Demon World Snow and Wind in the Human World

Author: Ding Ling
Publisher:
Publish Date: 1997-12-01
Features: In February 1931, after Hu Yeping's tragic death, I first stayed at Li Da's house and later moved to the accommodation of Shen Congwen and his siblings. In early April, I borrowed two hundred yuan from Mr. Zheng Zhenzhuo of The East Journal for travel expenses and returned to Hunan with Mr. Shen Congwen. In front of my mother, I couldn't reveal the truth and made up a lie: I said Hu Yeping was going to the Soviet Union and couldn't come to see her along the way. I couldn't take care of my child alone in Shanghai and had no choice but to leave him with her for care. My mother generously agreed to take on this burden. I didn't dare to stay in the house for long, fearing that my emotions might uncontrollably reveal the truth. I only stayed at home for three days before hastily returning to Shanghai. Originally, the Shen Congwen siblings, who were close enough for frequent visits, had already gone north. In the vast Shanghai, only Li Da and his wife were my only close acquaintances. Li Da had once been the head of the People's Women's School, and I had always regarded him as a teacher. His wife, Wang Huiwu, was a warm-hearted woman who had always been kind to me and was a cherishing reader of my innocence. After Yeping was arrested in 1930, they actively invited me to move in with them temporarily. During the severe white terror, such friendship was extremely rare and precious. Therefore, my gratitude to them has never faded. Li Da, with his years of life experience and his understanding of the world, once advised me: "No matter what, you can no longer participate in political activities; just write some articles honestly." That's why there were some things I didn't dare to say in front of them, but I desperately needed their friendship. Besides their home, where else could I go to spend some time? But even when I went, I couldn't fully open up my heart, making me feel even more lonely. In this helpless situation, I rented a small room on the third floor in Huailong Road and lived a lonely life day by day. I was then twenty-seven years old. Although I had lived in Shanghai and Beijing and attended school, those times were always spent with friends or with a lover. Now, living independently in the great Shanghai, alone in the kaleidoscopic city, I truly felt the difficulty of taking the first step. I was restless and worried all day. After deep thought, I struggled to gather my strength to endure each day. I had many burdens: First, political pressure. Yeping had sacrificed, and I should continue to move forward! But what should I do? Could the killers of the Nationalists who had killed him spare me? Second, financial pressure. I should support my mother and raise my child. Their daily food, clothing, and shelter all had to be arranged by me, plus my own rent and food expenses in Shanghai—I had to write so much every month! In the past, two people managed for two people (my mother still had some savings), but now one person has to support three people, living in two places. Third, creative pressure. What should I write about? My old life and the sorrows of petty-bourgeois intellectual women had become stale. I needed to explore new creative territory and must go into the life of the masses. But how to go, and where to go? A multitude of questions piled up in my mind. I sat, dazed; lay down, stifled; walked on the streets, feeling like a leaf swept up by the wind and then tossed away. I once wrote a novella: From Night to Dawn. It was a portrayal of my own life at that time. Readers who have read this novella will understand me better.