Explore Chapter 112 of 'The Story of the Golden Powder Family' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
Since Leng Qingqiu departed, Jin Yanxi had been melancholy all day long, often wandering alone in the places they used to frequent. One day, he strolled to the foot of Western Hills, where he saw autumn leaves swirling and a scene of desolation all around. Unconsciously, he recalled the joy of touring with Leng Qingqiu in the past. Now, the scenery remained, but the person was gone, filling his heart with boundless sorrow.
He slowly ascended the high ridge, gazing into the distance. He saw wheels and hooves galloping on the ancient Daozhi, dust flying, as if old tales were being brought up again. Recalling his youth, when he was proud of his charm and had made countless intimate friends, only to end up drifting in the field of love, with gold and rouge scattered apart. Then he realized that splendor is like a dream, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly, he saw an automobile speeding from afar, with a man and a woman sitting inside, laughing and talking joyfully, just like how he and Leng Qingqiu used to be. Yanxi was moved by the scene, almost shedding tears. He quickly turned his back, unable to bear watching any longer.
On his way down the mountain, he happened to meet his old servant Jin Rong, who had aged considerably and was making a living by running a small stall. Jin Rong saw that Yanxi's clothes were simple and his face haggard, and couldn't help sighing, "Seventh Master, how did it come to this?" Yanxi smiled bitterly without answering, only asking about mundane matters. He learned that since the old master passed away, the Jin Family had split into separate households, no longer the grand sight it once was.
Returning to his lodgings, Yanxi sat alone under the lamp, taking out the poetry manuscript that Leng Qingqiu had given him years ago. He recited it over and over. One line, "Gold and rouge each drift away, forever parting in the field of love," seemed a perfect reflection of today. He sighed deeply and consigned the manuscript to the flames. As the fire leaped up, he seemed to see the fleeting shadow of Leng Qingqiu.
The next day, Yanxi packed his belongings, determined to leave Beiping, this place of sorrow. Before departing, he went once more to Falling Flowers Lane. He saw the Leng Residence with its gates tightly shut and wild grass covering the steps. He lingered for a long time, but in the end, without a word, he quietly left.
As the train started moving, Yanxi leaned against the window and looked back. The ancient city grew distant, and past events were like smoke. He silently thought to himself, "From now on, a solitary journey to the ends of the earth; better not mention the old tales." The wheels rolled on, carrying him toward an unknown future, leaving behind countless legends for people to reminisce about.