Wang Sichuan clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You pedantic young masters ought to stay in the research institute and do scholarship,” he said as he walked over. “Why are you being so polite to the Japanese devil woman? If you really want to know what it is, let’s smash the thing to pieces and take a look.” He pulled out a hammer.
Pei Qing stepped in front of him. “Wang Sichuan,” he intoned coldly, “have you any discipline left?”
Within the team Pei Qing had always kept fairly aloof, but he was neither overly unsociable nor eccentric. If he had a problem with something, he would say it directly. Wang Sichuan was therefore puzzled to see him behave this way. But Wang Sichuan was also never slow to anger, and Pei Qing’s high-and-mighty tone was the thing he loathed most. Wang Sichuan stared at him, his bullish eyes huge as copper bells. “What is it? Did someone step on your tail? Say it. What rule have I broken?”
Pei Qing didn’t drop his gaze for an instant. “First, you’re profaning the dead. Second, it’s unclear what exactly is frozen in there. Supposing there’s something dangerous inside, are you going to take full responsibility for it?”
For a moment Wang Sichuan was stunned. Then he laughed. “Profaning the dead? Bullshit. Is she your mom or your wife or something? What are you, Japanese?”
Wang Sichuan is known for having a loose tongue, but this was over the top. When we joke, we generally know where to stop. Wang Sichuan was by far the most crass, but he was just as well educated as the rest of us and I’d never heard him say anything too excessive. This insult went beyond the realm of joking. I have no idea how he thought it would be all right.
Sure enough, Pei Qing’s face immediately clouded over. As he leaped forward, he uttered three words: “Fuck your mother.” What came next was his foot, but he was no match for Wang Sichuan. With one slap he was knocked to the ground. He climbed back up, grabbing an iron club used for ice breaking. As soon as I saw this, I ran over and restrained Pei Qing. Old Tang then came between them and began to berate them both.
I pulled Pei Qing over to the side. Gradually he calmed down and tossed the club away. He threw me off and walked deeper into the warehouse. Wang Sichuan’s face had turned even darker than usual, his eyes bloodshot. With a firm voice, Old Tang yelled at him to give it a rest. I looked back at Old Tang. I wanted to say the hell with everyone and everything, but he gave me a glance that meant: “Go keep an eye on Pei Qing. Don’t let him get lost out there.”
I had no choice but to go. I followed him for a long way, until at last I watched him walk in between two rows of supplies and sit down. I wanted to let him cool off for a bit, so I didn’t walk over. Instead, I found a place some distance off where I could keep an eye on him. As I watched, he buried his head between his knees and began to sob, his entire body shaking. Seeing Pei Qing like this gave me goose bumps. Perhaps he had some awful childhood memory of the Japanese. Probably it was also just the oppressive nature of the place. It had surely been affecting our psyches for some time. The pressure had built up and now it had exploded. This wasn’t the time to ask about such things, nor was it appropriate for me to console him. I could only stand there, filled with a deep discomfort at the sight of this grown man crying.
With difficulty he managed to relax. I watched as, expressionlessly, he stood up and walked back to camp. I followed him as he walked into the firelight. The atmosphere turned awkward. Not one of the several people there spoke. Picking up his belongings, Pei Qing moved them to a different part of the camp. He’d originally been sleeping very close to Wang Sichuan. When the other man saw what he was doing, he opened his mouth to shout something, but I gave him a kick. “Leave it,” I said. “While your colleague is around, it would be best to just watch what you say.”
Wang Sichuan swallowed his words, turned around, and went off to bed. In a moment he was snoring soundly, and the tension began to ease at last.
Then I remembered something: Why hadn’t Old Cat come back yet? I recalled the two soldiers who’d returned to tell us the floodwater discharge was over. Turning around, I looked all about for them. I was perplexed. I hadn’t seen anyone leave. Could they have returned for just a moment and then left again to find Old Cat? I pulled each man aside and asked if they’d seen any of Old Cat’s soldiers. They all shook their heads. They’d all been with Old Tang and none could recall having recently run into anyone from Old Cat’s group. Something was wrong here. I shook Wang Sichuan awake and told him what was going on. Rolling over, he scanned the faces of the young soldiers. Could we have made some mistake? All the corpsmen were wearing Japanese uniforms. What if the missing two had actually been Old Tang’s? I asked all those present if any of them had notified us that the dam was no longer releasing floodwater. They shook their heads.
“What is it?” Old Tang asked. We related what seemed to have happened. All those present agreed there was something peculiar about it. For us to say two corpsmen had both suddenly appeared and then soundlessly vanished couldn’t help but seem somehow wrong.
“Then let’s go look for them,” said the deputy squad leader. “Maybe when all the commotion started they went back to wherever Old Cat is. With all the people and the noise, it would have been easy to miss them.”
I nodded. “As a matter of fact, we’ve had no news at all from Old Cat. No matter what, he should’ve returned by now. Should we go see what he’s up to?”
Once I put it like that, everyone agreed something wasn’t right. Old Tang nodded at the deputy squad leader and ordered several men to head deeper into the warehouse. The breadth and depth of the warehouse were both considerable, every inch of it piled high with supplies. Looking into the darkness, I felt a stab of apprehension. Soon after he’d walked off, we heard the deputy squad leader yell out Old Cat’s name. He continued to shout it, the sound getting farther and farther away. There was no reply.
We’d all begun to feel a bit nervous. Old Tang gave me one of his Iron Eagles. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Everything bad that could happen already has. There’s not going be anything else. They just walked too far away, that’s all.” Iron Eagle is an old cigarette brand, the first to begin production in the early days of liberation. I took a long look at the pack. Man, I thought to myself, even in these times there are still people who can get their hands on these. I took a puff. The flavor was impure, but invigorating. I turned again to look off into the warehouse. Now even the sound of the deputy squad leader’s voice was gone.
We still didn’t know how big the warehouse was. Thinking back on it now, a simple recitation of its size in square feet would never do justice to its complexity or its odd shape. The ceiling was quite high, with stacks of goods on suspended multilevel walkways and iron tracks for hauling supplies. The floor was covered with towering piles of materials. The devils must have thoroughly researched the form and structure of a dam, then utilized this space to the greatest extent possible.
Ten minutes passed without any communication from the deputy squad leader. Old Tang made us keep waiting. “He’s carrying a gun,” he said. “If something really happened, he would have fired a warning shot.”
I felt rather anxious. Not wanting my mood to affect anyone else, I got up and walked over to look at the corpse. Pei Qing was sitting off to one side of it. He stared, dazed, at the ice block, as if looking to see how much it had melted. I handed him a cigarette, but he refused. I could feel the questions bubbling up inside me. Making sure that none of the corpsmen were paying us any attention, I asked him what was going on. He ignored me. He gave me no more than a quick glance before turning back to the ice. I tried several times to give him a friendly nudge, but he just slapped my hand away.