Niu Yueqing came in and heard Liu Yue’s voice. “Who are you talking to?”
Startled, Liu Yue broke out in a cold sweat. She put down the phone. “Just a girl calling to ask if Zhao Jingwu was here. I asked her who she was. She said she was his cousin, and she went on and on about Cousin Jingwu. So I told her your Cousin Jingwu isn’t here and hung up. What was Zhao Jingwu thinking, giving our phone number to his cousin?”
Niu Yueqing heard the explanation but didn’t quite believe her.
. . .
The Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching. In the past, Xijing’s four celebrities would customarily get together over holidays, with a different group of three men taking their families to the fourth man’s house each day. They entertained themselves with music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, followed by drinking while they admired the moon. The festivities would last for days. On the ninth day of the eighth lunar month, Ruan Zhifei sent an invitation on red paper, asking Zhuang and his wife to his place on the fifteenth. He had gotten his hands on some Hami melons and giant grapes from Xinjiang. After they enjoyed the fruit, he would hire cars to take everyone to see the lanterns at the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda, where, according to him, a new wall had been set up for visitors to write on. They would amuse themselves by reading the lousy poems by people who longed to get published but lacked a venue, and they would add their names to the wall to show up the stupid monks at the temple. A gift was included in the invitation, an enlarged copy of a U.S. dollar bill with the image of Washington replaced by a headshot of Ruan. Zhuang laughed. “Ruan Zhifei is obsessed with money. He thinks those poems on the wall are terrible, but he could probably only write ‘I was here.’”
Zhuang told his wife that he didn’t want to go anywhere over this holiday and that she should decline all the invitations by phone the next day, telling everyone that he had left on a long trip. By the time the fourteenth rolled around, he regretted turning down Ruan’s invitation. So he wrote out a shopping list for Liu Yue to buy some gifts for his friends.
“Dajie already told them you’re away and can’t make it back on time,” Liu Yue said. “If you send gifts now, they’ll be upset that you can’t be bothered to join them when you’re right here in Xijing.”
“Just tell them it was Dajie’s idea.”
Liu read the list: for Ruan Zhifei, one cattie of Dragonwell tea and some spring liquor from Jiannan; for Gong Jingyuan, a bottle of Shaoxing liquor, three catties of slow-cooked mutton, and a carton of State Express cigarettes; for Wang Ximian, a jar of Nescafé, a can of Coffeemate, a pack of chewing gum, and a box of Winfong cosmetic products. “Except for Wang Ximian,” she said, “they’re all edibles. Why cosmetics for him?”
“Why can’t men use cosmetics? You haven’t seen enough of the world, so you think that’s strange.”
“You’re right. I’ve seen so little that everything is strange to me. That pockmarked face of Wang’s does need some powder to smooth it over. I just thought you seem to worry about too many things.”
“Don’t be petty. Haven’t you gotten enough from me? Go deliver the gifts and then come right back. Oh, and buy a stack of hemp paper to burn for Zhong Weixian tonight.”
A feeling of sadness rose up in Zhuang; the mention of Zhong reminded him of Ah-lan, then Ah-can. If only he had a gift… He sighed, lowered his head, and went to read in his study. A while later, Zhou Min, Li Hongwen, and Gou Dahai came by with five lawyers. The court had summoned Jing Xueyin and Zhou Min. Sima Gong had not let on whether or not there would be a second round of arguments, but Zhou Min was uneasy, so he brought the lawyers over to strategize about the second court session. The other side had raised some issues that had not been examined during the first session. They tossed around a number of possible responses but had not yet reached a consensus when Liu Yue returned. After greeting everyone, she brought out a teapot and added tea, then leaned up against the door and waved at Zhuang. He was reading a guide to nonfiction writing that some friends had provided. He got up, went over, and asked in a low voice, “Is everything all right? Did you deliver the gifts?”
She backed into another room. “Yes. Some even returned the favor.” She took out a pastel yellow scarf and a small pipe. “This is for Dajie, and the pipe is for you. I don’t understand why they gave you this since you smoke cigarettes, not a pipe.”
“Really?” He put the pipe in his mouth and puffed on it until his mouth filled with saliva. “I can’t smoke it like this. Tomorrow go out and buy some tobacco. I’ll smoke this from now on.”
“Now I see,” Liu Yue said. “I was so stupid.”
“What do you see?”
“When you smoke a pipe, it’s kissing you the whole time.”
“Ah, Liu Yue, I see I hired a little fox fairy, not a maid. Why don’t you keep the scarf for yourself? It’ll come in handy in the winter.” He started to walk away.
“Don’t you want to know who it’s from?” she asked him.
He just smiled and went out to talk to the lawyers.
When Niu Yueqing came home from work, she invited them all to stay for dinner. She and Liu Yue went out to buy dumplings. They ate and talked and finally reached an agreement. As they were leaving, Niu Yueqing gave each of them a pack of moon cakes she had just bought, while Zhuang suggested that they all go burn paper money for Zhong Weixian. They went out onto the street to do so and then left.
“I’m sure you didn’t buy that many moon cakes, Shimu.” Zhou Min handed his back to Niu Yueqing. “And you’ve given them all away. We have some at home, so why don’t you keep these for yourselves?”
“The others all took theirs, so you have to take yours,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. A few moon cakes can’t cost as much as several meals, can they?”
“It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival, and we should have invited people to a celebration. So go ahead and take them,” Zhuang joined in.
Liu Yue handed the bag back to Zhou Min. “Take it. It’s an order from Zhuang Laoshi. If you don’t want them, maybe Wan’er would like them.” He walked off with the bag. As they watched him recede into the distance, Niu Yueqing said, “Zhou Min just told me that since Mr. Zhong’s death, Li Hongwen is fearful he’ll be held responsible for things, so the magazine is rudderless. You’ll definitely have to show up if there’s a second court session.”
“Let’s worry about that later,” he said and walked home.
Over the days that followed, Zhuang stayed home and read instead of writing a new rebuttal. The festival passed with no festivities, so Niu Yueqing and Liu Yue, who wanted some excitement, decided to go see the chrysanthemum show at Xingqinggong Park. After they returned, she phoned Meng Yunfang and invited him over. He spent the rest of the day there, while Niu Yueqing and Liu Yue went to Shuangren fu. Meng had a suggestion for Zhuang: Since the case was not going to be resolved any time soon, constantly living on pins and needles served no one. He would organize a literary salon at the House of Imperfection Seekers, and Zhuang would be the speaker. Zhuang replied that he didn’t feel like it, that everything seemed to have lost meaning after Zhong’s death.