‘I think that China’s biggest problems are, one, that there’s no religious faith and, two, our links to the finest things in our national culture have been severed. We’ve lost our traditions, so even though our economy may flourish, at a spiritual level I can see us becoming impoverished and degraded,’ Tianyi said despondently.
‘Most of the world’s rulers impose their rule by means of religious faith,’ Zheng replied. ‘But China is a country whose religions, Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism, have all been smashed. Even Maoism has been smashed!…There are no standards, no bottom line, so value judgments are confused. Glass gets treated as diamond, vermicelli as shark’s fin. It’s really terrible!
‘When the Qing dynasty was overthrown,’ he went on, ‘old-style scholars spent a lot of the time debating which was the best for China: a monarchy, a constitutional monarchy or a republic. Actually, during the Republican years, a number of educated reformers did emerge but it’s true to say that for the last one hundred years, we have not only not gone forward, we’ve gone backwards. For instance, did you know that there was actually a legislative assembly at the beginning of the Republic? So I feel that after these latest economic reforms, we need corresponding political reforms, otherwise the consequences will be unthinkable.’
‘I like the Song dynasty,’ Tianyi suddenly said.
‘Why?’ Zheng, brought up short in the middle of his tirade, looked hard at Tianyi. Before him was a woman who might have stepped out of an ancient painting; she had a dignified, cultured air and, he was coming to realize, a rare purity of heart. He was captivated. Making an effort to cover his emotion, he asked: ‘Is that because intellectuals enjoyed a high status under the Song? I agree. I especially like the injunction of the Song philosopher, Zhang Zai, to intellectuals, “To establish the spirit of Heaven and Earth, and a good life for ordinary people” …’
‘… “To protect and perpetuate bygone wisdom, and maintain the whole world in peace forever”,’ Tianyi finished off for him. They fell silent and stared at each other. There was an instantaneous vivid flash of delighted surprise, of mutual recognition. Then each of them hurriedly looked away.
Tianyi decided she liked Zheng very much indeed. Oddly enough, her liking was entirely platonic. She felt no physical desire for him, still less any desire to use him. She felt about him the way she might feel about a heavenly emissary, or a sage. From their very first meeting, she did not treat Zheng as an ordinary man. And that was the root of the problem, because Zheng fell in love with her at their first meeting, even though she was four years older than him. Not that that put him off. He said to Peng: ‘Jenny von Westphalen was four years older than Marx.’ Peng did not repeat this remark to Tianyi straightaway, for one simple reason: he was in love with her himself.
One day, Tianyi suddenly said: ‘Zheng, I don’t think you’re cut out for politics.’
‘Why not?’ he asked, startled.
‘It’s simple, you’re not a politician. You’re an idealist. Born in the wrong age.’ Then she added (and Zheng would remember her words for the rest of his life): ‘You’re the ultimate idealist.’
Because of her feelings for Zheng, Tianyi was constantly dreaming up pretexts to spend time at Peng’s. It was the same with Zheng. So they regularly bumped into each other there, and chatted, cooked a meal, worked. Peng’s dad was the boss of some big company and had quite a bit of money put by. The family owned a two-courtyard home, and Peng’s father gave it to his son, thus making Peng one of the very few young people who owned their house at the beginning of the 1980s. It was a wonderful place for his friends to gather.
Over time, increasing numbers dropped by, and they dreamed up more exciting things to do. Often, they went to the Miyun Reservoir outside Beijing. They were so young then, Tianyi reflected. Nowadays, it was a long journey, two hours or more. Back then, it was much simpler, they just got on their rickety old bikes and pedalled there, talking and laughing.
They usually got to the Miyun Reservoir towards evening. They would start with a swim, then gather under some nearby trees and have their picnic. There were always plenty of provisions, though of course ‘plenty’ in those days only meant soy-stewed beef, coarse-grained bread and snacks, and a variety of pickles: sweet-soy ‘eight treasure’ vegetables, Korean chillis, home-made pickles, mouli in soy-paste, and so on. And salads and fruit, of course. Tianyi usually decided on what salads to bring, and she and Zheng made them up together. They made the mayonnaise for the salad in the most basic way. There was a bowl of peanut oil, heated up then left to cool; the oil was slowly added to the egg yolks — it had to be added a drop at a time, just a little bit too much and it curdled. That was the key to making mayonnaise, the adding of the oil at the beginning. At this crucial moment, the person in charge often added the oil too fast, curdled the mixture and had to be rescued by Tianyi. She always added the first few drops personally. When the mixture had begun to thicken, and the salt, sugar and vinegar had been added, then Zheng took over. He beat the mayonnaise with vigour, and a single-minded concentration that was comical and still raised a smile with Tianyi all these years later.
Zheng was ham-fisted when it came to practical things, but he was terribly earnest, especially when Tianyi asked him to do something. He had big fleshy hands, with fat fingers that looked like pickled mouli. He had big feet too, and stomped heavily along. But his handsome face, his bright eyes and his eloquence far outweighed any impression of clumsiness.
On this particular day, the mayonnaise was especially well-received and was soon finished. Dusk had fallen and one by one, they put on their costumes and went for a swim. Tianyi always enjoyed wearing her costume. It was very striking and looked good on her dainty figure, unlike the clumsy, baggy garments most women wore for swimming. Tianyi had found hers in a shop on fashionable Wangfujing Street. It was obviously a smuggled import, and caught her eye instantly. The fabric was light and thin, the bust was well-cut and it was a pretty colour, bright red scattered with big and small white spots. Tianyi fell in love with it straightaway. It was more than 70 yuan, shockingly expensive back then, but Tianyi bought it without a moment’s hesitation.
Tianyi’s shopping fell into two categories: things she absolutely had to have as soon as she laid eyes on them, and bargain buys that she wore a couple of times, then discarded. The swimsuit fell into the first category, of course. And so, come dusk, Tianyi, her beautiful figure clad in her equally beautiful costume, was frequently to be seen swimming at the Miyun Reservoir.
To Tianyi’s surprise, Zheng made no attempts to conceal his admiration. His feelings were as transparent as a child’s. As soon as she went to swim, he got in too. When she went in one last time, he had been lying sprawled, exhausted, on the embankment, chatting to friends. But as soon as he spotted her in the water, he jumped in regardless.
They were very conspicuous, since there was no one but the two of them in the reservoir. Everyone else was on the bank, watching them as if this was some kind of performance. It was getting quite dark and there was an evening breeze. Tianyi found it delightful. Slowly she slid through the water, heading for a little boat that bobbed up and down. It was a ramshackle craft, probably belonging to a local peasant who kept there for catching fish or clams.
As Tianyi remembered it, a girl on the bank was making fun of Zheng’s swimming style: ‘He looks like he’s banging a drum with his arms!’ she laughed. Tianyi glanced back and, in that instant, the old man in the sky got angry. There was a loud clap of thunder, followed by streak after terrifying streak of lightning. A fierce wind gusted and churned the water around them.