Although there were still a few days until the pageant, they all had their own secret hunches about the outcome. Some of the candidates were clearly going to end up at the bottom, while for others making it into the final round was a mere formality. Then there was the group of girls who fell somewhere in the middle — they weren’t at the bottom, but neither were they assured of making it into the final round. These girls still had a fighting chance — Wang Qiyao was one of them. Actually, they were the ones who carried the burden of the competition, and throughout the pageant were the ones to stand fast amid the rushing currents — it was they who were the true Miss Shanghais. Throughout the drama of the pageant, these were the divas who met all the challenges. It was a question of survival of the fittest. In the end, whoever was able to break out in front deserved to be the true Miss Shanghai.
Among the visitors who came to the Jiang house at this time was one person Wang Qiyao had not expected to see — Wu Peizhen. Wang Qiyao opened the door and, seeing who it was, instantly lost her composure. Wu Peizhen was also flustered; she looked away and didn’t know what to do with her hands. At a loss what to say, the two stood awkwardly facing each other, until Wu Peizhen removed an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Wang Qiyao. Wang Qiyao looked over it but didn’t seem to take it in, except that it was some kind of invitation from the director over at the film studio. Wu Peizhen said that she needed to know whether Wang Qiyao would be able to make it. Wang Qiyao didn’t have a chance to think it over properly but agreed nonetheless. Without so much as a goodbye, Wu Peizhen turned and took her leave. Wang Qiyao followed her outside. Wu Peizhen gradually slowed down so that Wang Qiyao could catch up with her, and they walked side by side down the longtang.
After walking for a few minutes, Wu Peizhen paused in front of a mailbox and said, “Go on back. You don’t need to see me off.”
Wang Qiyao insisted on walking her a bit further, saying that she didn’t have any other errands to do anyway. The two of them stood there, neither one daring to face the other.
“I was originally going to drop the invitation right here in this mailbox,” Wu Peizhen finally said after a long pause. “In the end, however, I decided to deliver it myself.”
Wang Qiyao stared at the mailbox without uttering a word. After a long silence, they both began to cry. They didn’t know what they were crying for, or what there was that was even worth crying about, but deep down both were overcome by a sadness for what they had once had and what was now irretrievably lost.
It was ten o’clock and the early morning sun beamed down on them through the leaves of the parasol tree, like shards of crystal or slivers of quicksilver, as dry leaves brushed against their legs while those on the ground crinkled beneath their feet. With their handkerchiefs soaked in tears, they still couldn’t say what was wrong, all they knew was that they were profoundly sad. It was as if their girlhood, so carefree and pure, were gone forever, and from that point on their lives would become much more complicated. A sedan drove silently past. The sunlight reflected in the side of the shiny car was also like a ray of quicksilver. They went on crying a while longer before Wu Peizhen slowly turned and, with lowered head, wiped her tears and walked away. Wang Qiyao gazed at her retreating silhouette. Her tears gradually dried, but the blinding sun shone in her eyes, so that she could hardly keep them open. She knew her eyes were swollen and her face felt numb. Eventually, she turned around and began making her way back to the house.
The director had invited Wang Qiyao for dinner at the New Asia Restaurant. Figuring that Wu Peizhen would be there, Wang Qiyao intentionally did not tell Jiang Lili about the dinner, saying instead that she was going home to visit and pick up some odds and ends. But Wu Peizhen wasn’t there — only the director. When she arrived, the director greeted her as Yao Yao, which immediately made her think back to what had happened at the film studio — it all seemed like another world.
“Yao Yao is a big girl now! All grown up!”
His tone seemed to hint at the affection a big brother feels for a little sister, almost enough to bring tears to one’s eye. Wang Qiyao, however, fought them back and responded with a smile.
“Well, I may be all grown up, but you just keep getting younger.”
The director had never expected Wang Qiyao to respond in such a manner and was visibly taken aback.
After a long silence, Wang Qiyao continued, “And so, to what may I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”
The director denied having any special motive for arranging the dinner, but his lips betrayed his heart, and deep down he was uncertain how to proceed. He began to regret not thinking things through beforehand; Wang Qiyao was no longer the girl he used to know. At that moment, the waiter came with the menu. The director asked Wang Qiyao to order, she tried politely to refuse before finally ordering two dishes. Duck feet marinated in wine and Yangzhou shredded tofu were both mid-priced dishes that would neither break the host’s bank or make him lose face. Their table faced the window and the glass pane looked as if it was dyed by the color of the neon lights outside — it was like their own private fireworks display. Only a handful of the lights along the wall were lit, while the tables themselves were illuminated by candlelight. The shadows on their faces danced with the flickering of the candle as the two of them wondered just who it was sitting across the table — and what they were doing together. Since the director had already denied having any special reason for wanting to see her, he couldn’t very well change his story now. He had to settle for some small talk instead. Wang Qiyao didn’t believe that he had invited her for no reason. There must have been something — she just didn’t know what. Both were growing impatient as they chatted about all kinds of things. They talked about the past and the present, but when they finally got to “Miss Shanghai,” the conversation suddenly stopped.
The food arrived and the director mumbled a few polite words before digging in. Once he started eating, he seemed to forget the business at hand and paid attention only to what was on the table. At that moment, noticing a hole worn through the cuff of his suit and his overgrown fingernails, Wang Qiyao suddenly began to feel nauseous and put down her chopsticks. It was only after a goodly portion of the dishes had been eaten that the director started to loosen up and put on a casual demeanor. As a luster slowly lit up his face, he put down his chopsticks then, as if trying to start over from the beginning, he offered Wang Qiyao a cigarette. She declined but helped to light his. The gesture moved the director and a closer feeling of trust seemed to grow up between them.
“Yao Yao,” he said at last. “At your age you should still be in school. Why bother competing in that ‘Miss Shanghai’ pageant anyway?”
Wang Qiyao explained that it wasn’t her idea, that the waters were flowing in the right direction and she was merely riding along with the current, and in any case fate would determine the outcome.
The director continued. “You’re an educated girl, so you’ll have heard about women’s liberation. You should hang onto your ideals. After all, those other girls competing in the ‘Miss Shanghai’ pageant are nothing more than the playthings of rich officials and celebrities. Is that what you call ‘going with the flow?’”
“Well, I have a different opinion about that,” Wang Qiyao rejoined. “As far as I’m concerned, competing in the pageant is the very symbol of a woman’s liberation. The Miss Shanghai pageant confers social status on a woman. And your theory about all the girls being playthings for the rich doesn’t hold water either. After all, several daughters of rich officials are competing. You’re not telling me they would take advantage of their own daughters, are you?”