Explore Chapter 6 of 'Sinking' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
He and his elder brother in Beijing quarreled bitterly over some trivial matters. He sent a long letter to Beijing, severing all ties with his brother.
After dispatching that letter, he stood dazed on the lawn before the building, lost in thought for a long while. To his own mind, he had become the most unfortunate person in the world. In truth, this rupture had originated with him. Strife among brothers is more grievous than conflict with outsiders, and from that day forth, he hated his elder brother as one would hate a viper or a scorpion. Whenever others bullied him, he would draw a comparison with his brother. "If my own brother treats me thus," he would think, "what can I expect from strangers!"
Whenever he reached this conclusion, he would exhaustively recall every instance of his elder brother's harshness toward him. After enumerating these past grievances, he would pronounce his brother a villain and himself a man of virtue. He would then list his own merits and magnify the sufferings he had endured. When he had proved to himself that he was the most wretched soul on earth, his tears would cascade like a waterfall. As he wept, a soft voice seemed to speak from the air. "Ah, is it you who weeps? What an injustice this is. For a good man like you to suffer such abuse from the world-this is such an injustice. Enough, enough, this is fate's decree. Weep no more, lest you harm your health!"
The moment this voice echoed in his heart, he felt a profound relief. He discovered an inexhaustible savor even within his bitterness. To avenge himself upon his elder brother, he abandoned his medical studies and switched to the humanities. His reasoning was that since his brother had urged him into medicine, returning to the arts would serve as a clear declaration of war. Furthermore, this change of discipline would delay his graduation from the higher school by one year. In his mind, to delay graduation by a year was to die a year sooner; if he were thus delayed, he could hold his elder brother as an enemy until his dying breath. Fearing that their fraternal feelings might reconcile within a year or two, this transfer of majors became a means to maintain permanent hostility toward his brother.
The weather grew gradually colder. A month had already passed since his move up the mountain. For several days the sky had been overcast, layers of gray clouds hanging perpetually in the air. When the cold north wind blew, the leaves of the plum grove had begun to wither and fall.
Soon after moving in, he had sold some old books to purchase cooking utensils and prepared his own meals for a month. But as the cold set in, he grew too indolent to cook. He now entrusted all his daily meals to the gardener's family at the mountain's base. Lately, like a monk retired from his monastery, he had no occupation save for blaming others and cursing himself.
One morning he rose at dawn. After opening the east-facing window, he saw a few streaks of red clouds lingering on the horizon. A corner of the eastern sky reflected a silvery, reddish gray. Because a light rain had fallen all the previous day, the sight of this fresh sunrise filled him with more joy than usual. He walked to the hillside, drew water from the ancient well, and washed his face and hands. He felt as if all his vigor had been restored to him in an instant. He then ran upstairs, fetched a copy of Huang Zhongze's Poetry Collection, and while reciting it aloud, he ran in circles along the winding paths of the plum grove. Before long, the sun had fully risen.
Looking south from his mountaintop dwelling, a great plain lay spread out below. The rice fields upon the plain had not yet been harvested. The golden hue of the grain, set against the profound blue of the sky and bathed in the morning sunlight, resembled a scene from one of Millet's serene pastoral paintings. He felt as if he had transformed into a primitive Christian from millennia past. Confronted with this silent revelation of nature, he could not help but laugh at the narrowness of his own spirit. "I forgive! I forgive! All the wrongs you people of the world have done me, I forgive you! Come, come all, and let us be reconciled!"
Poetry collection in hand, two pools of clear tears shimmering in his eyes, he stood there dazedly gazing at the plain's autumn colors, immersed in these thoughts, when suddenly he heard two people whispering close by: "You must come tonight!"
Upon hearing this coquettish, feminine voice, he felt as if pierced by an electric current; the very circulation of his blood seemed to cease. A thicket of tall reeds grew beside him. He stood to their right, while the man and woman were likely to the left, unaware that someone stood listening through the screen of reeds. The man spoke again: "Your heart is so kind. Please come tonight. We have yet to be together beneath the quilts."
...
Suddenly, he heard the sound of their lips, a moist smacking as if they were sucking. Like a thieving stray dog, he crouched down in trepidation to listen.
His face turned ashen in an instant. His eyes burned like fire. His upper and lower jaws began to chatter uncontrollably. He could stand it no longer. He wanted to flee, but his feet would not obey him. After a paroxysm of anguish, hearing that the pair had departed, he returned to his room upstairs like a sodden cat or dog. He fetched his bedding and went to sleep.