Of course, this isn’t to say that they possessed consciousness or that I became optimistic. Definitely not. My pessimism had long since penetrated to the marrow of my bones. The crowd’s consciousness should rather be said to be like a plastic plaything. You melt it into whatever shape you want. From the bottom of my heart, I believed they had no true consciousness except for what was shaped by the elites, and the elites’ inspiration came from my enlightenment. I sensed obscurely the possibility of future high-level sexual joy and communicated it to the elites through an ordinary popular song. After the elites acknowledged this (there is a qualitative difference between acknowledgment and comprehension; no one could comprehend my abstract consciousness, because it was divine will), they indoctrinated our beloved ordinary folk with it as if force-feeding ducks. Then the beloved folk would begin strolling on the main street like drunks, belting out these high-level lyrics of mine. It may have looked like blasphemy or a farce to an outsider, but what else could we do?
This is life. I had achieved my goal. Who cares how? The fact is that X and Q’s influence had already been swept away. What they did in the granary was purely low-level. The people had already unwittingly recognized another high-level format. They didn’t know what it actually was or what they should feel about it, but still they recognized it. Some people might still be confused, some might be weeping sadly, some might be dreaming, some might be filled with enmity. Still, they recognized it. In any case, I am the winner.
The writer has already made it clear above that the first speaker was supported by the vast majority of the elites, and controlled public opinion on Five Spice Street. The women who supported the second speaker merely pretended to be crazy and made a terrific fuss for a while. It was over soon. It had no effect: it was no more than a ‘‘tempest in a teapot.’’ It seemed that one day, all of them chopped boards at their doors and unanimously threatened to make blackboards from them, but after they’d chopped for a while, they all threw the axes down and went into the public toilet and began discussing the movement. They talked exultantly. They believed that as soon as the blackboards came into use, they could hold their heads high. They wouldn’t put up with being deceived any longer. Some of them even decided to sleep that night in separate beds from their husbands, to starve ‘‘these old dogs.’’ But as soon as they emerged from the toilet, they forgot about the blackboards. They left the axes on the ground and went around visiting, talking animatedly, as if from now on they would break from the old days and their new, high-level life would begin. ‘‘Madam X is a piece of shit, though she did enlighten us in some ways.’’ They all agreed on this. But as for action, they took none. That night, they took care of their men as always. Driven by guilt, some were even more humble and wished to hold their men all through the night. The next morning, their eyes not yet fully open, the men discovered those planks of wood and axes. Before they had time to ask anything, the women began cursing loudly, saying that thieves had come in the night. ‘‘They were going to pound the doors and windows down and come in and pilfer.’’ Luckily, it was discovered in time, and they threw down the axes and took off. ‘‘Too contemptible!’’ they shouted. ‘‘They wanted to wreck our happy family life. If I hadn’t discovered this in time, wouldn’t they have also murdered us?’’
The writer was impartiaclass="underline" he could only record this awkward, embarrassing incident. We couldn’t understand why women had this bad habit of making a great start and then not following through. Beloved readers, I don’t intend to deprecate our lovable women of Five Spice Street (I don’t have to mention that there were many pretty, voluptuous ones among them). Perhaps it’s only a tiny flaw. Anyway, who’s perfect? And so our comments on the second speaker had better end here.
The third speaker is truly lonely (C). But his powerful eloquence, his philosophical theorizing, and his well-known communication with God actually cowed all the elites into submission. There was a time when the majority agreed with him. In several rounds of debate, he almost beat out the first speaker. But just as he was about to triumph, history played another trick on us. Madam X jumped out from the dark granary whose location we didn’t know, and announced to every passerby: she wanted to establish a ‘‘normalized’’ relationship with her beloved! This lightning bolt so shook the elites that their eyes flashed with red and green sparks. Those supporting the first speaker immediately assembled and hooted: “What is a woman? Ah? Look, this is the beginning of retaliation! The krait has crept out of the cave! What civil war are we still fighting? We’re on the verge of calamity!’’
Really, it was this damn Dr. C whose third opinion actually fostered Madam X’s wicked bluster. He had sat on the roof for forty- nine or sixty-four days: did this mean that he must have talked with the gods or the heavens? Can it be proven? Only his wife verified what he had done, but she didn’t verify any communication between him and the gods, or that he had reached any high-level sexual joy. Rather, she verified that while he was on the roof, he had farted several times because of indigestion, and these farts had gone into her cooking pot. After Madam X had tugged at every passerby and announced her intention, all the elites suddenly became crazy and cursed Dr. C. fiercely, temporarily forgetting their upbringing and manners. They said it was this politician (that’s what they called C) who had put forward some dirty advocacy of high-level sexual joy and also had come up with some sort of popular song, thus abetting Madam X in her arrogance and caprice. In the past, these two publicly unknown cockroaches (for the moment, that’s how they decided to refer to X and Q) had never had this kind of courage. Because of C’s agitation, all of Five Spice Street’s ordinary people would become immodest and restless, just waiting to see. Immoral things would occur. If things turned out like this, how could we elites face society and how could we continue to hold the fucking meetings? Thinking of these questions with bitter hatred, the elites felt regret for the first time. When C climbed up to the roof like a centipede, no one had predicted this outcome. Everyone had watched with admiration from their small windows, as if entrusting him with all their responsibilities and obligations, and waited to enjoy the harvest he would bring. As he looked up at the firmament (in fact, he was calculating), we gasped unanimously in admiration, hoping that he would redeem our world, and redeem our souls as well. We also foolishly sang the popular song he used to trick us! What kind of ‘‘popular song’’ was it? It’s too shameful to hum even one word of it now. We really wished we could hide in a closet and not come out! Just think, even the elites behaved disgracefully. It was nauseating to remember. And what about the ordinary people? What about X and Q?
The time for firm measures has arrived, dear ones! We mustn’t hesitate any longer. We have to correct our position and take Mr. A’s viewpoint as our motto. Let’s learn it thoroughly. The meetings will continue. Everyone must gouge his selfishness from the deepest part of his soul, put the filthy thing on the table, and dissect it with a scalpel. There is a kernel in Dr. A’s lecture-his point about the masculine spirit. The reform he mentioned is significant; unlike just taking photographs, it contains a truly qualitative change. If we realize this change, we’ll reach a new realm. Our bodies will grow strong muscles, our mustaches will be thick and dark, our voices deep and stentorian. Our gestures will be vigorous and convincing. With such photographs on our walls, the world will change into a man’s world filled with masculine activities.
We elites have made mistakes. We have decided to correct our weaknesses. To start we can use a back thrust, or it’s also all right to say that we will turn our guns backwards and shoot. We’ll aim at Dr. C. Having stripped off his mask, we see the original. How can he be considered a major scholar or a philosopher? Someone carefully identified him and remembered that years ago he was a peddler selling quack medicine at the Five Spice Street intersection. Later, he changed his identity and bored his way into the ranks of our elites. Does this suggest that we’re a bunch of fools who mixed up a peddler with a philosopher and social elites? Here, we must emphasize a little something: his ‘‘sudden change of identity’’ didn’t occur overnight, but only after assiduous study-after exerting the strength of a peasant in a field of books. Lapping up information without digesting it, he finally reached the high level that he occupies today. At first everybody respected his erudition. He was very good at suiting his actions to circumstances and saying whatever people wanted to hear. Knowing we didn’t like compliments, he might not compliment us. He just refined our thoughts. As soon as we stated our opinions, he immediately followed up with his, expounding reasonably, causing you to be delighted and to accept him as a comrade, as a most beloved friend and confidant. After many years of hard study, this damn medicine peddler changed and became erudite and multi-talented. If it hadn’t been for this unfortunate incident, who would have remembered his origins? Hadn’t he been on the same footing with us not long ago? One bad element among us had purposely praised him, wanting him to ascend so that he himself would skyrocket ahead! That bad element had also tried to climb to the roof of the thatched cottage and participate with C in the swindle of the dialogues with the gods. It was only because the rafters were rotten and couldn’t support the weight of two people that he had to give up his plan. During those forty-nine or sixty-four days, he waited under the roof. If there was the slightest sound from above, even a fart, he would announce this to others and say that he was ‘‘the old philosopher’s proud disciple’’ and that he ‘‘was almost united in one body with the old philosopher.’’