or four, he and the children in the courtyard watched a Vietnamese movie. The content was somewhat blurred, but he vaguely remembered a group of gaunt South Vietnamese children sharpening bamboo stakes. The theme song, however, he remembered clearly. The lyrics were repetitive, the melody recurring, making it easy to sing. If reinterpreted with modern pop music conventions, it was essentially a simple variation of "Boom-chak-chak."
"North, North, the children of the south long for liberation.
North, North, the children of the south long for liberation.
North, North, the children of the south long for liberation."
This was the song Zhongyue learned in his lifetime, a cornerstone in the vault of his memories. As he grew older, the vault's contents grew, but what was lost were always the things piled on the surface. Yet the song at the bottom had long since bled into his bones, becoming impossible to separate. Though he had no concept of the south or the north back then, that song was the first to ignite his vague yearning for the north.
P1-2