Moonlight over the sea awaits the beloved: As if once met, Zhang Ailing

Author: Liu Zhu / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-11-01
Features: In Chapter Five, "Deep Love Is Futile," after these two meetings, Fang Qi and Qian Yan gradually gained a deeper understanding of each other. Qian Yan would push his luck, first visiting Zhi Ling's house every few days, then every other day, and eventually coming every day. Moreover, he would arrive at dawn and leave only when it was dark. Naturally, his lunch also fell on Zhi Ling, but Zhi Ling felt too embarrassed to ask for food money from him. Undoubtedly, a few meals were certainly not within Zhi Ling's considerations; what truly troubled her were more complex reasons. Once, she said quite bluntly, "Mr. Qian usually stays in Nanjing, so his longing for Shanghai must be 'home-sick.' After coming back, he should stay home more to accompany his family, why always lingering over here?" Qian Yan, however, smiled and replied, "'The wine of Lanling is fragrant with saffron, in jade bowls it glows like amber. But if the host can make his guests drunk, he need not know where home is.' Fang Miss treats me so well, as if Lord Mengchang had hosted Feng Xuan without fail—fish, meat, and even conversations as refreshing as a gentle breeze. Naturally, I feel like a guest at home here. I am like a pigeon in Fang Miss's house—the only difference between me and an ordinary pigeon is that I fly out at night and return during the day."
Zhi Ling felt somewhat awkward hearing this well-dressed man voluntarily compare himself to her pigeon, but it couldn’t help but stir something in her heart. Yet, upon reflection, she realized that in this matter, his disadvantage was clearly no greater than her own.
"Ah, Qian Yan, Qian Yan, what do you think of me?" Zhi Ling gritted her teeth in resentment, secretly determined that the next time he came, she would sternly reprimand him and make him understand that he would gain nothing here, only wasting his time. But that very evening, as Zhi Ling had firmly decided, she received another letter from Qian Yan—"A Fish Sent a Letter"—whose warm and sincere words once again stirred an irresistible attachment and confusion in her.
Thus, the next day, as soon as she opened the door, she saw Qian Yan smiling at her, "Good morning, Fang Miss."
Infected by his smile, Zhi Ling couldn’t help but smile back and no longer wished to bring up the depressing topic of "breaking ties with you."
Her current situation left her trapped, a predicament she couldn’t escape. She had to make a resolution. Sometimes, she even hoped that this resolution would come from Qian Yan. After all, she was a woman, and once deep affection stirred within her, she wasn’t strong enough. She felt that if Qian Yan didn’t seek her out, she would never go to him again. But just as she was torn between her, Qian Yan grew even more frequent in his visits. Could he have noticed her indecisiveness? This cunning man.
"It’s because my love for you is greater than yours that you’ve become so bold." This was a line from New Eloise in which Julie told her lover and teacher, Saint Preux. But was this really love? Despite having written so many novels about "love and hatred," when she herself couldn’t escape—or perhaps "unwittingly"—passion, she was utterly bewildered and lost.
"What should I do? What should I do?" Zhi Ling repeatedly wondered. Before her eyes, a little girl crying tearfully and her brother’s eyes filled with sorrow seemed to reappear. They were Qian Yan’s children, as if they were shouting at her, "What should we do?" There was also Qian Yan’s wife, who still wore the expression of unyielding anger when she met Zhi Ling on the street. Zhi Ling picked up the ring she had dropped and returned it to her with a guilty smile. This time, of course, she wouldn’t thank Zhi Ling but instead stared at her blankly, "Do you still have any basic moral standards? How can you be so hypocritical and cruel!"
At that moment, Zhi Ling only wanted to defend herself and blurted out, "Oscar Wilde once said—‘A moral man is a hypocrite, and a moral woman is necessarily mediocre.’ No matter how you see me, it doesn’t matter."
"Doesn’t matter? You’ve torn a family apart and call that nothing? What shameless Wilde, what writer, how can a woman like you, who has no shame, still be called a talented woman? I’ll make the whole of Shanghai judge this matter, expose your words to the public, and see if you still dare to be 'nothing'!"
Zhi Ling was stunned, and two lines of tears streamed down, soaking her pillowcase. Suddenly, she realized it was just a nightmare. But just as it was said, "What one thinks in the day, one dreams of at night." What misfortune did this nightmare foretell?
Although, in a certain sense, she was one of those "bewildered" daughters of a wealthy family, in this world, you were connected to the outside world even if you didn’t leave the house. The power of the media couldn’t be taken lightly, nor could you afford the slightest arrogance.
Every day, downstairs in Zhi Ling’s building, many news vendors competed in loud voices, as if a nightingale had met a parrot, each unwilling to yield. Zhi Ling had once found the shouting amusing, but lately, she had grown annoyed by the news vendors downstairs.
"Exclusive news, Southeast Morning News exclusive news. The female writer Fang Zhi Ling from our city is deeply entangled with a Nanjing official." Another big piece of news is coming to you all, the US-UK coalition in the Pacific theater has won another major victory."
"Important news—yesterday, a 'black eats black' murder case occurred on Baitang Road. Detective Holmes has personally gone to the crime scene. According to the Huangpu Evening News, the paper recently conducted an exclusive interview with novelist Fang Zhi Ling, who has hinted her strong interest in a minister in Jinling."
"Scandal, these small papers are always spreading rumors. They call it an exclusive interview, but when did I ever accept their damned interview?" Zhi Ling, furious, grabbed a newspaper from the table and tore it to shreds, as if it were the "exclusive news" the vendors were loudly promoting.
What particularly stirred Zhi Ling was the words "Nanjing official" and "Jinling minister" in the small papers. She faintly felt that Qian Yan’s political status was even more difficult than the fact that he had a wife and children. It was as if Li Shangyin’s poem perfectly described it: "Even more distant than the thousand layers of Mount Fengshan." From the beginning, they had always been worlds apart.
She knew very well what "the Nanjing government" meant to ordinary people. In occupied Shanghai, though no one dared to openly call those who served the Nanjing government "traitors and lackeys," who hadn’t cursed them a thousand times in their hearts?
Zhi Ling’s friend Bing Yi had connections with officials from the Nanjing government. In the past, Zhi Ling had coldly observed that someone as sharp as Bing Yi, who could "guess the second half of a sentence just by hearing the first," wasn’t very clever in this regard. Of course, she knew Bing Yi mostly did it for the convenience of running the newspaper and that she hadn’t participated in any political activities of the "Wang Faction."
But external speculation was always more imaginative than a writer’s imagination. Because Bing Yi had often received help from Chen Gongbo, the President of the Legislative Yuan under Wang Jingwei, rumors spread that Bing Yi was Chen’s mistress. Even an article had appeared in the newspapers: "Lantern Hand’s Flirtation, Bing Yi, Beauty’s Scheme Tore Chen Apart."
Zhi Ling couldn’t help but think of her own reputation. Now that Qian Yan was openly visiting her house, if this continued, could her reputation be better than Bing Yi’s? It was likely even worse!
Zhi Ling’s thoughts were scattered and chaotic, and for two days, she had no motivation to do anything. The day before, Qian Yan had returned to Nanjing. Although Zhi Ling resented his daily visits, when he truly left her, she didn’t feel the slightest relief.
"Only for a few days. When the roses on your balcony bloom, I’ll be back," Qian Yan said gently.
Zhi Ling frowned, "Are you taking leave from me? That’s really strange. If you’re taking leave, you should go to your Wang boss, he’s your superior. But I do have one question—I don’t often say you’re someone who’s already 'done for,' like Jia Yi, who wasn’t given enough importance. That doesn’t sound very sincere, does it? I think you’re still obsessed with Changge."
Qian Yan’s expression changed, and he smiled again, "Calling the Nanjing government Changge, wouldn’t that make Mr. Wang a tyrannical King Zhou? And wouldn’t those of us below be aiding and abetting the tyrant, unforgivable? Well, well, I won’t debate this with you today. Time will tell people’s hearts, and political right and wrong will eventually be revealed."
Just then, the doorbell rang. Was it him? He was back so soon? Zhi Ling immediately opened the door. It was Su Jia, not him. She remembered that the last time Qian Yan came, she had mistaken him for Su Jia. And now that Su Jia was really here, she had mistaken Su Jia for Qian Yan. Twice, her hopes had been dashed in the exact opposite way.
Su Jia saw Zhi Ling and said, "His character—" Zhi Ling found it hard to speak coherently.
"What character? Are you saying he’s not a good person? Then tell me how he’s not a good person?" Su Jia asked impatiently.
Zhi Ling, however, smiled and said, "This man, he drinks Tokyo wine, climbs Changtai willows."
"Useless, you’re playing word games with me? It’s always the Chinese literati who have so many tricks—I don’t understand, can you translate it for me?" Zhi Ling had to explain, "Tokyo is the capital of Japan, 'drinking Tokyo wine' means he’s part of the Wang Jingwei faction; and 'climbing Changtai willows'—Changtai was a place where singing girls and dancing women lived in ancient China, and today it refers to—"
"Academic, really academic!" Su Jia gritted her teeth, then said, "I get it. Let me reply to you in your style—my man, he’s often found in places like 'See You Again Tomorrow,' and he’s also deeply involved with the Japanese, burning the midnight oil with them."
Zhi Ling buried her face in her hands and smiled bitterly. Su Jia walked over and pried her hands apart, saying, "Then what else is there to say? Even if he’s a genius, you can’t give him a good look. Such a person, ha, such a person deserves—"
Zhi Ling added, "He deserves to die, die, die, right?"
"That’s right, you understand me, Zhi Ling." Su Jia laughed.
But Zhi Ling frowned and made a firm, different decision from her usual self.
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