第三十章 (Chapter Thirty)

Wang De stepped out of the Newspaper Office, his mind tangled like a ball of hemp. The trams clanged on the street, cars honked, but he paid no heed. He merely shuffled along the sidewalk, step by step.

He had no idea how far he had walked or where he had wandered. Suddenly looking up, he saw the gate of an ancient temple. The plaque above the gate was so worn that the characters were illegible. The stone lions before the gate, with legs broken and heads missing, crouched there like two old men who had endured endless grievances.

Wang De suddenly remembered this was the City God Temple. When he was a child, he often heard his mother say that the City God was in charge of underworld affairs, and those with grievances could come here to plead their case. Now, with a heart full of grievances and no place to unburden himself, he unconsciously walked in.

The temple was very quiet. Incense smoke curled in the main hall, yet not a soul was in sight. He walked to the front of the hall and looked up at the statue of the City God: a blue face with red beard, glaring with wide eyes as if in anger. The judges and little demons standing on both sides were each ghastly and terrifying.

Wang De stared blankly for a while. Suddenly, he felt that these divine statues were all laughing at him, mocking him for being useless and indecisive. He turned to leave but saw an old Taoist priest walking out from the side hall.

The old Taoist was over sixty years old, wearing a tattered Taoist robe and holding a worn broom, slowly sweeping the fallen leaves on the ground. He glanced at Wang De but said nothing, only lowering his head to sweep, stroke by stroke.

Wang De had intended to ask him what the purpose of life in this world really was. But seeing the old Taoist's indifferent demeanor, he swallowed his words. He stood for a long time, feeling bored and out of place, and slowly strolled out of the temple gate.

The sun had already tilted to the west, and there were even more people on the street. Vendors hawked, cart-pullers shouted, women chatted, children made a ruckus-all blending into a cacophony like a pot of boiling water.

Wang De thought to himself, "What are all these people bustling about for? Is it just for three meals a day and a piece of clothing to cover themselves?" He felt that life was truly meaningless, and it would be cleaner to die. But then he remembered Li Jing, her gentle gaze and earnest words, and his desire to die cooled by half.

He wandered to the Moat and leaned against the iron railing, watching the water in the river. The water was dark green, covered with a slick of oil. A few broken pieces of wood and rotten vegetable leaves drifted slowly. By the river, several women were washing clothes, their pounding sticks making slapping sounds.

Wang De remembered the river in his hometown. The water there was clear, with small stones and little fish visible at the bottom. In summer, they bathed in the river. In winter, they played on the ice. Now, thousands of miles from home, living under others' roofs, enduring endless scorn, the thought truly saddened him.

He also remembered his father. His father was an honest farmer who only knew how to farm, harvest grain, and pay taxes, understanding nothing else. He thought that once his son entered the city, he would rise in officialdom, make a fortune, and bring glory to the ancestors. Little did he know that the suffering his son endured in the city was ten times worse than farming at home.

Go back? He really didn't want to see those people's faces again. Not go back? Where else could he go? He pondered left and right, could not settle on a single thought even for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense.

The sky gradually darkened, and the lamps by the river lit up. Clusters of yellow light reflected on the dark green water, transforming into twisting, quivering golden serpents. The women washing clothes had packed up their things and gone home, leaving only him alone by the river.

The wind blew over, carrying the chill of early winter. Wang De shivered, then remembered he should return. He slowly left the riverside and walked back along the same path.

Arriving at Aunt Zhao's doorstep, he hesitated for a moment before raising his hand to knock. Li Jing came out to open the door. Seeing his disheartened appearance, she was startled and hurriedly asked, "What's wrong? Did you have another argument with someone?"

Wang De shook his head and walked silently into his room, collapsing onto the bed. Li Jing followed him in, standing before the bed, staring blankly at him, unsure how to comfort him.

After a long while, Wang De sighed and said, "Sister Jing, I've decided not to work at the Newspaper Office anymore."

Li Jing said, "That's fine. That kind of work isn't fit for humans anyway. But what do you plan to do in the future?"

Wang De said, "I don't know either. I think of going home, but I'm afraid it will sadden my father. I think of finding a job in the city, but I can't find one. I'm truly at a dead end!"

Li Jing said, "Don't worry. There will always be a way, slowly. My uncle often says that young people should keep their composure. Look at Li Ying. Now in the Salvation Army, isn't she doing well?"

Wang De said, "Each person has their own path. Li Ying's path may not be mine. My mind is in turmoil now. Let me have some peace."

Li Jing knew his temper and didn't dare to say more. She gently retreated and closed the door for him.

Wang De lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling was half-lit, half-dark from the streetlights, patches of black and gray, like a giant ghostly face sneering at him.

He remembered the words the Editor-in-Chief said during the day at the Newspaper Office. He remembered the divine statues he saw at the City God Temple. He remembered the riverside and his hometown... All these things spun around in his mind like a revolving lantern.

Finally, he remembered Li Jing. Only Li Jing understood him, comforted him, encouraged him. But Li Jing herself was also in suffering, yet still took the heart to comfort him. He felt he was too selfish.

He should pull himself together. He should think of a way not only to save himself but also to save Li Jing, save Li Ying's uncle, save all those in suffering. But where is the way?

He thought and thought. Suddenly, he remembered that in Western novels, there are often words like "struggle" and "effort." Should he also struggle? But struggle against whom? Struggle against society? What is society, and where is it?

The more he thought, the more confused he became. Later, he simply stopped thinking. He comforted himself, saying, "The cart will find its way around the hill when it gets there. Sleep first today, and talk about it tomorrow."

He closed his eyes and tried hard to sleep, but he couldn't. The sounds of night vendors' clappers and distant and near hawking drifted into his ears, wave after wave.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he drowsily fell asleep. In his dream, he saw himself transform into a large bird, spreading its wings and flying freely in the sky. He flew over cities, over villages, all the way to that place without worries or pain.