“Do you think it’s some sort of premonition?”
“Nothing bad is about to happen, is it?”
“Well, now that you mention it, there is something. You didn’t say anything about it, but Zhou Min did, and I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up with me. Since you trust me, I will tell you what I think. It’s a minor incident, but it has far-reaching consequences. You’re so well known that your every move can have serious repercussions. Zhou Min has been in a bad way, and you have to help him out.”
“Do you think I haven’t? Don’t listen to him,” Zhuang said. “How about his wife?”
With a wily smile, Meng lowered his voice and said, “I knew you’d ask about her.”
“You and your smutty mouth. Stop the nonsense,” Zhuang said with a stern look.
“I wouldn’t dare. I’ve been to their place, but I didn’t see her. Zhou Min says she isn’t well. That little fox is as happy as a flag in the wind and a fish in the waves. There’s nothing that could lay her up. But I do wonder why the heartless woman hasn’t come to see you. Zhuang Zhidie does not easily fall for someone, but now that he has his eyes on this woman, why doesn’t she, someone without a city residence card, grab hold of him? Why stay away?”
Picking up a piece of soft candy, Zhuang stuffed it into Meng’s mouth to shut him up.
. . .
After lunch, Zhuang went in to take a nap, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what Meng had said. He had been unhappy with Tang Wan’er for not coming or calling over the past few days, and now it turned out she was ill. What was ailing her? Could she have fallen ill from thinking too much after he had failed to show up at the hotel and her calls could not get through? People’s thoughts tend to run wild when they are not feeling well. He wondered what such a hot-blooded woman might be thinking about him as she lay in bed. As his thoughts drifted to events at the hotel, he became so aroused he found his crotch was wet. He took off his underwear and went back to sleep naked. When he got up later, he handed his underpants to Liu Yue to wash.
Liu Yue knew what the crusty white spots were and was thrown into a state of confusion. Zhuang’s wife had not been home at lunchtime, so who had he been thinking about that had caused him to make those stains? Or had he dreamed about someone? That day she sang “Holding Hands,” he had put his arms around her, and she might have become a woman if she had loosened up a bit. She was being shrewd, unsure if he was truly fond of her or was merely using her to satisfy a passing desire. As a celebrity, he’s met plenty of people and seen a great deal. If he really cares for me, I’m young enough to become the mistress of the house, and he’ll treat me well if that doesn’t work out. He’ll give me a positive reference if I seek a good job, maybe even a husband, in Xijing. But if he is so spoiled by his fame that he thinks he can have any woman he wants, I’ll mean nothing to him and will be the big loser. Now, looking at his underwear, she did not know if she was the cause of it, but it helped her see through a famous man she had idolized, to the point that she was no longer in awe or afraid. Instead she felt closer to him.
When the washing was done, she hung it up to dry in the yard before returning to her room, where she sized herself up in the mirror. Surprised to find herself prettier than before, she was pleased. She tugged at the front of her blouse to send her unbound breasts jiggling, and was reminded of her visit to the public bathhouse with Niu Yueqing a few days before; Niu’s breasts sagged like persimmons on a winter branch, which had thrilled Liu Yue. She flashed a fetching smile, then heard a knock at the door, a light tap that she initially mistook for the wind. The sound was repeated, so she went to the door and put on the chain before opening it. Zhao Jingwu was standing there. He winked and tried to enter, but had to pull his foot back when he could not get through the narrow opening with the latch on.
“What’s your hurry?” Liu Yue said. “You knocked like a civilized man, but you’re acting like a thug trying to rush in like that.”
“Is Laoshi home?”
“He’s taking a nap. Want to sit down and wait?”
“You’ve gotten prettier in the past few days, Liu Yue,” he whispered. “And look at those pretty clothes.”
“Dajie gave me my first month’s pay on my second day, so I went out and bought these. With the visitors they entertain, I’d embarrass Zhuang Laoshi if I wore shabby things.”
“Why, you’re even wearing a chrysanthemum-patterned bracelet!”
“Don’t touch it.”
“Are you ignoring me now that you’ve flown up to a higher branch?”
“Of course I’ll have to thank you for making the introduction.”
“How will you do that? With what?”
The girl giggled and slapped Zhao’s frisky hand.
Zhuang asked who the visitor was. Zhao identified himself as he smoothed his hair at a mirror.
“Come on in, Jingwu.” Zhao entered the bedroom to see Zhuang lying in bed.
“How’s your foot, Laoshi? I ran into Meng Laoshi before lunch, and he told me about it. I know how hard it can be when a bad foot keeps you from moving around, especially with nothing to occupy your mind. So here I am, ready to chat. And I’ve brought you some things to help you pass the time.” Zhao took out a fan and a plastic bag holding a folded painting. He opened the fan. Zhuang saw that it was exquisite, with delicate, evenly spaced ribs, slightly yellowed paper sprinkled with tiny gold specks, and a rivet in the shape of a little gourd. The front had a landscape painting in the style of Bada Shanren, nothing special there, but the back was filled with concise, superb handwritten script. A quick read showed that it was not the usual poetry or lyrics from the Tang or Song dynasty, but the final resolution of the Communist Party’s general line of socialism. It was signed by one-time party intelligence chief Kang Sheng, who had stamped the script with two of his seals.
“Is this really by Kang Sheng?” Zhuang sat up.
“I know you like antique vases, so I wrote to a friend. He promised to give you one, saying he’d be in Xijing at the end of the month. Unfortunately, he got in trouble last week when two small Buddha statues he had bought for sixty thousand yuan were confiscated. I wonder where they came from to be so expensive. They were being transported to Xijing from Hanzhong in a taxi that was stopped when it reached Baoji, and he was taken away by the police, along with the statues. Two days ago someone from his family came to see me, saying that they’d heard from the police. The statues have been confiscated, naturally, and he can either spend seven years in prison or pay a fine of a hundred thousand yuan. They have to let the police know which they’ve chosen in three days. Of course, they would prefer to pay the fine. They’ve already spent a hundred and sixty thousand, so a hundred thousand more would mean nothing. What worries them is that the police may not let him go after they pay the fine, so they’ve asked me to find a way to smooth things over with the police. They gave me this fan, saying it’s not an antique, but that it can pass as an object from a modern-day palace. Kang Sheng was, after all, considered a traitor to the Communist Party, and now that he’s dead, this ought to be worth something. He gave it to Liu Shaoqi before the Eighth National Congress. A former opponent of Liu, Kang tried to ingratiate himself once he saw that Liu’s star was on the rise. He wrote the text on this fan to get on Liu’s good side.”
“This is terrific,” Zhuang said. “Kang Sheng was a pretty good calligrapher.”
“Of course. He was considered a master. I know you appreciate good calligraphy, so you can keep it.”
“A gift must be repaid with a gift in return, Jingwu. Look around, and if you see anything you like, you can have it.”