But obviously Hei Chun was mistaken, and Swan Valley was proof of that. Not long ago, he had risen to the position of Head of a Thousand Households. Those who prepared the spiritual briefing materials wrote them in a more interesting way than he was used to. They knew he was a poet and were happy to rack their brains and modify their style to try to find an interesting way to express themselves. In the meetings they read the reports as if they were reading poetry, intentionally breaking long sentences into manageable lines, carefully pausing at the right spots and for the right length of time. They put a lot of effort into getting the emphasis right, and they were studious in displaying rich emotions. Some used body language or exaggerated expressions, raising the government work conference to an unprecedented level of literary and poetic showmanship. People loved this format, and some started writing poems themselves, furtively showing them to Mengliu and asking him to ‘feel free’ in his criticisms. He quickly drew every kind of poetry fanatic to himself, and the meetings were transformed into poetry readings. Darae was especially affected. Both his temperament and his talent were like a replica of Bai Qiu’s.
Mengliu recalled an unpleasant confrontation with Darae. Like Bai Qiu, Darae believed that revolutionaries were the greatest poets. Mengliu said that revolution was not something to toy with. From ancient times until the present, many people had gone crazy for revolution, but even after their sacrifice, nothing had changed. ‘You’d be better off going for a Nobel Prize for Literature like Rabindranath Tagore, Neruda, Miłosz…’
Darae smiled quietly. ‘You’re right. When the fascists undertook a war of aggression, Tagore was outraged, ready to sound the battle cry for the fight against the beast in human skin. When the Spanish War broke out against the fascist dictator, it was the outcast Neruda who said, “I must take to the streets, shouting until the last moment.” And as for Miłosz, when the Second World War broke out, he chose not to flee but stayed to take part in the resistance movement.’
Rania had interrupted at this point, saying that a poet could not just sit as a silent observer of life.
Mengliu felt a little ashamed. He thought they were setting an ambush for him. Then Darae said, ‘Some poets are trees, rooted in their own land. Others are birds, flying all over the earth. I wish I could be a bird, living everywhere in exile.’ Against his own conscience, Mengliu said his comments reflected the thinking of a naive student, an expansive fantasy, pure and ignorant idealism. Not being able to return to one’s home was not romantic. Nobody wanted to taste that sort of bitterness.
Streaks of fog were creeping over the hilltop, like the bent backs of a stealthily invading enemy, slowly passing over the weeds and through the dead trees. Mengliu made his way down from Rania’s grave, his face wet and his hair knotted in mist. Thinking of taking a shortcut, he made his way east. He was sure there was a way out there. He was now more determined than ever to leave Swan Valley. He became more and more convinced of its urgency, and grew desperate, scratching and scrambling where there was no way through, rolling and crawling, and when the path was clear, hurrying to push ahead. He did not believe in the secret passage Rania has spoken of, but he needed to find the way by which he had come in. He saw a grey wall in the distance and the glow of the meandering river, with white flowering branches from the bushes dangling over it. The familiar scenery encouraged him. But he couldn’t get any closer to the wall and seemed further from it the more he circled the place. Eventually, he couldn’t see the other elements either, as if they had all been a hallucination. He continued walking through the woods, but he had lost his way.
Just as he was about to look for a place to rest, he heard a strange sound echoing through the forest. Suspecting it was a wild beast, he hid amongst the trees. The continued rustling sound brought three dark figures into Mengliu’s view. One was in front and two behind, as if they were transporting a prisoner. The person in front looked like a nun, wrapped in a black gown that brushed the ground and was caked in mud.
She limped, and her head was wrapped so that he couldn’t see her face. The two people behind followed closely, and seemed anxious and mistrustful. Mengliu thought that the one in black robes had caught a glimpse of him. He retreated, and glued himself to the trunk of a tree. He dared not move or breathe. He heard them stop and talk.
‘Little brothers, I am telling you the truth. Please believe me. I can’t go back. That is not a retirement home. It is hell!’ a quivering voice groaned.
‘Please compose yourself. Don’t talk such nonsense or I’m afraid we’ll have to send you to a mental hospital. You’re old now. Why don’t you want to enjoy the blessing you’ve been given? Why should you degrade yourself like this?’
‘I had to escape…listen to me. This is a place where they burn you alive…See the white smoke from that huge chimney? Beneath it is a crematorium. They stick living people under anaesthesia in there…Oh god, I’m hurt. My leg is broken. Let me go to a hospital. Please, I’m begging you.’ It was the same shaky voice.
‘Looks to me like you asked for it. Our job is to take you back to the nursing home. The hospital there is better for you than conditions on the outside. Everyone out here is terribly envious. I’ve never seen anyone willing to leave the nursing home…It’s too bad we have to wait twenty years before we’ll be eligible to enjoy it.’
‘To go in…to go there is to die, little brother. It’s a big scam…they take sick and elderly people and throw them into the furnace alive.’
‘God, all you old people ever do is complain. It would be better for you to cooperate. Let’s get moving.’
‘Let me relieve myself…I’ll go to the side of that tree there.’
‘All right. Let him go. He’s limping. He can’t run.’
There was the sound of dead wood breaking underfoot and the person who wanted to relieve himself walked close to where Mengliu was, then back after a moment, taking up his long-winded pleas with the pair once again. When he was rudely interrupted by the younger men, he finally closed his mouth. They quickly left the scene.