Just then, more customers came in and Shunyu’s father left the wine jug but took his own cup. As he walked away, he reminded them, ‘Don’t talk politics,’ then swung his large form around to welcome his guests. It was several of his regular customers, and he led them up to the second floor.
‘Your father really loosened up on his restrictions today,’ Mengliu said.
‘The main reason was that you played the chuixun well. My father takes you as a soul mate.’ Shunyu smiled happily. ‘In fact, there’s no generation gap between my father and us. He likes to tell me about how things were when he was young. He did one thing once that was exceptionally absurd and romantic —’
‘Shunyu, come here!’ her father called.
‘He seems to have a sensor. Any time I want to say something bad about him, he calls me.’ Shunyu stuck her tongue out and went to answer her father’s call. When she came back, her face was flushed with embarrassment. She said her father’s old army comrade had come, bringing his son with him, to discuss a marriage between the young man and herself. At this point, the tail of the body of demonstrators disappeared from the doorway, and Qizi’s eyes suddenly looked vacant. ‘Maybe the negotiations will be useful. Then everyone’s hard work won’t be wasted.’
‘Yeah. Many of the leading intellectuals and celebrities are responding.’ Shunyu spoke excitedly, as if she herself were a participant.
‘You act as if you’re concerned about society, but really for you it’s all about Hei Chun. This is called being blinded by love.’ Qizi smiled, looking at Mengliu as he refilled his wineglass. ‘You should seize the opportunity to tell him. If not, it’s likely someone else will grab him.’
In a panic, Shunyu looked toward the inner depths of the bar and seeing her father was still upstairs, she settled her nerves again. ‘Only if you’re the one snatching him from me,’ she retorted.
‘Shunyu, what kind of rubbish is that you’re talking?’ Qizi chided.
Shunyu’s words had aroused Mengliu’s interest. He had had a lot to drink, and the free flow of wine was going to his head. He looked red and hot.
‘Hei Chun is talented, and there are certainly lots of girls who like him.’ His jealousy had provoked a cynical rivalry in him. ‘Especially when he goes up on the podium to speak, he looks so valiant. He speaks well, has a manly voice, and when the girls listen to him, they lose their wits.’ He turned to Qizi and continued, ‘Are you like all the rest? No? I bet your heart thumps at least a few times…Hei Chun, that son of a bitch. He just pretends not to notice the thousands of girls whose hearts throb for him. You’re right! He’s got his eye on someone, the bastard.’
Shunyu stood up silently and left.
Mengliu realised that Qizi’s face had darkened and her eyes were fixed on him in a murderous glare.
‘You…What’s wrong with you? Eh…why are you looking at me like a tigress?’
Qizi did not say anything, but continued to stare at him until tears began to fall. The murderous look was extinguished. She snatched Mengliu’s wineglass and swallowed the drink in one gulp. She drank so fast she choked.
Squinting, she said deliberately, ‘Hei Chun — right now he’s out there charging the enemy lines! He’s not spineless!’
‘Are you calling me a coward?’ Mengliu was getting worked up. ‘Qizi, you need to be clear about this. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have gone on an outing at this time, and I wouldn’t be sitting here like a pansy drinking wine now.’
‘I admit I’ve played some part in it, but you’re giving me too much credit. You’re making me the scapegoat for the sake of your own ego. You only care about your own future.’
‘Do you really think so? Have you no conscience?’ This was going too far, and it stoked an alcohol-fueled fury in Mengliu. ‘You object to me joining the party, but then ridicule me when I sit here drinking. One minute you say this, the next that. I’ve been listening to you too much, going wherever you pointed, allowing you to weaken my will and disgrace me in front of everyone! And your father, that trump card, haven’t you played that too? You tell me, at the end of the day, what the fuck am I supposed to do?’
‘Stop pushing the blame onto me! In the final analysis, it’s your personality that’s the problem. You’re indecisive and dependent.’ Qizi was disgusted with him for swearing. She had begun by wondering whether he could withstand her assault, but she became angrier with each word and, throwing caution to the wind, she continued, ‘You’re a selfish prick. You live in the fantasy world of poetry. You are complacent, weak and without any vision. You have no ambition. You’re a hero in your own verse, but in real life, you’re just mediocre.’
Throughout Qizi’s harsh speech Mengliu’s pupils dilated until they were like flowers in full bloom. As the flowers reached the zenith of their life, there was a pause for several seconds, then they gradually turned dim and faded, shrivelled, withered. He lowered his eyes to the empty wineglass, as if he had drained the wine with his gaze. Then he calmly stood up, negotiated his way past the chairs, and flew out through the door of the bar like a flurry of fallen leaves in a cold wind.
Mengliu walked sluggishly beside his bicycle with his head slumped forward. Drunk, he could neither see nor hear a thing. He bumped into people and trees intermittently, until finally he staggered back to the West Wing. He flung the bike carelessly against a wall, went inside, and plopped down onto his bed. As soon as he fell asleep, he began to dream. He was being chased by a biomechanical monster. He tried frantically to escape, but his legs were limp and he could not run. Eventually he took flight, but the monster turned into a huge bat with eyes as red and round as lanterns. It opened its ferocious mouth in hot pursuit. Just as the bat was about to catch him, Mengliu woke up, his body on fire and his heart heavy.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a while. The cracks that spread over it made it look like a traffic map, with lines for highways, railways, and airlines winding here and there. He felt dizzy. Suddenly his whole life had become a mess.
Qizi’s words echoed in his mind like a knife scraping against glass, grating on his ego.
He applied psychoanalysis to his wounds for a while and felt better. After a little longer he felt quite good about himself, confident he could carry on with his normal life. But soon the cold reality returned and he felt a terrible pain. He cursed the alcohol, blaming it for starting him off on the trashy talk. He wanted to apologise to Qizi and tell her he loved her very much.
Just as he was filled with tender feelings, he felt the sting of her remarks all over again. His heart hardened, and he thought she should be the one to apologise to him. He would not forgive her if she did not take back her harsh judgement of him. Instead he waited all night, hoping Qizi would suddenly appear, laughing and ready to bury the hatchet. But all he heard was the wind in the locust tree, the cat in the rafters, and the endless flow of the lonely night. He had a splitting headache, and only when morning came did his state of confusion pass.
The radio next door chimed 11am, then began presenting the news. It reported an important meeting, saying it had been convened for the purpose of re-examining the faeces. The issue would be researched and discussed, and a vote taken. Those who attended the meeting had a long list of impressive titles, which was read out in its entirety in the report. It went on to talk in detail about how they made their entrance to the meeting, the suits they wore, their expressions, the colour of their ties, and emphasised the ‘thunderous applause’ that had greeted them. Only at the end was mention made of an illegal gathering of people who had attempted to take the opportunity to cause trouble, and made a negative impact on the smooth running of the conference.