Juli wanted to know specifically what made the machinery of a large nation turn. Was it flexible? Did the gears make a grinding noise, and what sort of lubricant was needed? Was wear and tear a big problem, and how did one go about replacing old parts? Or was it better just to scrap it all and start from scratch?
Mengliu kept leading the conversation back to medicine, saying that doctors had mastery over the machinery of the body. From ancient times until now, the body’s organs and tissues had not changed. The Yellow Emperor and The Compendium of Material Medicine would never be outdated, and medical skills were essential for keeping all the two-legged creatures of the world up and running.
Juli was more concerned about the body politic and the diseases it suffered from.
Mengliu had a premonition of danger. When a beautiful woman developed her intellect, it could only lead to disastrous consequences for him.
It was a good day. Juli brewed the dark, fermented tea and invited Mengliu to play a game of chess. Distracted, Mengliu lost two games.
Juli’s hair was arranged in two braids wrapped around her head and secured at the back with a shell clip. She wore clogs, and her toes were visible beneath the hem of her light blue skirt. The skirt was made of a soft, comfortable fabric that hugged her curves.
‘You’re playing too impatiently today. You are too distracted. You’ll scare away the spirit of the tea.’
She smiled serenely. It was a typical Swan Valley smile, temperate and lovely as porcelain. At that moment Mengliu felt the cherries had ripened, the coconuts were heavy, and the grapes on the trellis were surging forward.
‘You’re especially beautiful when you smile. Why don’t you smile more often? When you smile, even the plants and flowers take notice.’
Juli’s smile broadened, as if she were granting some special permit for Mengliu to make an even more daring comment. Of course, this was just a small test. He had stronger motives within him. He was just waiting for Juli to issue a more relaxed smile. But Juli’s smile came out like a bud in spring, showing signs of the flower, but not quite opening. Her liquid brown eyes solidified again and her thoughts took a leap.
‘From your point of view, what could a scalpel bring to the nation?’
The leaves rustled around them, his losing game displayed by the distinctive black and white pieces on the chessboard.
Mengliu picked up his cup in two fingers and took a small sip of the tea. His movements were slow. He set the cup down and steadied it, then said, ‘Each flower is a world unto itself, and each tree a life. Perhaps I can give a sick person a new world, a healthy world that has emerged out of their experience of horror, blood, pain, and repentance.’ He paused, leaning back in his chair with his elbows resting on the armrests, as if talking about these things exhausted him. ‘You know, to open up a person’s flesh with a knife is easy. Too easy…Sometimes, you cut out a tumour, or lance a boil, or remove a damaged kidney…just to save a corrupt official, a thief, or some other person who deserves to die a hundred times over…These people are the pillars of the nation, and taxpayers’ money goes to salving their conscience and fitting them with prosthetic limbs…You don’t know, but the kidneys of the poor, the bellies of the hungry, the various organs of the good — they all die helplessly at hospitals and at home. I can do nothing about that.’
The last bit was spoken with great emotion. He surprised himself, not realising he was so thick-skinned, as if he really did do his best for all living creatures, especially for those members of society who were subject to abject poverty and had no one to depend on. Actually, he had never cared about a patient’s identity when he wielded the knife, and he had never felt real sympathy or compassion. He had just taken his salary and lived his own life. Or, rather, he relied on his own abilities to live out his life. Unbelievably, his eyes were actually wet. He was like a revolutionary talking about his failed experiences, occasionally revealing a certain will and spirit to start over again.
His expression touched Juli. She almost felt an impulse to take his hand and comfort him.
‘People are always like this. When their desires reach a climax, their inner demons are released. The nation is like a person, always experiencing problems with its personality. But in the final analysis, wherever there are no strong values, things will end up in a mess.’ Juli sighed, then turned and said in a gratified tone, ‘Our hospital is like a beautiful historic site close to the mountains and water. When you see a doctor or pick up a prescription, it’s all free.’
‘All free?’ He was so surprised that he could not help but repeat Juli’s words. He thought of Hei Chun’s description of an idealised world, and now here it was right under his nose.
‘Yes, the doctors are like our close friends or family. In the hospital, the patient enjoys warmth and care, as if from a member of their family. And the hospital’s food is good too.’
‘You don’t have to go under the table to get that sort of care?’
‘We have state-of-the-art medical equipment. There are always beds and plenty of space.’
‘The key thing is, you don’t have a large population, everybody is healthy and beautiful, and people rarely get sick.’
‘No, the key is that we have good genes.’ Juli stretched and stood up, then said casually, ‘The place Esteban took you to wasn’t too bad, was it? When you got there…were you inspired to write poetry?’
‘No,’ Mengliu answered decisively. ‘If someone’s poetry cells have been burned to death, there’s no way to resurrect them. They won’t come back to life.’
According to what Juli told him, the population of Swan Valley was strictly limited, and not heavily concentrated in the suburbs. The areas lying around the town made provision for only two thousand households, and the number of people who could live in each household was also limited, with the surplus moved to other places to pioneer new developments. For every one hundred people there was a church, its reverend trained from youth by special agencies. He was highly respected. He also held other executive offices, such as Head of a Hundred Households or Head of a Thousand Households. The reverend’s wife had to be one of the outstanding women of Swan Valley. Criminals and the intellectually average were prevented from reproducing. Their propaganda slogans included exhortations like, ‘Ensuring a Quality Population Starts with Good Genes’ or ‘Let the Best Sperm Combine with the Best Egg’.
Now imagine you are an insect, and you fly through a low-rise building to a grove filled with the scent of magnolias. Religious music comes from one of the windows. If you were to say that the scent belongs to the music, or that the melody comes from the scent, you would not be wrong. The streets are exceptionally clean, and there is no smog or noise pollution. The pureness of the air bears with it a trace of sweetness. In a colonnaded ring-shaped square, forty-five degrees to the east, you will see an old tree. It is called the Tree of Beasts, and it is said to be the patron saint of living creatures, and has been standing since ancient times. Its trunk is amazingly thick, and requires dozens of people to encircle it. The bough is wound tightly with dendrites, and the roots are engraved with animal shapes, inlaid with precious stones for eyes. When you see a python with blue eyes sticking out its tongue, there is nothing to fear. It is fake.