第五十五章 限刻夺诗魁风流前辈 连宵制菊选笔墨闲人 (Chapter Fifty-Five: A Refined Master Wins the Poetry Crown Against the Clock; A Man of Leisure Compiles a Chrysanthemum Selection Through the Night)

Hearing Yang Xingyuan's words, He Jianchen laughed. "I've been careless," he said. "I truly haven't paid attention. But how did you come to know about this?" Yang Xingyuan replied, "There is nothing under heaven that an attentive man cannot know. Moreover, I modeled it after the 'Three Hundred Tang Poems' and compiled a Classic of Flowers and Romance, sourcing material exclusively from the world of courtesans. I've long known that Li Dongqing is a leading figure in that realm. Old He! Don't blame me for saying this, but even though you've been out in the world, you haven't yet grasped these inner workings." He Jianchen laughed again. "So that's how it is. How could I ever compare to you? Lend me that Classic of Flowers and Romance to look at one of these days." "I can lend it to you," said Yang Xingyuan, "but you're a man with a son. You shouldn't be reading this sort of thing. I fear your wife would curse me for leading you into sin." He Jianchen exclaimed, "What nonsense!" Yang Xingyuan countered, "I'm not talking rubbish. Just think, this book describes things in the most glowing terms. If a young person were to see it, the consequences would be unthinkable!" He Jianchen said, "I'm a middle-aged man. Reading it shouldn't matter." Yang Xingyuan retorted, "It's precisely because you're middle-aged that I say this. If a middle-aged man reads it and is still stirred, imagine what effect it would have on a youth!" He Jianchen laughed. "According to you, this book simply cannot be shown to anyone. What are you keeping it for?" Yang Xingyuan said, "What use is it to me? It's just that I can't bear to tear it up, having poured so much effort into it." He Jianchen pressed, "Since you can't bear to tear it up, why be afraid of lending it to me?" Yang Xingyuan confessed, "To be honest, the book isn't finished yet. I just have some material collected." He Jianchen said, "If it's not finished, that's even less of a concern. Just let me see all the material you have." "Don't rush me," said Yang Xingyuan. "Wait until I've finished compiling it. I'll definitely give it to you to read then." He Jianchen protested, "If I wait for you to finish, my hair will turn white. If you don't show it to me now, I'll sever our friendship." Yang Xingyuan chuckled. "Sever it then. That's no great matter either." He Jianchen asked, "Do you really mean you won't show me?" "I really won't," said Yang Xingyuan. "Very well then," He Jianchen declared. "I'll place an advertisement in the paper tomorrow, saying that a certain Mr. Yang intends to publish a Classic of Flowers and Romance and is soliciting contributions from fellow writers across the land to help gather material." Yang Xingyuan replied, "That would be fine too. Then I wouldn't have to worry about lacking material for my book."

Seeing that Yang Xingyuan was impervious to both soft and hard tactics, He Jianchen could do nothing but let the matter drop. After sitting a while longer, He Jianchen remarked, "I heard a fellow townsman of yours has recently arrived. His name is Han Youlou, isn't it?" "Yes, there is such a person," Yang Xingyuan confirmed. "He originally studied medicine at Tongji Hospital in Shanghai. Later, he came to Beijing and worked as an assistant at some hospital. I hear his medical skills are quite good. But I don't pay much attention to these matters, so I'm not entirely clear on the details." He Jianchen said, "This Mr. Han seems like an interesting fellow to me." "How do you know?" asked Yang Xingyuan. He Jianchen explained, "One day I was having a meal at a friend's house and met him. He was wearing a Western suit with a bright red tie, very stylish. The most interesting thing was the ring on his finger. It was as big as a broad bean, glittering brilliantly. I couldn't tell if it was real or fake." Yang Xingyuan laughed. "It's just a ring. What does 'real or fake' matter?" He Jianchen said, "Naturally, a real one would be made of gold. Judging by its appearance, I suspect it's a fake." Yang Xingyuan replied, "Who cares if it's real or fake? If he has the money, let him wear it." He Jianchen said, "I doubt he's a man of means." "What makes you think that?" inquired Yang Xingyuan. He Jianchen answered, "That day, while talking with me, he said, 'I'm truly tired of living in Beijing. A year or two ago, I planned to go to Europe, but things kept coming up, and I haven't been able to leave.' From his words, it seemed he wanted to go to Europe because he was tired of Beijing, not to study abroad. Think about it. If he were a wealthy man, why insist on going to Europe? Couldn't he live anywhere in the country?" Yang Xingyuan said, "That's not so strange. Many people, tired of living at home, think of going abroad for a change of air."

"There's another thing," said He Jianchen. "I suspect that ring of his might not even be gold." "If not gold, then what?" asked Yang Xingyuan. He Jianchen suggested, "Perhaps it's copper, plated with a layer of gold on the outside." Yang Xingyuan laughed again. "You're getting stranger by the minute. Why would he wear a gold-plated ring?" He Jianchen replied, "That's not hard to guess. It's just to put on airs." Yang Xingyuan asked, "Why would he want to put on airs?" He Jianchen said, "Probably to show off a bit in society, to make people think he's a rich man." Yang Xingyuan countered, "Could he really impress anyone with just a ring?" "That's hard to say," said He Jianchen. "Maybe he has other intentions. How would we know?" Yang Xingyuan chuckled. "You sound like you're in a detective novel. That's a bit too harsh."

He Jianchen also laughed. "I'm just speculating, not saying for certain that's the case. Let's change the subject." "What shall we talk about?" asked Yang Xingyuan. He Jianchen said, "I heard your home province recently had a very strange case." "What case?" "A case of a wife murdering her husband." Yang Xingyuan said, "Wives murdering husbands happens often. What's so strange about that?" He Jianchen explained, "The murderer being the victim's wife isn't the strange part. What's strange is that after murdering her husband, this wife went to the county yamen to report the crime, saying her husband had been killed." Yang Xingyuan asked, "Since she was the one who killed him, why did she report it?" "That's exactly why it's strange!" said He Jianchen. "According to the report, this woman was only about twenty years old and exceedingly beautiful. Her husband was a country bumpkin, ugly and stupid. The woman, dissatisfied with her husband, began an affair with a neighbor's son. The two planned to elope but had no money. So the woman conceived a wicked idea and murdered her husband. After the murder, she pretended ignorance and ran to the county yamen to cry injustice. The magistrate came to examine the corpse and found it was death by poisoning. When questioned, she claimed to know nothing. The magistrate investigated carefully, arrested the woman and the neighbor's son, and after one round of interrogation, both confessed."

Yang Xingyuan said, "Cases like this are very common. What's so extraordinary?" He Jianchen replied, "There's more. After the woman confessed, the magistrate was about to sentence her to death. Suddenly, she said to the magistrate, 'I have something more to say.' The magistrate said, 'Speak.' She said, 'I murdered my husband and deserve death. But I am three months pregnant. I beg Your Honor to postpone the execution until after I give birth to the child. Then I can die without delay.' Hearing this, the magistrate was stunned. He later had a female jailer examine her, and she was indeed pregnant. The magistrate had no choice but to imprison her until after she gave birth, then carry out the execution." Yang Xingyuan remarked, "That's not so strange either." He Jianchen said, "The strangeness comes later. She stayed in prison for several months and indeed gave birth to a boy. After the birth, far from being sad, she was actually overjoyed. A female prisoner in the neighboring cell asked her, 'You're about to die. What use is having a son?' She replied, 'After I die, my husband will have no heir. Now that I've borne this son, he can continue my husband's lineage. I can die in peace.' That female prisoner then said, 'If you care so much about your husband, why did you murder him?' She answered, 'That's a different matter.'"

Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan couldn't help but laugh. "This is truly a bizarre tale. For someone who murdered her own husband to still think of continuing his family line-this is unheard of since ancient times." "That's why I said it was strange," said He Jianchen. "What happened later?" asked Yang Xingyuan. He Jianchen replied, "Later, seeing she had given birth to a son, the magistrate showed exceptional mercy. He reduced her death sentence by one degree, commuting it to life imprisonment." Yang Xingyuan said, "That magistrate showed some compassion." He Jianchen retorted, "I think that magistrate is simply an idiot. Shouldn't such an adulterous husband-killer pay with her life?" Yang Xingyuan argued, "You're not entirely right there. Legally speaking, a life for a life is the natural order of things. But from a humanitarian standpoint, since the woman was pregnant, it was not unreasonable to wait until after she gave birth to carry out the execution." He Jianchen said, "Humanitarian standpoint, indeed! People like her, left in the world, will only bring harm."

The two debated for a while and then let the matter rest. After sitting a bit longer, He Jianchen said, "I've made an appointment with a friend to watch a movie at Zhenguang Cinema. It's almost time. I should be going." "In a private box?" asked Yang Xingyuan. "Yes," replied He Jianchen. Yang Xingyuan remarked, "I heard the private boxes at Zhenguang Cinema have risen to two dollars per person now. Is that true?" "It certainly is!" said He Jianchen. "It used to be just one dollar. Now it's two. One can hardly afford to watch movies anymore." Yang Xingyuan asked, "Then why are you still going?" He Jianchen explained, "I didn't know about the price hike before making the appointment. Now that I've invited someone, it would be impolite not to go." With that, he stood up and left.

Left alone at home, Yang Xingyuan suddenly thought of the Han Youlou He Jianchen had mentioned. He thought, "I really ought to meet this man." He called his attendant and asked him to inquire about Han Youlou's address. The attendant returned and said, "Mr. Han lives at Number Three, Fengsheng Lane, in the West City." Yang Xingyuan committed it to memory, intending to visit him another day.

The next day, Yang Xingyuan indeed went to Fengsheng Lane to meet Han Youlou. Arriving at the entrance, he saw a very narrow gatehouse with two black-lacquered doors tightly shut. On the doorframe was pasted a vermilion paper slip inscribed with the two characters "Han Residence." Yang Xingyuan thought, "This must be where he lives." He reached out and knocked. After a few knocks, an old man came out and asked, "Who are you looking for?" Yang Xingyuan said, "Is Mr. Han Youlou at home?" The old man said, "He is. May I ask your name?" "My surname is Yang," replied Yang Xingyuan. "Please wait a moment," said the old man, turning to go inside. After a short while, the old man came out and said, "Please come in and sit." Yang Xingyuan followed him inside.

Entering the courtyard, he saw three main rooms facing south and two wing rooms on each side, all in the old-fashioned architectural style. Two scholar trees grew in the courtyard, providing a pleasant green shade. The old man led Yang Xingyuan to the central room of the main building and asked him to sit, saying, "Please wait a moment. Mr. Han will be out shortly." Yang Xingyuan nodded in acknowledgment and took the opportunity to observe the room's furnishings. In the center of the wall hung a traditional scroll painting of a landscape. On either side was a pair of couplets that read: "Wine debts are common wherever one roams; A life reaching seventy has been rare since ancient times." The upper dedication read, "Respectfully requested by Mr. Youlou," and the lower signature read, "The Weary Crane." Yang Xingyuan knew "The Weary Crane" was the alternative name of the elderly scholar Fan Shan. He thought, "This Mr. Han actually has couplets from Fan Shan. He's probably not an ordinary person." Looking further, he saw several calligraphy pieces and paintings hanging on the walls. There were bamboo paintings by Zheng Banqiao and plum blossom paintings by Jin Dongxin, all authentic. His surprise grew, and he thought, "This Mr. Han must be a collector."

Just as he was thinking this, Han Youlou emerged. Yang Xingyuan saw a man of about thirty, wearing a blue silk-lined robe and a black satin waistcoat over it. His face was adorned with a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses, and in his hand he held a bamboo pipe with a long stem. He walked in with a beaming smile. Yang Xingyuan promptly stood up. Han Youlou clasped his hands in greeting and said, "Mr. Yang! I've long admired your reputation! Please, have a seat!" Yang Xingyuan said, "I've come quite presumptuously." "Not at all!" exclaimed Han Youlou. "I've long intended to pay you a visit myself. But having just arrived in Beijing, everything is still unfamiliar. I haven't yet had the chance, and now you've taken the trouble to come here first. I'm truly sorry." As he spoke, he offered a cigarette. Yang Xingyuan declined, "I don't smoke." Han Youlou lit one for himself, sat down opposite, and asked Yang Xingyuan, "Mr. Yang, your ancestral home is in Anhui, isn't it?" "Yes," replied Yang Xingyuan. Han Youlou said, "Your province is a place that produces talented people. I've always admired it." Yang Xingyuan responded, "You're too kind, Mr. Han. I've heard that your medical skills are profound. May I ask at which hospital you practice?" Han Youlou said, "I was at Tongji Hospital. I just muddle along, hardly worthy of the term 'profound.'"

Yang Xingyuan said, "You are too modest, Mr. Han. The reason for my visit today is twofold. First, to pay my respects. Second, there is a matter on which I'd like to seek your advice." "What is it?" asked Han Youlou. Yang Xingyuan explained, "I have a relative suffering from a strange illness. Many doctors have been consulted, but none could cure him. Hearing that you are a specialist, I've come specifically to seek your counsel." "What kind of illness?" inquired Han Youlou. Yang Xingyuan described, "His illness is this: he suddenly collapses and loses consciousness. After an hour or two, he regains consciousness on his own. Once awake, he seems perfectly fine, except he feels utterly weak and needs to rest for a day or two to recover. This happens two or three times a month. We don't know what the cause is." Han Youlou said, "That illness is called 'epilepsy,' commonly known as 'falling sickness.' It's a disorder of the brain nerves and very difficult to treat." Yang Xingyuan asked, "Is there a way to treat it?" Han Youlou replied, "There is a way, but it cannot be cured completely. It can only reduce the frequency of the attacks." Yang Xingyuan requested, "Could you perhaps prescribe a formula, Mr. Han?" Han Youlou said, "I could. But I must see the patient before I can prescribe anything." Yang Xingyuan explained, "The patient is currently in Tianjin and cannot come immediately." Han Youlou said, "That makes it difficult. Without seeing the patient, I dare not prescribe a formula."

Seeing his reluctance, Yang Xingyuan did not press further and instead engaged him in casual conversation. Han Youlou was very talkative, moving effortlessly from medicine to literature, from China to foreign lands, speaking in an uninterrupted flow. Listening to him, Yang Xingyuan found his words full of reason and grew to respect him even more. After chatting for a while, Yang Xingyuan stood up to take his leave. Han Youlou escorted him all the way to the main gate, saying, "One of these days, I will come to visit you." Yang Xingyuan said, "I wouldn't dare impose. It's better if I come to you." With a final clasp of hands, they parted.

Returning to the Guild Hall, his attendant handed him a letter, saying it had just been delivered. Yang Xingyuan opened it and saw it was from Wu Bibo, inviting him to visit the Western Hills the next day. Yang Xingyuan, wishing for some diversion, wrote back to accept.

The next day, Yang Xingyuan and Wu Bibo, each riding a donkey, left through the Xizhimen Gate and headed for the Western Hills. It was late autumn. The maple leaves on the mountains were as red as fire, interspersed with dark pines and green cypresses, a truly splendid sight. Chatting and laughing along the way, they soon arrived at Biyun Temple without noticing the distance. They dismounted, tied their donkeys to trees, and went inside to explore.

Biyun Temple was one of the major temples in the Western Hills, with extensive grounds and numerous Buddha statues. Yang Xingyuan and Wu Bibo first wandered around the main hall for a while, then went to the back to see the Arhat Hall. The hall housed five hundred arhat statues, each sculpted in a different pose and expression, no two alike. Yang Xingyuan pointed at the arhats and said to Wu Bibo, "Look at these arhats. Some are laughing, some crying, some angry, some joyful. Their expressions vary, revealing the sculptor's skill." Wu Bibo said, "That's not the strangest part. The strangest is one arhat holding a brush, with a fly perched on its tip. That fly is sculpted so realistically it seems about to take flight." Yang Xingyuan said, "Where is it? I must see." Wu Bibo led him to look, and indeed it was so.

After viewing for a while, the two left the Arhat Hall and went to the Spring Water Court for tea. The Spring Water Court was the finest spot in Biyun Temple. A spring flowed out from a stone grotto in the courtyard, its water so clear one could see the bottom. Several old pine trees stood by the spring, with tables placed beneath them, selling tea to visitors. Yang Xingyuan and Wu Bibo chose a table, sat down, ordered a pot of tea, and began to drink slowly.

The courtyard was now crowded with many visitors, men and women, old and young, creating a lively atmosphere. As Yang Xingyuan watched the bustling scene, he suddenly noticed a woman sitting at a table opposite who looked very much like Li Yun. His heart stirred. He thought, "How did she get here?" Looking more closely, it was indeed Li Yun. She wore a blue cotton cheongsam with a black woolen waistcoat over it. On her head was a woolen hat. Her face bore no makeup, which made her appear even more delicate and refined. She sat there alone, her eyes fixed on the spring water as if lost in thought.