“He’s timid,” Zhuang said. “He has dodged trouble his whole life.”
After turning the desks sideways, Li took a set of tiles out of his drawer, while Zhou Min placed a cup of tea and an ashtray before each man.
“We have enough for a game,” Zhuang said to Zhou. “So why don’t you run over to the municipal newspaper for me?”
“What do you need?”
“Here’s an article I’ve written about a local entrepreneur. Take it to Mr. Zhang, the head of the arts and culture section, and ask him to print it as soon as possible.”
Zhou Min left in high spirits.
So Zhuang, Li, Gou, and a young editor named Fang drew lots for the seating. The results? Zhuang Zhidie in the east, Li Hongwen in the west, Gou Dahai in the north, and Xiao Fang in the south. Li wanted to change seats with Gou, saying that Zhuang was well heeled and today he was going to share his wealth with the rest of us. But Gou was such a poor player, he would inevitably feed him winning tiles.
“The problem isn’t with Gou Dahai,” Zhuang said to Li. “It’s with you, since you were born under the sign of wood, while the north seat has water quality.”
“So you know about such things,” Li said.
“I know you.”
Li blushed. “As I said, you have to lose today. How much do you have?”
Zhuang took off his shoes to show a ten-yuan bill hidden in each.
“Aren’t you the sneaky one, Zhuang Laoshi,” Gou said. “Who carries money in his shoes?”
“Money gave me a hard time back when I worked at the Department of Culture, so now I keep it under my feet.”
“There are only two bills,” Li said. “Will that be enough for my play?”
“Don’t worry,” Zhuang said, “I’ll borrow the money to pay you if you beat me. But you should know that I’m an expert at grabbing knives barehanded.”
Zhuang consistently picked up usable discarded tiles in the opening round, so upsetting Li that he cursed the tiles as ass-wipes. Though he didn’t smoke, he demanded one of Zhuang’s cigarettes to share in the man’s good luck, but ended up coughing with watery eyes before he finished it.
At the mention of cigarettes, Xiao Fang asked Zhuang if he had smoked Zhong’s cigarettes when they were colleagues in the Department of Culture. The topic of Zhong’s cigarettes naturally led to talk about Zhong himself.
“How’s he doing these days? Does his wife still come to the office?”
“That man has suffered plenty,” Gou said. “On top of being labeled a Rightist for twenty years, he married an awful woman. She came here last month and, in front of everyone, scratched his face bloody.”
“What can he do?” Zhuang said. “They were already living apart when we were together in the Department of Culture, and he panicked every time she came to see him. We encouraged him to get a divorce, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t know how he’s managed all these years, especially now that times have changed.”
Li put out a tile, but changed his mind when Zhuang was about to pick it up. Saying it was a wrong play, Li took it back and offered a new one.
“I’ve got a secret, but you’ll all have to promise to keep it in this room.”
“Li Laoshi always has secrets,” Fang said.
“Li Hongwen could have been a spy,” Zhuang said. “He was the first to know when Deputy Head Yan of the Department of Culture was having an affair with the widow Wei. He actually spent four hours hiding in the toilet watching her room to discover what time the deputy head went in and when the lights were turned off.”
“Didn’t they get married?” Li said.
“They sure did, so what was the point of spying on them?” Zhuang asked.
“They have me to thank. They wouldn’t have gotten married if I hadn’t revealed their secret.”
“All right, then. What’s the secret about Zhong?” Zhuang asked.
“What do you think has kept him going all these years? He has his own spiritual support. He fell for a girl in his class when he was young. Soon after college he was labeled a Rightist, and later he heard that she suffered the same fate. Being a Rightist meant he had trouble finding a wife, so eventually he married his current wife, a woman from the countryside, through a matchmaker. Several years ago, he learned that the girl from his college days was still alive and teaching at a high school in Anhui. Not only that, she was divorced and lived alone. Zhong could not stop talking about her, even wrote her four letters. For some reason, he never received a reply. Maybe she’s dead or maybe she’s no longer teaching at the school. This might be nothing but gossip. But like a possessed man, he checks the mailroom every day to see if there’s a letter from her.”
“That must be where he was heading when he walked out,” Fang said.
“I know where he’s going,” Li corrected him. “Another round of job rankings has begun, and he’s trying to get the committee members to promote him to senior editor. A waste of time. Two years ago, Wu Kun was promoted to editor-in-chief, and the old man was passed over. This year they told him he wasn’t senior enough. Ho!” he exclaimed, “I win.” He turned over his tiles. It was a banker’s win. He did the same thing three more times, and that made him even more talkative. He could not stop crowing about his wins or reproaching Gou Dahai for letting Zhuang pick up an “eight myriad” tile. He reminded everyone that they had to pay up at the end of the game.
“Li Laoshi frowns when he loses but turns into a chatty old woman when he wins,” Fang said.
“So I’m your common enemy now. You’re all jealous. Winning at a gaming table isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. As they say, lucky in cards, unlucky in love. Hey, sorry, four of a kind,” Li said, while taking a tile to play another hand. “The good luck keeps on coming. Too bad there’s no bonus tile. Zhidie, I’m going to say something you may not like, but Zhong missed getting the rank of senior editor because of Wu Kun, who’s tight with Jing Xueyin. She’s the one you have to talk to.”
Zhuang had his opportunities, but he fell a bit short of winning a round and had to borrow some money from Gou Dahai. Though he was looking at the tiles, he could not stop thinking about poor Mr. Zhong. It was hard to imagine how the old man had managed to survive all these years. He sneered when Li asked him to speak with Jing Xueyin.
“She’s free to do what she wants. What right do I have to try to talk to her? Zhong isn’t a young man, and he’s still hoping to receive a letter from an old classmate?”
“There’s more to the secret,” Li said. “Have you ever been to his house? He has a fair number of performance-enhancement tonics. Now, he’s been living alone for more than a dozen years, since he and his wife don’t sleep together, and we’ve never seen him with anyone else. I think he’s taking the tonics because the girl gives him hope. He’s probably hoping to reconnect with her and enjoy a late-life marriage,” Li said before suddenly shouting, “Got it!” He slammed the tile on the table, snapping it in two, with one half sailing out the window.
“Not so fast,” Gou objected. “You need two for that, and you only have one.”
“You saw the tile break in half!”
“So what?” Fang said. “You have only one in your hand and you need two. It’s not a win.”
Li went to the window to look for the broken piece, but to no avail. He asked everyone to pay up and was angry when Gou and Fang refused.
“This is not a banker’s win, Hongwen,” Zhuang said. “Do you expect the three of us to take off our pants and pawn our jackets to pay you?”
“Since you want to weasel out of paying up, I’m not buying lunch,” Li said. “Let’s just pretend I gave you the money, and you can buy your own lunches.”
“No need for you to buy anything,” Zhuang said. “I’ll treat.”