第五十七回 四壁鼓吹同欣加冕日 一堂椅案不是读书天 (Chapter Fifty-Seven: Drums and Pipes on Four Walls, All Rejoice on a Coronation Day; A Hall Full of Chairs and Desks, Yet No Day for Study)

Upon hearing that Wu Bibo had recently moved, Yang Xingyuan decided to pay him a visit. After lunch, he took a rickshaw to Wu Bibo's new residence. The location was a quiet retreat amidst the city's bustle. Yang Xingyuan entered the hutong, counting the house numbers until he came upon a small red door with copper rings nailed to its frame. On the right-hand wall was embedded a red-lacquered plaque bearing the words 'Beloved's Study'. "This must be Bibo's new place," Yang Xingyuan thought to himself. He stepped forward and knocked. After two knocks, a woman's voice answered from within. The door opened to reveal a woman in her twenties, dressed in a clean, old blue cloth jacket and dark trousers. "Is Mr. Wu at home?" he asked. The woman replied, "You must be Mr. Yang. Our master just went out. He said he was going to see you." "Oh," said Yang Xingyuan, "I was looking for him, and he went to find me first." "Please, come in and sit down," the woman offered. "He might be back soon." Yang Xingyuan thought that since he was already here, he might as well go in and wait.

Yang Xingyuan walked into the courtyard. It was a courtyard house with three rooms on the north side, three on the south, and two wing rooms each to the east and west. Two jujube trees stood in the yard, their leaves a lush green, lending the place a tranquil elegance. The woman ushered Yang Xingyuan into the north room. Though small, the room was neat and tidy. A couplet hung on the wall, which read: "Through deliberation, old learning gains depth and precision; Nurtured, new knowledge turns profound and rich." Beside it was a small scroll depicting an ink plum blossom. Books and newspapers were piled on the table, alongside a few curios. The woman poured a cup of tea, placed it on the table, and said, "Please have a seat, Mr. Yang. I need to go out to buy a few things." With that, she left.

Sitting alone, Yang Xingyuan idly flipped through the books on the table. They were collections of poetry and essays, along with some newly published magazines. After waiting a while without any sign of Wu Bibo, he stood up and paced the room. He noticed several envelopes on a bookshelf, all addressed to 'Beloved's Study'. "So Bibo is still involved in this little affair," he mused. "No wonder he didn't give me his detailed address when he moved."

Just as he was thinking this, Wu Bibo returned. The moment he stepped inside, he laughed and said, "Xingyuan, you got here first. I was just about to go looking for you." Yang Xingyuan replied, "I was feeling rather bored myself and came to chat. When did you move here? You didn't even send word." "It's been less than half a month," said Wu Bibo. "I've been so tied up with trivial matters that I haven't had a chance to inform my friends. A friend recommended this place. The rent is cheap, and it's quiet, so I took it."

"It's quite a nice spot," Yang Xingyuan remarked, "though the house number is a bit hard to find." Wu Bibo chuckled. "Isn't it? Precisely because the address is discreet, I decided to rent it. It's truly difficult to find a quiet place to live in Beijing these days." As he spoke, he invited Yang Xingyuan to sit, poured himself a cup of tea, and took a seat opposite.

Yang Xingyuan asked, "When did you start this 'Beloved's Study'? How is it I knew nothing about it?" "It's just a casual pastime a few friends put together for fun," Wu Bibo explained. "We write a few pieces, have them printed, and give them away. We don't sell them, so there hasn't been any fanfare." "I see," said Yang Xingyuan. "I saw quite a few letters on your table. You must receive many submissions." "Not really," Wu Bibo said. "They're all from acquaintances. As you know, nowadays, unless there's some special benefit, who would submit work for free?"

After chatting for a while, Wu Bibo said, "You've come at just the right time today. There's something I'd like to discuss with you." "What is it?" Yang Xingyuan inquired. Wu Bibo said, "A few friends and I are thinking of starting a literary tea circle, meeting once a week to discuss arts and letters. We plan to hold it here. What do you think?" "That sounds like a fine idea. I'm naturally in favor," Yang Xingyuan replied. "But the group shouldn't be too large, or it will become noisy." "We weren't planning to invite many," said Wu Bibo. "Just about ten like-minded friends. You are certainly invited."

Yang Xingyuan smiled. "What kind of literary figure am I? I'd just be making up the numbers." "No need for such modesty," Wu Bibo said. "I've read your poems and stories and admire them greatly." Yang Xingyuan demurred, "Please, don't say that. My scribblings are hardly presentable."

Just then, the woman from earlier returned, carrying some vegetables. "This is my wife," Wu Bibo said. Yang Xingyuan promptly stood up and nodded in greeting. Wu Bibo's wife smiled and returned the nod before disappearing into the back of the house. "So you've already started a family! My congratulations!" Yang Xingyuan exclaimed. Wu Bibo laughed. "It happened this spring. I didn't notify my friends-my apologies for the neglect."

"This is a joyous occasion," said Yang Xingyuan. "You really should invite us for a wedding toast." "Once we're a bit more settled, we certainly shall," Wu Bibo promised. "Things are still rather chaotic at the moment, not quite presentable." Noticing the look of satisfaction on Wu Bibo's face, Yang Xingyuan understood that the couple was very happy together, and he felt glad for his friend.

After talking a while longer, Yang Xingyuan took his leave. Wu Bibo saw him to the door, saying, "I'll let you know once the tea circle is all arranged." Yang Xingyuan agreed and made his way back to the newspaper office.

A few days later, Wu Bibo indeed sent an invitation, asking Yang Xingyuan to attend the literary tea circle at his home that Sunday. On the appointed day, Yang Xingyuan changed into a clean long gown and went to Wu Bibo's house.

Upon entering, he saw that seven or eight people had already arrived. Some were seated, others standing, all engaged in animated discussion. Seeing Yang Xingyuan, Wu Bibo hurried over to greet him and introduced him to the others present. Among them were two university professors, several editors from newspaper offices, and two fiction writers. They exchanged names and sat down to converse.

Wu Bibo's wife brought out tea and snacks. Everyone ate and talked as they pleased. At first, the discussion revolved around literary topics, but gradually it shifted to current affairs. Each person aired their grievances, and the gathering grew quite lively.

One of the professors, a Mr. Hu, lamented with feeling, "Education today is truly going from bad to worse. Schools don't resemble schools anymore; they're more like yamen. Neither teachers nor students take scholarship seriously, thinking only of political maneuvering for official posts. If this continues, the country's future is truly bleak."

Another editor chimed in, "It's not just the field of education. Isn't every field like this? Look at those politicians. Today they overthrow a cabinet, tomorrow they form a new one-all for personal gain. When do they ever give a thought to affairs of state?"

Everyone joined in, one comment sparking another, the conversation growing increasingly heated. Yang Xingyuan simply listened in silence, rarely interjecting. Wu Bibo said, "Xingyuan, why aren't you speaking? Do share your thoughts." Yang Xingyuan smiled. "I don't have much to say. I merely feel that what everyone is saying is true, but idle talk won't help matters."

Professor Hu said, "Mr. Yang is right. Since we are aware of these ills, we should seek ways to remedy them. Take this tea circle, for instance. While it is for leisure, we can also learn from one another and engage in some substantive work."

Everyone agreed this was a sound point. After further discussion, the gathering dispersed. As Yang Xingyuan was leaving, Wu Bibo saw him out and said, "My hospitality today was lacking. We'll have a proper talk next time." Yang Xingyuan replied, "It was perfectly fine. Thank you."

From then on, Yang Xingyuan often visited Wu Bibo's home, sometimes for the tea circle, other times just for a chat. Wu Bibo's wife was also virtuous and a very attentive hostess. Yang Xingyuan found the place a delightful spot for leisure.

One day, at the newspaper office, Yang Xingyuan received a letter from Wu Bibo stating that the tea circle would be discussing an issue concerning new literature and he was urged to attend. Yang Xingyuan agreed. On the day, he went to Wu Bibo's house once more.

This time, even more people attended, and the room was nearly full. The topic was how new poetry should be written, and the debate grew fierce. Yang Xingyuan had never studied new poetry, but he found their arguments quite interesting to listen to.

Suddenly, a young man in his twenties stood up and declared loudly, "New poetry must break all shackles! It must use the vernacular to express genuine feeling. The rules of classical poetry are mere fetters and should be completely discarded!"

A middle-aged man objected, saying, "If we discard all rules, can it still be called poetry? Poetry must possess a poetic quality. If it's just like prose, why call it poetry?"

The two held fast to their positions, arguing incessantly. Those present split into two factions, each refuting the other. Watching them argue until their faces were flushed, nearly coming to blows, Yang Xingyuan said to Wu Bibo with a smile, "Look at this. It's livelier than a parliament session."

Wu Bibo also laughed. "Let them argue. Truth becomes clearer through debate."

They argued for a long time without reaching a conclusion. Finally, Wu Bibo stepped in to mediate. "Everyone's opinion has its merits. We need not force a consensus. Literature is multifaceted by nature. Let each follow their own approach. In time, a fair judgment will emerge."

Hearing this, everyone calmed down. After chatting about other matters, they began to disperse. As Yang Xingyuan was leaving, he said to Wu Bibo, "Your tea circle is quite the debating society." Wu Bibo smiled. "That's what makes it interesting. If everyone were merely polite and exchanged empty pleasantries, it would be terribly dull."

Yang Xingyuan nodded, though privately he thought, "Their enthusiasm is admirable, but what they can actually achieve is another matter entirely."

By the time he returned to the Guild Hall, it was already past ten in the evening. The hall attendant handed him a letter. Yang Xingyuan saw it was from Li Yun, inviting him to meet for a talk the next day. Reading it, Yang Xingyuan felt a stir of anticipation, but then, recalling He Jianchen's advice, he hesitated once more.

That night, Yang Xingyuan tossed and turned, his mind full of thoughts. He pondered the country's future, the corruption in society, his own life's journey, and his current circumstances. Everywhere he looked, he saw contradictions and felt at a loss. Only when dawn began to break did he finally drift into a fitful sleep.

Truly: The affairs of the world are vast and unpredictable; Spring melancholy looms dark, and sleep comes alone.