Xu Beihong: A Life (My Memoirs, 1999 Edition)

Author: Liao Jingwen
Publisher:
Publishing Date: August 1, 1982
Features: This book has been a bestseller both domestically and internationally, with a total of 564,000 copies sold. It has been translated into multiple languages, including English, French, Japanese, and Czech. It is a profound memoir that introduces the life of Xu Beihong, one of modern China's greatest painters, and his representative works from various periods. His art of ancient and modern techniques from China and the West, combined with the inheritance of Chinese national colors, has established him as a prominent figure in the world of painting. After burying his father, Beihong decided to leave his hometown and seek opportunities for part-time work and study in Shanghai. He wrote to Xu Ziming, a professor at Shanghai Fudan University and a fellow native, sending his artworks and pleading for his help. The kind-hearted Xu Ziming sent Beihong's works to Li Denghui, the president of Shanghai Fudan University, who praised them and promised to arrange a job. Xu Ziming then wrote to Beihong, urging him to come to Shanghai immediately. Beihong packed his belongings and resigned from his teaching positions at three schools. On his way, a Chinese literature teacher, Zhang Zufen, from Yixing Junior Women's Normal School, warmly bid him farewell and encouraged him: "You are young, intelligent, and hardworking, with limitless potential. I hope you remember two words: One must not have arrogance, but one must not lack dignity. I have nothing to give you but these words of wisdom!" How much they resembled the words my father once said! Beihong looked at this much older colleague, seeing sincerity and care in his wrinkled face. A deep sense of gratitude filled his heart. From that day on, he cherished these parting words as his motto. Even in his later years, he told me with great warmth, "Mr. Zhang Zufen can be considered a true friend of mine!"
In the summer of 1915, at the age of twenty, Beihong arrived in Shanghai, the city that never sleeps, wearing a blue silk robe and white mourning shoes adorned with mourning ribbons, carrying the scent of his hometown. The towering skyscrapers, dazzling shops, predatory government offices, heavily guarded foreign trading companies, and neon-lit dance halls and gambling dens adorned this semi-feudal, semi-colonial eastern metropolis. Yet, in this bustling city, there was both a world of opulence and a reality of hunger and unemployment. That day, Beihong accompanied Xu Ziming, a professor at China University, to meet President Li Denghui of Fudan University. Like anyone else about to undertake a significant task, Beihong's face was tense and serious, focused solely on walking, rarely speaking with the cheerful friend beside him. At that moment, he was calculating how to arrange his spare time to continue studying painting. He looked forward to the future with great excitement. Xu Ziming was much older and taller than Beihong, and the undernourished Beihong appeared even more frail. In the president's office at Fudan University, President Li Denghui stared at the young man in rural attire for a long time, his expression bewildered, as if searching for something forgotten in his memory. He whispered to Xu Ziming, "This person still looks like a child. How can he work?" Xu Ziming argued passionately, "As long as he has talent, why should you care about his age? Moreover," Xu Ziming said loudly, "he has resigned from teaching positions at three schools to come here!" Li Denghui remained silent, pondering. Soon after, Xu Ziming accepted an invitation from Peking University and left Shanghai. Beihong wrote to Li Denghui several times but received no reply. Consequently, he drifted in Shanghai, unable to find a job. The hot and frustrating summer passed in anxiety. To pass the time, Beihong often stood reading at the bookstores of the Commercial Press. At night, under the dim lights of his inn, he would sadly reminisce about his hometown, his mother, and his siblings.
As autumn arrived, the green leaves on the streets gradually turned yellow and fell to the ground, and the cold and hunger began to threaten him. He walked along the fallen leaves, wandering in the streets, feeling deeply the hardship and narrowness of life's path. Just as he was in despair, he received a letter from Xu Ziming in Beijing, urging him to meet Yuan Tieqiao, the editor of the Monthly Novel at the Commercial Press, and ask for help finding a small job. This sudden hope revitalized Beihong. He immediately packed his paintings and Xu Ziming's letter and went to Yuan Tieqiao's office. Beihong earnestly explained his dire situation and urgent need. Yuan Tieqiao kept Beihong's paintings and promised to help, asking him to come back in a few days for a reply.
Heavy, dense rain continued to fall, as if weaving a cold, dense net over the earth. Without an umbrella, Beihong braved the rain to inquire about the news. The streets were filled with the sound of gongs and drums, and colorful arches were set up everywhere as people celebrated the National Day with joy. Beihong was soaked to the bone, and as he stood before Yuan Tieqiao, rainwater streamed down his thick black hair. Seeing Beihong, Yuan Tieqiao immediately said cheerfully and excitedly, "It's done! The Commercial Press has agreed to let you work as an illustrator for textbooks for primary and secondary schools, and you can move into the press's dormitory tomorrow." A warm feeling instantly filled Beihong's heart, and he felt his breathing even out as blood flowed freely through his body. As he walked back to the inn on the wet streets, though the rain continued to fall and the cold wind lashed at his hair, face, and body, he looked contentedly, almost happily, at the curtain of rain and the gray sky, momentarily forgetting hunger and cold.
Under the dim lights of the inn, he excitedly wrote a letter to his mother, detailing his new job and hoping she wouldn't worry. He also wrote a similar letter to Xu Ziming in Beijing, expressing his gratitude. Then, he braved the rain and dropped the letters into the mailbox. As he returned to the inn with light steps, about to change into his clothes and rest, a sudden, urgent knock at the door startled him. He hurriedly opened it to find Yuan Tieqiao standing there, holding a paper package and looking panicked. "It's hopeless!" he said. Beihong took the package and quickly opened it to find, in addition to his paintings, a note from a man named Zhuang Yu: "Xu Beihong's paintings are not suitable for use." Beihong trembled all over, as if his heart had suddenly cracked open, and blood flowed endlessly. An unbearable pain and disappointment seized him, and he ran wildly to the Huangpu River. The bitterness of his life in Shanghai, the frustration of not finding a job, and the suffering of hunger and cold had already worn him down. And now, the sudden collapse of hope once again overwhelmed this young, spirited man, who could no longer bear it. He was on the verge of despair, ready to end his young life in the endless flow of the Huangpu River.
The turbulent, muddy river surged against the shore, making a heavy sound. Foreign merchant ships and warships dotted the distant waters, their whistles piercing the air. Beihong felt short of breath and his body burned with a searing pain. He violently tore open his clothes, letting the merciless wind and rain beat against his chest. When a chill shiver spread from his heels to his entire body, he came to his senses. He remembered his father's teachings at the end of his life, his sense of responsibility, his once-ambitious dreams, and his mother and siblings. He whispered to himself, "A person who can rise above despair when faced with utter hopelessness is not weak." Thus, he took heavy steps and returned to the inn in a melancholic mood.
The astute innkeeper, seeing the hopelessness in Beihong's expression, guessed that he had not found a job. He remembered that Beihong had not paid his rent for a week and swayed his very fat body toward Beihong, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Young man," he said, "I've already rented your bed to someone else today." Beihong immediately understood his meaning and apologized, explaining that he had no money to pay the overdue rent and offered to leave his luggage as collateral. The innkeeper was greatly pleased.
Stepping out of the inn, he wandered the damp and cold streets, tormented by the thought: Where can I go now? He looked around in confusion, surrounded only by the deep darkness. His feet instinctively turned toward his hometown. The small house by Qiting Bridge still stood stubbornly in the wind and rain, just like its former owner. But the family was now even poorer. His siblings had dropped out of school and were working in the fields, and his mother, her body wrapped in coarse clothes, had grown even thinner. Like all mothers in the world, she silently bore her pain and never spoke of it to her son. Beihong also did not want to burden his mother with his troubles, and they endured silently. Yet, Beihong's young heart did not yield. Like a small grass trampled by the roadside, it still reached toward the vast sky, toward sunlight and rain. He poured his sorrow and melancholy into the heart of the town to a kind folk doctor named Fa Desheng. The compassionate doctor deeply admired Beihong's talent and wanted to help him. But a folk doctor who earned a living by practicing medicine could hardly afford a large sum of money. Fa Desheng comforted Beihong, urging him not to hurry. Then, he gathered some friends in the town—honest small craftsmen—who pooled their resources to raise money for Beihong. Beihong took the money with tears in his eyes, his heart deeply moved. He knew that his fellow villagers also lived in hardship, but out of kindness, they had generously extended their hands to help him. How could he possibly repay their care and compassion? He resolved silently: He would not let them down!