According to Vasili, no news was quite as expected: after all, expecting news from a dead person was rather optimistic. But Vasili had already sensed deep down that he would eventually bring a living Rong Jinzhen back to Unit 701 — this was his duty — it was also an already exceptionally exigent affair.
Two days later, in the afternoon, the Special Investigative Office informed him that a man from M county had just telephoned to say that they had seen a man matching Rong Jinzhen’s description hanging about and that they should hurry over and see as quickly as possible.
A man matching Rong Jinzhen’s description? Vasili thought that his premonition had come true. Before heading out, the normally staunch and ferocious Vasili broke down like a coward and cried.
The main town in M county was about 100 kilometres to the north of B City. How Rong Jinzhen had managed to make his way over such a distance to look for his notebook left people feeling especially strange. Whilst on the road, Vasili took stock of all that had happened; his heart was filled with listlessness, a mournfulness that made it hard for him to know what to think.
Arriving at M county, he did not make his way directly to the man who had made the call; rather, upon passing by a paper mill, Vasili spied a man in the factory’s pile of waste paper who caught his interest. The man was unusually conspicuous, and upon closer inspection you could see that he had problems, that he wasn’t normal. His body was covered in filth. His feet were bare and they had a bluish-black tinge to them. Both his hands were bloodied, but the man kept sifting through the rubbish just the same, turning over mound after mound of refuse. Each torn and frayed book he discovered went though meticulous and exacting scrutiny. His eyes blurred, he mumbled continuously, he had the look of misfortune about him, and extreme piety — like a Taoist abbot who has suffered through calamity and is now standing in the midst of the ruins of his temple solemnly and tragically searching for his holy scriptures.
This all happened in the afternoon, under a winter sun, with the rays of sunshine beating over this pitiable man –
Beating over his bloodied hands.
Beating over his bent knees.
Beating over his crooked waist.
Beating over his deformed cheeks.
His mouth.
His nose.
His spectacles.
His eyes.
Gazing upon this man, on his black, trembling hands, Vasili’s eyes began to dilate, to expand; at the same time his feet carried him forward. He had recognized that this most pitiable man was Rong Jinzhen.
Rong Jinzhen —!
Vasili found him on the sixteenth day after the briefcase had gone missing, on 3 January 1970, at four in the afternoon.
On 14 January 1970, late in the afternoon, in the care of Vasili, Rong Jinzhen, this now broken and tormented man, was brought back to the high-walled compound of Unit 701, thus bringing to a close this part of the story.
In the End
1
Endings are also beginnings.
For this fifth section — a following-up report as it were — I want to provide some supplementary details about Rong Jinzhen’s life. I feel this current section functions much like a pair of hands behind the scenes, one touching upon the past of the story, the other stretching out towards the future. Both hands have been extremely industrious; they have stretched out very far and very wide. They have been fortunate, they have touched upon something very real, very exciting — something akin to finally catching hold of a long sought-after answer to a rather troublesome riddle. In fact, all the various mysteries and secrets included in the previous four sections, even though they might have lacked a certain splendour, will have their true brilliance revealed in what follows.
What is more, this division purposefully disregards plot and narrative conventions; it disregards literary mood. I make no attempt to present a unified coherent story. My intention has been rather skewed and varied. It may seem that this chapter endeavours to challenge traditional literary norms, but in truth I am only surrendering to the vicissitudes of Rong Jinzhen’s story. What’s strange, however, is that after I decided to surrender to his tale, to set myself at its mercy, I felt profoundly at ease, terribly satisfied, as though I had won some victory in battle.
But surrender is not the same as giving up! Upon reading this entire section, I hope you will come to realize that the revelations presented herein were provided by the creator of BLACK. Ah, but perhaps I’ve said too much. Still, to be honest, this is how it is: the pages that follow pulled me this way and that — and they will do the same to you. It’s as though by witnessing Rong Jinzhen fall into madness, I too have gone mad.
Back to business. .
In fact, there have been some people who have raised suspicions about the veracity of this story. Their suspicions provoked me to write this final part.
I used to think that lulling the reader into believing that a story was actually real wasn’t the most essential aim in writing fiction; it was something you could do without. But this story. . this particular tale, well, it requires this belief, it hungers to be trusted. That’s because, in the end, it is unquestionably a real story. In order to preserve this original essence, I’ve had to take many risks, most notably with the plot. Oh, I could have relied on my imagination and spun an elaborate tale to tie up all the loose ends, or even employed some convenient narrative sleight of hand to finish things up. But an intense desire — a passion — to protect the spirit of the story prevented me from taking this route. Therefore I can say that, if the story seems to suffer from some chronic malaise, the roots of this disease do not emanate from this lowly narrator, but rather from the characters and the lives they lived. This of course is not wholly beyond the realm of imagination. After all, logically speaking — or, let’s say, to speak from experience — the possibility that one will encounter some altogether unforeseeable chronic illness is a very real one. There is really nothing one can do.
I must stress, therefore, that this story is historical; it is not some imaginary tale. What I have written has been gleaned from the taped transcripts I have obtained; the factual core remains intact. You can understand — and I hope forgive me — for adding some narrative framing and fictional elements such as personal names and places, and of course the descriptions of the skies, the landscapes. There may be some errors regarding the exact times when events took place; of course, certain parts of the story that are still classified have been omitted; at times I may have overdone things with respect to the inner thoughts of the characters. But I had no choice in this matter. After all, Rong Jinzhen was a man thoroughly absorbed in a fantasy world:
he did nothing but crack various ciphers, and because this work was top-secret, the general public couldn’t know about it. That’s how it is. Additionally, I must admit that it wasn’t Vasili who ultimately discovered Rong Jinzhen at the paper mill, or printing works, or wherever it was in M county. Rather it was the Director of Unit 701 who personally saw to the matter: he brought Rong Jinzhen home. Vasili, over the course of those few days and because of the strain of what had happened, had actually fallen dreadfully ill and could do very little. The Director, however, died ten years ago. Furthermore, even before he passed away, he would, by all accounts, refrain from raising the issue of what had happened then, almost as if he felt sorry for Rong Jinzhen. Some people said it was because he felt guilty about how he had treated Rong Jinzhen’s madness, and as death drew near, he blamed himself very much. I’m not sure if he was right to feel guilty or not, all I know is that his self-recrimination made me feel even more regret for how things turned out for Rong Jinzhen. Getting back to our story, there was one other person who had accompanied the Director on that fateful day: his chauffeur. People said that he was a very accomplished driver but functionally illiterate.