Jia Wan had made an appearance at poetry salons, but did not talk much in a crowd. He was relatively low key. He was from the same village as Mogen, a writer who, though he was not well educated was very talented, and had been admitted into the Writers’ Class in an unconventional move when he won a national award for a novella he had written. Later, he entered the Literature Department. Now he was an activist, diligent in his work with the Unity Party, passing messages, running errands, doing odd jobs, and generally making himself useful in any way he could. The Writer’s Class was a place where people of unusual abilities could be found, who often quietly helped the Unity Party by drafting and writing slogans, making donations, or offering bedsheets to be used as banners.
As the result of a campaign speech made with absolute authority, Qizi had become the backbone of the Unity Party. Hei Chun was elected by an overwhelming margin to serve as the first chairman of its meetings.
Mengliu still had not joined the Party, but in order to see Qizi, he often showed up at their activities and performed small favours for them. Sometimes he bumped into her, but they exchanged no private words. They talked occasionally, but it was strictly on the level of comrades, as if there had never been anything more between them. All of their feelings seemed to have been transferred elsewhere.
The Wisdom Bureau’s Freedom in Broadcasting Forum was an expansion of the Unity Party’s Propaganda Department. Because of the unrest amongst the people and changes in its personnel, the Unity Party had been thrown into confusion. Some members were in hiding, others had fled, many kept farewell notes handy, ready to sacrifice their lives. There were also those who had the core members of the party in their sights, intending to weaken their positions. Hei Chun particularly was under attack, with people saying that he was a womaniser, and that he had used the funds raised by the Party on luxury-brand cigarettes, alcohol, and a life of corruption and vice.
One evening the previous week, in a dimly lit corridor where the whitewash on the termite-infested wall was flaking off in slivers, Mengliu had come out from the washroom and overheard a conversation between Hei Chun and Qizi. Hei Chun wanted Qizi to take over as chairperson, saying she was the only one capable enough for the role. He had written a letter of resignation and would inform the Party the next day. Qizi said he couldn’t withstand the wind and rain, and that his heart became overwhelmed with anxiety at the first signs of trouble.
What made Mengliu’s heart race was not that Hei Chun wanted to elevate Qizi, but that he had confessed his feelings for her, using this critical moment when she was vulnerable to express his affection. He bore with the unpleasantness and listened as Hei Chun continued.
‘Last year in the twelfth lunar month, your long hair was awash in sunlight as you skated alone on the ice, eating candied hawthorns. I came up behind you, raced past, and caused you to fall. The candy stick flew from your hand and made me stumble too. I cursed, then turned back and saw you, looking like a penguin with your arms flapping as you tried to catch your balance. Your eyes were dark and your face clear and golden. At that moment, I forgot everything. I couldn’t even remember that I had crashed into you. I asked which department you were in, and you asked if I was going to go to your department to apologise. I said I wanted to bring you a bunch of flowers, and asked what flowers you liked. I slid up next to you, and you recognised me then. You said my skating was much worse than my poetry…’
Mengliu kicked the base of the wall, knocking a shower of white plaster loose. He imagined the frozen lake, the sun shining on it, and Qizi’s face like amber, with her dark eyes, looking irritated but lovely and innocent at the same time. The sky was a monotonous grey, and the trees were withered. Only she was alive with colour. It was like an image from a film, developed in the darkroom of Hei Chun’s mind.
‘Qizi, everyone is very supportive of you. If I withdraw, it will be good for the Unity Party. Anyway, I’ve already achieved my goal.’
‘Goal? What have you achieved?’
‘…Actually, it’s not exactly a goal. I do things out of interest.
There’s no reason. I don’t have to be responsible to anyone.’
‘I won’t be the chairperson. I oppose your resignation.’
Qizi’s recorded speech was like a newly-unearthed weapon. Mournful, bleak, poignant and tragic, it made spring at the Wisdom Bureau extraordinarily dreary.
Mengliu and Shunyu each carried a bundle of cloth, paint, and a bag of jingling objects. As they listened to the broadcast, they walked toward the basketball court, where there was plenty of space for them to work.
‘Qizi’s actually a very talented performer. Can you hear how sensational she is? She makes me want to cry.’ Shunyu pricked up her translucent jug ears and pursed her thin lips. ‘She is possessed. Her father is angry and wants to disown her.’
Mengliu had slowed his pace, and was looking at a speaker attached to the trunk of a tree. He began to envision angels running barefoot from the speaker, elves, roaring lions, snorting horses. Out of the dark forest came the thundering sound of thousands of horses and soldiers, the sad howling of wolves, the honking of a lone goose, and the whimpering of the north wind.
‘On this sunny day, we are on a hunger strike. In the beautiful days of our youth, we cannot help but resolutely cast aside everything that’s good. However, we don’t really want to do that. We refuse to take it lying down!’
‘…’
‘Democracy is the greatest impulse for the survival of human life. Freedom is an inherent, natural right. Everyone has a right to know the truth…
‘We do not want to die! We have a vision for the future, because we are at the most beautiful age of our lives. We do not want to die! Our motherland is still so impoverished, and we do not have the right to cast it aside. Death is not our aim! But if an individual’s death, or the death of a few, will enable more people to live a better life, and to create prosperity for the motherland, then we have no right to hold on to our own lives!
‘When we are hungry, our mothers and fathers, do not mourn. When we say farewell to this world, our uncles and aunties, do not shed tears. We only have one hope, and that is for you to have a better life. We only have one request: please don’t forget, we are definitely not pursuing death!’
‘What are you looking at? Idiot!’ Shunyu swatted Mengliu with the cloth.
‘I was listening to the speech. It was really good. Earth- shattering.’
‘A talented literary work? Did you play any part in it?’
‘She has plenty of talent to deal with this sort of thing.’
‘What’s going on with the two of you? Are you still planning to go overseas?’
Mengliu could not answer Shunyu’s question. He thought back to what had happened two days earlier, when he had worked overnight assisting the Unity Party. His stepfather had come and could not find him, and had lain on his doorstep all night, waiting. As soon as he saw Mengliu, he caught hold of him, but in his anxiety he could not get his words out. He wanted Mengliu to go back to the village and lie low until the trouble was over. He said, ‘Don’t join this damn rebellion.’
Mengliu asked him, ‘Who’s rebelling? It’s just a petition. But I’m not even signing that.’
His father had scolded, picked up a book, and started to hit him with it. After a while, his attack weakened, leaving him tired and helpless.
Mengliu was overcome by a burst of sadness.
‘Why are you in a daze? Why don’t you say something?’ Shunyu said, elbowing him.
‘If Qizi starts to create literary works, she will certainly be an excellent writer,’ he said.