Explore Chapter 1 of 'Four Generations Under One Roof' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
Old Master Qi feared nothing except not being able to celebrate his eightieth birthday. In his prime, he had witnessed how the Eight-Nation Alliance stormed into Beijing. Later, he saw the emperor of the Qing dynasty abdicate and the incessant civil wars that followed. At times, the nine city gates would be shut tight, with the sound of guns and cannons echoing day and night. At other times, the gates would open, and the streets would be filled with the victorious warlords’ grand carriages and horses. War did not frighten him. Peace made him happy. He celebrated festivals when they came and honored his ancestors at the New Year. He was a law-abiding citizen, content to live a tranquil life without worrying about food or clothing. Even when chaos struck, he had his own methods. Most notably, his home always stored enough grain and pickled vegetables to feed the entire family for three months. This way, even if shells flew through the air and soldiers ran amok in the streets, he would shut the main gate and barricade it with a broken vat filled with stones. That was sufficient to ward off disaster.
Why did Old Master Qi only prepare three months’ worth of grain and pickled vegetables? It was because, in his mind, he always believed that Beiping was the most reliable city under heaven. No matter what disaster struck, it would surely pass within three months, after which everything would be fine again. The troubles of Beiping were like a person’s occasional headaches or fevers. They would naturally heal in a few days. If you didn’t believe it, just watch. Old Master Qi would count on his fingers: how many months did the Zhili-Anhui War last? How long was the Zhili-Fengtian War? Ah! Listen to me, our Beiping’s troubles never last more than three months!
In the year of the "July 7th" resistance war, Old Master Qi was already seventy-five years old. He had long stopped worrying about household affairs. His important tasks now were watering the potted plants in the courtyard, telling stories of old times, feeding and changing the water for the little yellow bird in its cage, and taking his great-grandchildren for very slow strolls along the main streets and to Huguo Temple. However, with the gunfire at Marco Polo Bridge, the old man couldn’t help but feel a bit concerned. After all, he was the patriarch of Four Generations Under One Roof.
His son was already over fifty, and his daughter-in-law was always sickly. So Old Master Qi summoned his eldest grandson’s wife. The old man favored her most. First, she had borne children for the Qi family, giving him great-grandsons and granddaughters. Second, she was both capable in managing the household and well-versed in etiquette, unlike the second grandson’s wife, who permed her hair into a messy hen’s nest, which annoyed him just to look at. Third, since the son seldom stayed home and the daughter-in-law was often ill, the eldest grandson and his wife actually ran the household. The eldest grandson taught all day and still had to prepare lessons and grade papers at night. Thus, the daily needs of ten family members-food, drink, and social interactions like congratulations and condolences with relatives and neighbors-fell largely on the eldest grandson’s wife. This was no easy task, so the old man naturally doted on her a little more. Moreover, having grown up in Beiping, the old man had absorbed many rules and manners from the Manchu bannermen through constant exposure. A daughter-in-law should stand with hands at her sides before her father-in-law. But since she was over fifty and often unwell, if he didn’t enforce this rule, he would break family tradition. If he did, he couldn’t bear it. So it was better to simply discuss household matters with the eldest grandson’s wife. Old Man Qi’s back was slightly bent, but he was still the tallest in the family. In his prime, he was called "Big Qi" everywhere. With his height and long face, he ought to have been imposing. But his eyes were too small, turning into mere slits when he smiled. So people only saw his large frame and felt nothing particularly awe-inspiring. In old age, he had grown somewhat more pleasant-looking. His sallow face, snow-white beard and eyebrows, and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and cheeks gave a perpetual cheerful appearance. His small eyes were deeply set amid these laugh lines and white brows, always seeming kindly and smiling. When he truly laughed, his small eyes emitted a glint, as if holding infinite wisdom he was reluctant to reveal all at once.
Summoning his eldest grandson’s wife, the old man gently combed his white beard with a small comb, remaining silent for a long while. In his youth, he had only read three thin books and a primer of six-character phrases. Through hardship in his youth and prime, he had independently bought a house and started a family. His son had also only studied in a private school for three years before becoming an apprentice. It wasn’t until his grandchildren’s generation that they, influenced by the times, entered university. Now he was the patriarch, but he always felt his learning was inferior to his son’s-his son could still recite the Analects from memory and write fine calligraphy praised by fortune-tellers-and even more so to his grandson’s. He feared they might look down on him. Therefore, when speaking to his juniors, he would always pause first to show he was thoughtful. With his eldest grandson’s wife, he didn’t need to do this, as she was not highly literate and spent her days either calling the children or discussing daily necessities. But over time, he had formed this habit, so he made her stand a while longer.
The eldest grandson’s wife had never attended school, so she had no formal name. After marriage, her husband bestowed a name upon her like conferring a doctoral degree-Yunmei. The two characters Yunmei seemed unlucky, never catching on in the Qi household. Her parents-in-law and the patriarch naturally had no habit or need to call her by name. Others felt she was just a housewife, with little connection to "rhyme" or "plum." Moreover, the old man thought since "Yunmei" sounded like "transporting coal," they should mean the same thing. "Really, she’s busy from morning till night. How can you bear to make her transport coal too?" Thus, even her husband felt awkward calling her that. So aside from the due titles of "eldest sister-in-law" or "Mom," she became "Little Shun’er’s mother." Little Shun’er was her little boy.
Little Shun’er’s mother was not unattractive. Of medium build with a round face, she had large, sparkling eyes. She walked, talked, ate, and worked quickly, yet without fluster. She combed her hair, washed her face, and applied powder swiftly too. So sometimes, if the powder happened to be evenly applied, she looked prettier. Other times, if uneven, she appeared less pleasing. When teased for poorly applied powder, she never grew anxious but laughed along with others at herself. She was naturally good-tempered.
In truth, the household didn’t have that much grain. She didn’t want to invite the old man’s nagging by stating the fact. With the elderly and children, she was adept at benevolent deception. "And the pickled vegetables?" the old man raised the second important matter.
She replied even quicker, "Also enough! Dried lumps and old salted radishes, we still have them all!" She knew that even if the old man insisted on checking personally, she could immediately buy some more.
"Good!" the old man was satisfied. With three months’ worth of grain and pickled vegetables, even if the sky fell, the Qi family would hold out. But he didn’t want to end his concern just yet. He had to explain the reasoning to his eldest grandson’s wife. "The Japanese devils are making trouble again! Hmph! Let them! In the Gengzi Year, when the Eight-Nation Alliance broke into Beijing, even the emperor fled, but they didn’t chop off my head! If eight nations couldn’t do it, what can a few little Japanese devils do? This is a blessed land. No turmoil lasts more than three months! But we mustn’t be too careless or bold. At the very least, we must have steamed buns and pickled vegetables!"
With each sentence from the old man, Little Shun’er’s mother nodded or said "Yes." She had heard his words at least fifty times, but she listened as if they were new. Seeing someone appreciate his words, the old man couldn’t help raising his voice slightly to enhance the emotional impact. "Your father-in-law, though over fifty, is far from capable in managing household affairs! Your mother-in-law is simply a sickly burden. If you discuss anything with her, she only groans! This family, I tell you, relies on you and me! If we two don’t take care, the whole family won’t even have pants to wear! Do you believe it?"
Little Shun’er’s mother spoke quickly but clearly. "Third just talked to me at length, saying if we don’t fight Japan soon, even Beiping won’t be safe! When he said it, his face turned red with anger. He was clenching his fists and rubbing his palms! I kept urging him, saying after all, we Qis have never offended the Japanese. They surely won’t bully us! I meant well, hoping to calm him down. But oh, he glared at me as if I were colluding with the Japanese! I didn’t dare speak anymore. He angrily grabbed Niu-zi and left! See, what did I do to deserve that?"
Little Shun’er fell silent as Grandpa entered. Little Shun’er’s mother hurried to pour tea. Grandpa (Qi Tianyou) was a dark-bearded little old man in his fifties. Of medium build and quite portly, with a round face, thick eyebrows, and large eyes, his hair and beard were dense and black, well-suited for a respectable shopkeeper-indeed, he now managed a cloth shop with three storefronts. His steps were heavy, each making the flesh on his face tremble. Accustomed to business, his face always wore a cordial expression, with a swirl of laugh lines almost permanently crinkling his nose. Today, however, his demeanor was off. He forced a smile, but his eyes lacked their usual sparkle. The swirl of laugh lines on his nose seemed unable to tighten properly. When smiling, he hardly dared lift his head openly.
Fourth Master Li’s warning under the big locust tree-"Old neighbors, hurry and prepare some grain! The city gates are closed!"-made Old Man Qi feel like Zhuge Liang. He couldn’t very well shout through the gate to Fourth Master Li, "I’ve already prepared everything!" But he was immensely satisfied with his foresight and divine insight.
Ruifeng and his modern wife never paid attention to national or family affairs. With the main gate barred by their grandfather, they could only play cards in their room to pass the time. Hearing the old man nagging in the courtyard, they glanced at each other, shrugged, and stuck out their tongues.
Though only twenty-eight, Little Shun’er’s mother had already endured much hardship. She sympathized with the old man’s concerns and worries. Yet she remained unafraid and calm. Her heart seemed much older than her body. She saw clearly that hardship was the most practical thing, unavoidable. But if one wanted to live, one had to find cracks in the hardship to escape-do one’s best and leave the rest to heaven. In short, born in these times, one must constantly face danger bravely while cautiously guarding against the "most" dangerous things. One must blend carefulness into boldness, fighting while retreating. One must treat grievance as part of life, savoring a hint of sweetness from it to keep willing to live on.
She conversed with the old man, recalling past sufferings through tears while hoping this danger would pass quickly. Hearing the old man’s judgment-that things would settle within three days-she smiled. "That would be wonderful!" Then she added some thoughts. "I just don’t understand what the Japanese devils want! Surely none of us have offended them. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone to live peacefully than to wield swords and spears? I guess the Japanese devils must be born troublemakers. Don’t you think so?"
"Why specifically Marco Polo Bridge?" Little Shun’er’s mother wondered. "A big bridge can’t be eaten or moved away!"
"I don’t like listening!" Ruiquan resembled his grandfather in being tall and thin, but in thought, they were centuries apart. His eyes were also small but sharp, their pupils like two shining black beans. At school, he was a basketball player. When playing, his black beans darted with the ball. Upon catching it, he would firmly close his mouth as if swallowing something hard. His eyes and mouth revealed his character-impatient and decisive. Now, his gaze shifted from his grandfather to his eldest sister-in-law and back, as if monitoring opponents on the court. "The Japanese want the lions on Marco Polo Bridge? Nonsense! They want Beiping, Tianjin, North China, the whole of China!"
"Eldest sister-in-law, you’re always like this! No matter right or wrong, no matter how serious things are, you always urge people to say less!" Third Master didn’t particularly dislike his eldest sister-in-law, but he truly opposed her approach of glossing over matters. Now, though his anger was directed at her, what he despised was the general type-people who avoided principles and merely sought to smooth things over.
"Ruixuan! Go open the gate!" Old Man Qi called. "Most likely your father’s back." Ruixuan enlisted his brother Ruiquan to help move the stone-filled broken vat aside. Outside stood not their father but Qian Moyin. Both brothers were stunned. A visit from Mr. Qian was extremely rare. Ruixuan immediately sensed the urgency of the situation, growing more uneasy. Ruiquan also saw the danger but felt only excitement, without any unease or fear.
Mr. Qian wore a loose, old blue cloth gown, its cuffs and collar frayed. He remained amiable and calm, yet he knew that breaking his routine to visit a friend’s home today was itself a sign of instability. With a faint smile, he asked softly, "Are the elders at home?"
Sitting in the north room’s parlor, Mr. Qian first addressed Ruixuan. "Please don’t fuss over tea! If you stand on ceremony, I’ll dare not come again!" This also hinted that he wished to state his purpose directly and didn’t want to meet every member of the Qi family individually.
"I-" Mr. Moyin smiled, closing his eyes briefly. "I seek the opinion of Ruixuan, my young friend." His glance also fell on Ruiquan. "What do you think the situation will evolve into? You see, I seldom concern myself with national affairs, but my freedom to live comes entirely from the country. These days, I can’t do anything! I don’t fear poverty or hardship. I only fear losing our Beiping! A flower is most beautiful when growing on a tree. Plucked by human hands, it’s finished. Beiping is like that too. It’s supremely beautiful, but if occupied by the enemy, it becomes a plucked flower. Isn’t that so?" Seeing no response, he added, "If Beiping is the tree, I am the flower, though an idle one. If Beiping is unfortunately lost, I think I need not live on."
Old Man Qi wanted to express his faith in Beiping and advise Mr. Qian not to worry too much. But he couldn’t fully grasp Mr. Qian’s words. They were like characters on a pawn ticket-still characters but written differently. If you guessed randomly, you might redeem the wrong item, and that would be troublesome! So his lips moved without uttering a word.
Ruiquan had no such reservations. He had long wanted to talk but found no suitable person. His eldest brother was knowledgeable and perceptive, but he deliberately remained silent, requiring much effort to draw out his words. As for his second brother and sister-in-law, he could only discuss movies and fun with them. Talking with them was worse than with his grandfather or eldest sister-in-law about daily necessities-though dull, at least related to life. Now, he seized Mr. Qian. He knew Mr. Qian had some ideas-even if they didn’t align with his own. He stood up straight. "I think it’s either war or surrender!"
Ruiquan ignored his grandfather’s question, speaking righteously on. "Japan’s religion, education, temperament, geography, military, industrial and pirate cultural foundations, and the militarists’ ambitions all point toward aggression. Smuggling, causing trouble, riding roughshod over others-all are inevitable tactics of aggressors! The gunfire at Marco Polo Bridge is one such tactic. If we gloss it over this time, within ten days or half a month, they’ll surely cause a bigger incident elsewhere-maybe at Xiyuan or Huguo Temple. Japan is now riding a tiger and cannot but charge recklessly!"
Ruiquan, agitated, had spoken not too much but with some strain. His mind seemed chaotic, unable to continue. Rationally, he knew China’s military was no match for Japan’s. If war truly broke out, we would suffer greatly. But emotionally, he wished to resist immediately, because each day delayed gave the Japanese more advantage. Once the enemy fully prepared, it would be too late to fight back! He wanted to resist. If war broke out between China and Japan, he could devote his life to the country. But he feared being challenged: "Will sacrificing your life ensure victory?" He never doubted his willingness to sacrifice but disliked being challenged. He was nearly graduating from university and couldn’t appear reckless or emotional before others. Sweating, he scratched his head, sat down, and several red spots appeared on his face.
Old Man Qi, lacking a chance or target to speak, quickly seized his great-grandson. "See! See! As soon as the gate opens, you run out. So disobedient! Let me tell you, the Japanese devils are causing trouble outside!"
Little Shun’er pointed outside, looking somewhat mysterious. "That person is here! Says he wants to see you!"
"The person from Number Three!" Little Shun’er knew who it was but, accustomed to hearing criticism about that person, didn’t want to say the name.
"No, another day. I’ll come again. No need to see me out!" Mr. Qian had already quickly reached the room’s entrance.
Old Man Qi, holding Little Shun’er, saw him out. By the time he reached the room’s entrance, Mr. Qian was already under the jujube tree outside the south rooms. Ruixuan and Ruiquan followed to escort him. Guan Xiaoke stood inside the street gate threshold. He wore a blue gauze gown with coiling dragons, a style most fashionable thirty years ago, then out of fashion for a time, now back in vogue again. It fit perfectly and looked quite grand. Below, white silk trousers with fine blue stripes, loosely cuffed; on his feet, black silk socks and white thousand-layer-soled black satin shoes. Even his shadow seemed elegant and charming. Seeing Mr. Qian emerge, he gently tugged the hem of his blue gauze gown with one hand and extended the other, beaming, intending to shake hands.
Old Man Qi didn’t like Mr. Guan and took Little Shun’er to his own room. Ruixuan and Ruiquan accompanied the guest in the parlor.
Mr. Guan had only visited the Qi household twice before. First, when Old Mrs. Qi passed away, he came to offer incense and wine, staying briefly. Second, when rumors spread that Ruixuan might become principal of the municipal middle school, he came to offer congratulations in advance, staying quite long. Later, when the rumor proved false, he didn’t return.
Today, he came to see Mr. Qian and, in passing, visit the Qis. During the warlord strife era, Guan Xiaoke had held several positions, not very high but lucrative. He had been a tax bureau chief, county magistrate of a first-class county, and minor official in the provincial government. In recent years, his official luck had waned, so he despised the Nanjing government and spent days with disaffected scholars, bureaucrats, and warlords. He believed among his friends, one or two would surely regain power. Then he too would have another shot at good official luck-meaning wealth. With these friends, his appearance and attire were impeccable. Meanwhile, his skills in Peking opera and mahjong were not shabby either. Lately, he had taken up Buddhism, studying charms and magic arts. Thus, he qualified to join places like the Hengshan Society, where old-timers gathered, and other religious and charitable organizations. He didn’t truly believe in Buddha or gods but treated Buddhism and Taoism as social necessities, much like singing or gambling.
Only one thing eluded him: he couldn’t compose poetry or paint plums or landscapes. The scholars he associated with naturally possessed these skills. Even retired warlords and bureaucrats in Tianjin, wealthy but powerless, often knew a trick or two. Even the illiterate Marshal Ding could write a huge "tiger" character with a large hemp brush. Even those completely incapable of writing or painting loved discussing such things. These were ornaments of "wealth," much like wealthy women must have diamonds and pearls.
He had long known that Qian Moyin was skilled in poetry and painting and not well-off. He had long wanted to send some tuition to soak up the atmosphere at the Qians’. He didn’t hope to truly write or paint but only to learn some terminology and the names and schools of poets and painters, lest he embarrass himself before celebrities.
He tried every method to get to know Mr. Qian, but Mr. Qian remained like a tree-you called, he ignored you. He didn’t dare visit Mr. Qian directly, because once rejected, it would be hard to meet again. Today, seeing Mr. Qian go to the Qis’, he hurried over. After meeting at the Qis’, he would directly send over two potted plants or bottles of good wine to get that chance to soak up the atmosphere. Moreover, he suspected that despite Qian Moyin’s straitened circumstances, his home might harbor some valuable calligraphy or paintings. Of course, if he wanted to buy antiques, there were plenty at "Liulichang." But he didn’t want to spend money on such things. So, if he became familiar with Mr. Qian, he thought he could surely acquire a treasure or two cheaply. Wouldn’t that be a bargain? With one or two antiques displayed at home, besides aged Zhuyeqing wine and pretty concubines, he would have more items to exhibit, further elevating his status.
He hadn’t expected to meet a soft rebuff from Mr. Qian! He was extremely displeased. He acknowledged Qian Moyin as a scholar, but even scholars much more famous than him weren’t so haughty! "Given face but refusing it. Fine, we’ll see!" He thought of revenge. "Hmph! Once I get a chance, Mr. Qian, you’ll surely have your fun!" Outwardly, he remained calm as ever, smiling and making conversation with the Qi brothers.
"Not much news," Ruixuan also disliked Mr. Guan but had to make conversation. "What do you think, Mr. Guan?"
"Me?" Mr. Guan smiled, pausing briefly. "That’s not being in the position, not meddling in the government! I now focus almost entirely on studying Buddhism. Let me tell you, the taste of Buddhism is truly infinitely marvelous! Knowing a bit of Buddha’s teachings and the Dharma, one’s heart feels like drinking fine wine, always pleasantly dizzy! The day before yesterday, at Sun Qinglao’s place (Marshal Ding, General Li, Fang Xilao were all there), we invoked the Queen Mother of the West and even photographed her. Mysterious, wonderfully indescribable! Imagine, the Queen Mother of the West, clearly photographed, with two long whiskers on her mouth, just like catfish whiskers, very long, from here-" he pointed to his mouth, "all the way-" his mouth waited as his hand circled to his shoulder, "extending here. Mysterious!"
"Of course! Of course!" Mr. Guan said sternly, very seriously. "Buddhism is vast and boundless, changing in myriad ways. It can manifest in two catfish whiskers!"
He was about to continue on Buddhism when noise erupted from his courtyard. He stood, listening. "Oh, probably Second Miss is back! Yesterday she went to play at Beihai Park. Probably with the chaos on the streets, Beihai Park closed its front and back gates, trapping her inside. My wife was quite worried, but I wasn’t too anxious. Those who cultivate Buddhism have this advantage: their hearts are always pleasantly dizzy, not anxious, not panicked. Buddha will arrange everything for us! Well, I’ll go see. Let’s chat another day." With that, his face calm but steps fairly quick, he headed out.