Explore Chapter 8 of '彷徨' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
My acquaintance with Wei Lianshu was, in retrospect, rather peculiar. It began with a funeral and ended with a funeral.
At that time, I was in S City and often heard his name mentioned. Everyone said he was quite eccentric: he had studied zoology but became a history teacher in a middle school; he was always aloof with people yet often meddled in their affairs; he frequently declared that the family system should be abolished, yet as soon as he received his salary, he would send it without delay to his grandmother. There were many other such fragments of gossip. In short, in S City, he was considered a topic of conversation. One autumn, I was staying idly with some relatives on Cold Stone Mountain. Their surname was Wei, and they were Lianshu’s clansmen. Yet they understood him even less, treating him almost as a foreigner, saying he was "different from all of us."
This was hardly surprising. Although modern education had been promoted in China for twenty years, Cold Stone Mountain did not even have a primary school. In the entire mountain village, Lianshu was the only one who had gone away to study. So in the eyes of the villagers, he was indeed an oddity. But they were also envious, saying he earned a great deal of money.
By late autumn, dysentery was rampant in the mountain village. Growing anxious for my own safety, I decided to return to the city. Then I heard that Lianshu’s grandmother had contracted the illness. Being elderly, her condition was grave, and there were no doctors in the mountains. His so-called family consisted solely of this grandmother. They lived simply with the help of a hired maid. He had lost his parents in early childhood and had been raised by this grandmother. I heard she had suffered many hardships in the past but was now comfortable in her later years. However, since he had no wife or children, the household was profoundly lonely. This was probably one of the things people considered strange about him.
Cold Stone Mountain was a hundred li from the city by land and seventy li by water. Sending a special messenger to fetch Lianshu would take at least four days for the round trip. In that remote and backward mountain village, such matters were considered major news that everyone wanted to hear about. The next day, word spread that her condition had become critical and the messenger had been dispatched. But by the fourth watch of the night, she had breathed her last. Her final words were: "Why won’t you let me see Lianshu one last time?"
The clan elders, close relatives, maternal kin from her side, and various idlers crowded the room. They anticipated that by the time Lianshu arrived, it would already be time for the encoffining. The coffin and burial clothes had long been prepared, requiring no further planning. Their primary concern was how to deal with this "chief mourner," for they fully expected he would insist on changing all the funeral rites. After deliberating, they roughly agreed on three conditions he must obey. First, he must wear white mourning clothes. Second, he must perform the kowtow. Third, he must invite Buddhist monks and Taoist priests to conduct the rites. In short, everything was to follow the old customs.
Having reached this agreement, they arranged to gather in the main hall on the day of Lianshu’s return. They would form a united front, supporting each other, and launch a stern negotiation. The villagers waited with bated breath, eager for news. They knew Lianshu was a reformist who followed foreign teachings and had never cared for conventional propriety. A clash was inevitable, and it might even brew into an unexpected spectacle.
It was said Lianshu arrived home in the afternoon. Upon entering, he merely bowed slightly before his grandmother’s spirit tablet. The clan elders immediately proceeded with their plan. They summoned him to the main hall, first delivered a lengthy preamble, then broached the main issue. Speaking in unison and echoing one another, they gave him no chance to refute. When they had finally said their piece, silence filled the hall. Everyone watched his mouth with tense apprehension. Lianshu’s expression remained unmoved as he simply replied:
This again took them by surprise. The heavy burden in their hearts lifted, yet somehow it seemed to grow heavier again. They found this too "different" and felt somewhat uneasy. The villagers who had come for news were also disappointed. Word spread: "Strange! He says ‘It is all acceptable’! Let’s go and watch!" ‘Acceptable’ meant following tradition, so there should be nothing to see. Yet they still wanted to watch. After dusk, they gathered contentedly in front of the hall.
I was among the onlookers, having first sent an offering of incense and candles. By the time I reached his house, Lianshu was already dressing the deceased. He turned out to be a short, thin man with a long face. Dishevelled hair and thick black eyebrows and beard occupied much of his visage, leaving only his eyes gleaming from within a dark aura. He dressed the corpse with exceptional skill, methodical and orderly, like an expert mortician, drawing involuntary admiration from the bystanders. According to Cold Stone Mountain custom, on such occasions the maternal relatives would inevitably find fault. Yet he remained silent, changing whatever was criticized without his expression flickering. An elderly woman with greying hair standing before me sighed with admiration.
Next came the bowing; then the wailing, during which all the women chanted incessantly. Then the body was placed in the coffin; then more bowing and wailing until the lid was nailed shut. After a moment of stillness, everyone suddenly grew restless, showing signs of astonishment and discontent. I too could not help but realize suddenly: throughout it all, Lianshu had not shed a single tear. He merely sat on the straw mat, his eyes gleaming in the dark aura.
The encoffining concluded amid this atmosphere of astonishment and discontent. Everyone seemed disgruntled and ready to disperse, but Lianshu remained seated on the straw mat, lost in thought. Suddenly, tears streamed down his face. Then he sobbed aloud, which swiftly transformed into a long, drawn-out howl, like a wounded wolf crying under the midnight moon in the wilderness, its anguish mingled with fury and sorrow. This sight was not part of the old rites and had not been anticipated. Everyone was at a loss. After a moment’s hesitation, several people stepped forward to console him. More and more joined until a crowd pressed around him. But he simply sat there wailing, unmoving as an iron tower.
Everyone could only disperse listlessly. He cried and cried for about half an hour before suddenly stopping. Without a word to the mourners, he went straight into the house. Soon, those who had gone to peek reported: he had entered his grandmother’s room, lain down on the bed, and seemed to fall asleep.
Two days later, on the eve of my departure for the city, I heard the villagers gossiping as if bewitched. They said Lianshu intended to burn most of the household belongings as an offering to his grandmother. The remainder would be given to the maid who had served the old lady in life and attended her in death. Moreover, he would lend the house to her indefinitely. The relatives and clansmen had argued until they were hoarse but could not dissuade him.
Probably driven by curiosity as well, on my return journey I passed by his door and dropped in to offer condolences. He received me wearing a white mourning robe with fur-edged sleeves, his expression as cold as ever. I offered some words of comfort. Apart from vague assents, his only reply was:
Our third meeting was in early winter that year, at a bookstore in S City. We nodded to each other simultaneously, thus formally acknowledging our acquaintance. But what truly brought us closer was my losing my job at the end of that year. From then on, I often visited Lianshu. Firstly, out of sheer boredom. Secondly, because I heard he was quite approachable to those down on their luck, despite his cold nature. But worldly fortunes are fickle, and those down on their luck do not remain so forever. Consequently, he had few long-lasting friends. This rumor proved true. As soon as I sent in my card, he received me. The two connected parlours were sparsely furnished: aside from tables and chairs, there were only some bookshelves. Although people called him a fearsome reformist, his shelves held few new books. He already knew I had lost my job. After the customary polite exchanges were exhausted, host and guest could only sit in silence, which grew increasingly oppressive. I watched him quickly finish a cigarette and throw the butt to the ground only when it was about to burn his fingers.
I too took one and began smoking, talking about teaching and books, yet still feeling the stifling atmosphere. Just as I was about to leave, a clamour of voices and footsteps erupted outside the door. Four children, boys and girls, barged in. The eldest was eight or nine, the youngest four or five. Their hands, faces, and clothes were dirty, and they were quite unattractive. But Lianshu’s eyes immediately lit up with delight. He quickly stood and walked towards the room adjoining the parlour, saying:
The children all crowded in after him and soon rushed out, each blowing a harmonica. Once outside the parlour door, for some reason, they started fighting. One of them began to cry.
Once acquainted with Lianshu, one could indeed converse freely. He held many opinions, often quite startling. More trying were some of his visitors, who had probably read *Sinking* and often styled themselves "unfortunate youths" or "superfluous men." They lounged lazily and arrogantly like crabs in the large chairs, sighing and frowning as they smoked. Then there were the landlord’s children, forever quarrelling, overturning bowls and dishes, demanding snacks, creating a dizzying chaos. But whenever Lianshu saw them, his usual coldness vanished. He seemed to treasure them more than his own life. I heard that once, when Sanliang came down with scarlet fever, he grew so anxious the dark aura on his face seemed to deepen. As it happened, the illness was mild, and later the children’s grandmother turned the incident into a joke.
"Children are always good. They are all innocent…" He seemed to sense my impatience and took the opportunity to tell me one day.
"No. If there were no bad seeds within children, how could bad blossoms and fruits appear when they grow up? Take a seed, for instance. Precisely because it contains within it the embryos of branches, leaves, flowers, and fruit can it produce these things when it grows. How can it be without cause?" Having little to do, I had taken to reading Buddhist sutras, much like retired officials who turn vegetarian and discuss Zen. I did not truly understand Buddhist doctrine, yet I spoke on without restraint.
Lianshu grew angry then. He merely glanced at me and spoke no more. I could not tell whether he had nothing to say or disdained to argue. But I saw him revert to that long-unseen cold attitude. He silently smoked two cigarettes in succession. When he reached for a third, I felt compelled to take my leave.
This estrangement lasted three months before it dissolved. The reason was likely half due to forgetting and half because he himself had begun to be resented by those "innocent" children, making my own blasphemous remarks about children seem somewhat pardonable. But this was merely my speculation. At the time, during a drinking session at my lodgings, he seemed to show a trace of sorrow. Tilting his head back slightly, he said:
"They know I will not marry. But that is irrelevant. What they truly want is to inherit through me that dilapidated house of mine on Cold Stone Mountain. I possess nothing else, as you know. Money slips through my fingers as soon as I get it. Only this tumbledown house remains. Their livelihood depends on driving out the old maid who lives there."
"I doubt your clansmen would go that far. Their thinking is merely somewhat old-fashioned. For instance, that year when you wept so bitterly, they all eagerly surrounded you, trying their utmost to comfort you…"
But even in this state of utter ennui, Lianshu was not left in peace. Gradually, anonymous attacks against him appeared in the tabloids, and rumours about him circulated in academic circles. This was no longer mere gossip but likely damaging to him. I knew it resulted from his recent inclination to publish articles and paid it little mind. The people of S City could least tolerate outspoken criticism; whenever it appeared, they would covertly sting the speaker. This had always been the way, and Lianshu knew it too. But come spring, I suddenly heard he had been dismissed by the school principal. This struck me as rather abrupt, though in truth such things were commonplace. It seemed abrupt only because I had hoped someone I knew might be spared. The people of S City were not particularly malicious this time.
I was then occupied with my own livelihood, negotiating a teaching post at Shanyang for the coming autumn, and had no time to visit him. By the time I had some leisure, nearly three months had passed since his dismissal, yet I had not thought of calling on Lianshu. One day, passing along the main street, I happened to stop at a second-hand bookstall. What I saw there shocked me: displayed was a first edition of *Shiji Suoyin* from the Jiguge collection, which belonged to Lianshu. He loved books but was no collector; such an edition he considered a rare treasure, not to be parted with lightly unless absolutely necessary. Could he have fallen into such poverty merely two or three months after losing his job? Though it was true he spent money as soon as he got it and had no savings to speak of. Thus resolved to visit him, I顺便 bought a bottle of spirits, two packs of peanuts, and two smoked fish heads on the street.
His door was shut. I called out twice with no answer. Suspecting he was asleep, I called more loudly and rapped on the door.
"He’s out!" came the voice of the Daliang children’s grandmother, the plump woman with triangular eyes, thrusting her greying head from the opposite window. She spoke loudly, as if impatient.
I pushed the door open and entered his parlour. Truly, "a day apart feels like three years." My eyes met only desolation and hollow emptiness. Not only were most of the furnishings gone, but the bookshelves held only a few foreign-bound volumes that no one in S City would want. The round table in the centre of the room remained. Once it had often been surrounded by melancholy, impassioned youths, unrecognized talents, and grubby, noisy children. Now it stood in stark solitude, its surface veiled by a thin layer of dust. I placed the bottle and packages on the table, pulled over a chair, and sat down beside it facing the door.
He too pulled over a chair and sat at the table. We began drinking the spirits, talking of his unemployment. But he was reluctant to dwell on the subject, considering it an expected occurrence, something he often encountered, neither strange nor worth discussing. As usual, he focused solely on the liquor, still voicing his views on society and history. Somehow, gazing at the empty bookshelves, I remembered the Jiguge first edition of *Shiji Suoyin* and suddenly felt a vague sense of loneliness and sorrow.
"None. They think I am in low spirits, so a visit would be pointless. A sombre mood can indeed make others uncomfortable. In winter, no one goes to the parks…" He took two swallows of liquor and fell into silent thought. Suddenly, he looked up at me and asked, "That position you are seeking is still quite uncertain, is it not?"
Though I knew he was already somewhat in his cups, I could not help feeling stung. I was about to retort when I saw him cock his ear, then grab a handful of peanuts and go outside. From beyond the door came the laughing and shouting of the Daliang children.
"Lianshu," I said, feeling a profound sadness yet forcing a smile, "I think you torment yourself unnecessarily. You view the world too darkly…"
"When my grandmother was encoffined? Indeed, you would not understand." He spoke calmly as he lit the lamp. "Your friendship with me, I believe, stems precisely from that weeping. You see, this grandmother was my father’s stepmother. His own mother died when he was three." He fell silent, drinking and finishing the smoked fish head.
"Of those past events, I originally knew nothing. From childhood, I found it incomprehensible. In those days, my father was still alive, and our family circumstances were comfortable. During the New Year, ancestral portraits were always hung and offered lavish sacrifices. Gazing upon those many splendidly attired images seemed a rare visual feast to my childish eyes. Yet the maid who held me would always point to one portrait and say, ‘This is your own grandmother. Bow to her, so she may bless you to grow strong and lively.’ I truly could not grasp how I, who clearly had a grandmother at home, could also have an ‘own grandmother.’ But I loved this ‘own grandmother.’ She was not as old as the grandmother at home; she was young, beautiful, dressed in a red gown traced with gold, wearing a beaded headdress, much like my mother’s portrait. When I looked at her, her eyes gazed back at me, and the corners of her mouth gradually curved into a smile. I knew she must have loved me dearly too.
"Yet I also loved the grandmother at home, who sat by the window all day slowly sewing. No matter how joyfully I played or called to her, I could never elicit a smile from her, which always made me feel a coldness, different from other children’s grandmothers. But I loved her still. Later, however, I gradually grew distant. This was not because I was older and knew she was not my father’s birth mother, but rather because watching her sew day in and day out, year after year, like a machine, naturally became wearisome. Yet she remained as before, sewing, managing the household, caring for me. Though she rarely smiled, she never scolded me either. This continued until my father’s death. Later, we came to depend almost entirely on her needlework for our livelihood, and naturally things remained so until I entered school…"
"Just this month, kerosene has gone up twice in price…" he said slowly, adjusting the wick. "Life grows harder by the day. She remained like this until I graduated, found work, and life became somewhat more settled. Probably right up until she fell ill, could endure no longer, and had to take to her bed…"
"Her final years, I think, were not overly arduous, and she lived to a ripe old age. There was truly no need for my tears. Besides, were there not many others weeping? Even those who had once bullied her relentlessly now wept, or at least wore mournful expressions. Ha! Yet at that moment, I somehow compressed her entire life before my eyes-the life of one who creates loneliness with her own hands and then savours its bitter taste. And I felt there were many such people. These were what moved me to weep, though largely because I was then too swayed by emotion…"
When I took my leave of Lianshu, the full moon hung high in the midnight sky. It was an exceedingly still night.
The state of education in Shanyang was deplorable. After two months at the school, I had not received a single copper of salary and had to economize even on cigarettes. Yet the staff there, even the minor clerks earning fifteen or sixteen yuan a month, were all content with their lot. Relying on constitutions tempered to toughness, they worked from morning till night with sallow, emaciated faces, rising respectfully whenever someone of higher rank appeared. Truly, they were people for whom the saying "well-fed and well-clothed, they know honour" did not apply. Whenever I witnessed this, I somehow recalled Lianshu’s parting request. His own situation had grown even more wretched then, his poverty often showing. He seemed to have lost his former composure. Knowing I was about to depart, he visited late one night and, after much hesitation, stammered:
"I wonder if there might be any opportunity over there? Even clerical work, for twenty or thirty yuan a month, would do. I…"
"I shall look into it there and do my utmost to find something." That was my immediate, readily given reply. Later, I often seemed to hear those words myself, and Lianshu’s face would float before my eyes as he stammered, "I still need to live a few more days." At such times, I would try to recommend him wherever I could. But to what avail? Jobs were scarce, people many. The result was that others offered me apologies, and I, in turn, wrote apologetic letters to him. By the end of the term, the situation grew worse. The *Academic Weekly*, run by several local gentry, began attacking me-without naming names, of course, but the wording was clever enough to suggest I was stirring up student unrest. Even recommending Lianshu was construed as forming cliques.
I had no choice but to keep still. Apart from teaching, I shut my door and hid. Sometimes, I even feared the smoke from my cigarette drifting out the window might be suspected of fomenting unrest. Lianshu’s matter naturally became impossible to mention. This continued until deep winter.
It snowed all day without ceasing by nightfall. Outside, all was profoundly quiet, so quiet one could hear the sound of silence itself. By the faint lamplight, I sat with closed eyes, as if seeing snowflakes drift down one by one to augment the boundless snowdrift. My hometown was preparing for the New Year, everyone busy. I myself was once again a child, moulding a snow Buddha with a group of playmates in the level backyard. The snow Buddha’s eyes were inlaid with two pieces of charcoal, very black. With a flicker, they transformed into Lianshu’s eyes.
This foolish question brought me to my senses. I sat up straight, lit a cigarette, and pushed open the window. The snow was indeed falling heavier. I heard a knock at the door. Soon, someone entered, but it was the familiar step of the lodging-house attendant. He pushed open my door and handed me a letter over six inches long. The handwriting was scrawled, yet at a glance I recognized the two characters "Wei Jian"-from Lianshu.
This was the first letter he had sent me since I left S City. Knowing his indolence, I had thought nothing of the long silence, though at times I did resent his giving no news. Upon receiving this letter, however, I felt strangely uneasy for no reason and hurriedly tore it open. Inside, in the same untidy script, were these words:
"Shenfei…
How shall I address you? I leave it blank. Add whatever title you prefer. It is all acceptable to me.
You may wish to know my news, so I shall tell you plainly: I have failed. Before, I considered myself a failure, but now I know that was not true. Now I am truly a failure. Before, when there were still those who wished me to live a few more days, and I myself still desired to live on, I could not survive. Now, there is no longer any need, yet I must live…
The one who wished me to live a few more days cannot live on herself. She has been lured to her death by the enemy. Who killed her? No one knows.
How swiftly life changes! These past six months, I have nearly begged. In fact, it may be said I already have. Yet I still have a purpose. For this purpose, I am willing to beg, to suffer cold and hunger, loneliness, and hardship. But I do not wish to perish. You see, the power of that one person who wished me to live was so great. But now there is no one, not even that one. At the same time, I feel myself unworthy of living on. Others? They too are unworthy. Simultaneously, I feel compelled to live on precisely for those who do not wish me to live. Fortunately, those who wished me to live well are gone; no one is left to grieve. To cause such people grief is something I would not want. But now there is no one, not even that one. Extremely happy, extremely comfortable. I have already put into practice all I once detested and opposed, rejected all I once revered and advocated. I have truly failed-yet I have triumphed.
Do you think I have gone mad? Do you think I have become a hero or a great man? No, no. It is very simple: I have recently become an advisor to Commander Du, with a monthly salary of eighty silver dollars.
You probably remember my old parlour, where we first met in the city and where we parted. I still use this parlour now. Here there are new guests, new gifts, new flattery, new toadying, new kowtows and bows, new gambling and drinking games, new cold glances and disgust, new sleepless nights and blood-spitting…
In your last letter you said teaching was most unsatisfactory. Would you care to be an advisor too? You have only to tell me; I can arrange it. In truth, even being a gatekeeper would do. It also brings new guests and new gifts, new flattery…
It is snowing heavily here. How is it where you are? It is now late at night. Having coughed up two mouthfuls of blood, I feel清醒. I recall you actually sent me three letters in succession since autumn. What a surprising thing that is. I must send you some news, lest you draw a sharp breath of cold air.
Henceforth, I shall probably write no more, a habit you have long known. When will you return? If soon, we may meet again. But I think we are ultimately not of the same path. Therefore, please forget me. I thank you sincerely from my heart for previously often trying to arrange a livelihood for me. But now forget me. I am already ‘well.’
This did not make me "gasp in shock," but after a cursory glance, I read it through carefully again. I felt somewhat uncomfortable, yet mingled with this were strands of satisfaction and gladness. I thought his livelihood was finally no longer a concern, and my own burden could be laid down, though on my part it had always been a matter of having no solution. I thought of writing a reply but felt I had nothing to say, and the impulse vanished immediately.
I truly began to forget him gradually. His visage no longer appeared often in my memory. Yet less than ten days after receiving the letter, the S City *Academic Seven-Day News* began arriving by post in succession. I seldom read such things, but since they came, I flipped through them. This reminded me of Lianshu, for they often contained poems and articles about him, such as "A Snowy Night Visit to Mr. Lianshu" and "An Elegant Gathering at Advisor Lianshu’s Lofty Studio." Once, the *Academic Chats* section even津津 related incidents previously laughed at as anecdotes about him, dubbing them "lost tales," with the clear implication that extraordinary men must perform extraordinary deeds.
Somehow, though this made me remember, his features grew increasingly blurred. Yet he also seemed to grow closer to me day by day, often provoking in me an inexplicable unease and faint tremor whose cause I could not fathom. Fortunately, by autumn the *Academic Seven-Day News* stopped coming. But the Shanyang *Academic Weekly* began publishing a lengthy serial essay titled "Rumours Are Facts." It stated that rumours concerning certain gentlemen were now rife among the fair-minded gentry. This pointed specifically at several individuals, myself included. I had to be extremely cautious, taking care even that the smoke from my cigarettes did not drift out the window. Caution is a burdensome labour that leaves one unable to attend to anything else, and naturally I had no leisure to think of Lianshu. In short, I had practically forgotten him.
From Shanyang to Licheng, then to Taigu, I drifted for over half a year, finding no work whatsoever. Finally, I resolved to return to S City. I arrived on an early spring afternoon, the sky threatening rain yet holding back, everything shrouded in grey. My old lodgings still had a vacant room, so I settled in again. On the journey, I had thought of Lianshu. After arriving, I decided to visit him after supper. Carrying two packages of boiled cakes, a famed product of Wenxi, I walked many damp roads, yielding the way to numerous dogs lying sprawled across the path, until I finally reached Lianshu’s door. Inside seemed unusually bright. I thought to myself, becoming an advisor must make even one’s lodgings exceptionally luminous, and smiled inwardly. But looking up, I saw a stark white slip of paper pasted diagonally beside the door. I thought perhaps the Daliang children’s grandmother had died. Simultaneously, I stepped inside and walked straight in.
In the courtyard, dimly lit, lay a coffin. Beside it stood a soldier in uniform or an orderly, conversing with another person. Looking closer, I saw it was the Daliang children’s grandmother. A few coarse-clad men stood idly by. My heart leapt instantly. She turned and stared at me.
I looked around. The parlour was dim, lit by perhaps a single lamp. The main room was hung with white mourning drapes. Several children had gathered outside-the Daliang and Erliang children.
Before the mourning drapes stood only a long table and a square one, the latter bearing a dozen or so bowls of food. As I stepped across the threshold, two men in long white gowns suddenly appeared and barred my way. They fixed me with the glassy stare of dead fish, from which gleamed suspicious, piercing light. I hastily explained my relationship with Lianshu. The Daliang children’s grandmother corroborated from the side. Only then did their hands and gazes gradually relax, silently permitting me to approach and bow.
As I bowed, someone began sobbing woefully from the floor. Looking intently, I saw a boy of about ten or so prostrate on a straw mat, also in white clothes, his closely shaven head still bound with a thick strand of hemp fibre.
After exchanging courtesies, I learned one was Lianshu’s paternal cousin, the closest relative present; the other was a more distant nephew. I asked to see the deceased. They strenuously objected, saying it was "too great an honour." But finally I persuaded them, and they lifted the mourning drape.
Thus I beheld the dead Lianshu. Yet how strange! Though dressed in a crumpled short jacket and trousers, with bloodstains on the front, and his face terribly gaunt, his features remained those I knew before. Serenely he lay with closed mouth and shut eyes, as if asleep. I nearly reached out to feel before his nostrils whether breath still lingered.
All was deathly still, the dead and the living. I withdrew. His cousin came over to engage me, saying his "younger cousin" had been in the prime of life with boundless prospects, yet had "departed" so abruptly. This was not only the misfortune of a "declining lineage" but also deeply saddened his friends. His words hinted at an apology on Lianshu’s behalf-such eloquence was rare among mountain folk. Then he fell silent. All was deathly still, the dead and the living.
Feeling profoundly无聊, yet without any particular sorrow, I retreated to the courtyard and chatted with the Daliang children’s grandmother. I learned the encoffining was imminent, awaiting only the burial clothes. When nailing the coffin shut, those born under the zodiac signs of rat, horse, rabbit, and rooster must stay away. She grew animated, her words gushing forth like a spring. She spoke of his illness, of his demeanour in life, and offered some critique of him as well.
"You know, after Master Wei’s fortunes turned, he became quite a different man. His head held high, he strutted about. He was no longer as迂 with people. Before, wasn’t he like a mute, calling me ‘old madam’? Later, he called me ‘old fogey.’ Ha! Really quite amusing. When people presented him with precious medicinal herbs, he wouldn’t take them himself but tossed them into the courtyard-right here-shouting, ‘Here, old fogey, you eat them.’ After his rise, with visitors coming and going, I let him have the main rooms and moved into this side chamber. Once his star ascended, he truly became与众不同. We often joked about it. Had you come a month earlier, you could have witnessed the bustle here: drinking games every other day, some talking, some laughing, some singing, some composing poetry, some playing cards…"
"Before, he was more afraid of children than they were of their own fathers, always meek and humble. Lately, he changed too-chatty and lively. Our Daliang children loved playing with him; whenever free, they’d go to his room. He used all sorts of tricks to amuse them. To get him to buy something, he’d make a child bark like a dog or kowtow loudly. Ha! It was truly lively. Two months ago, Erliang wanted him to buy shoes and kowtowed three times. See, he’s still wearing them, not worn out yet."
A man in a long white gown emerged, and she stopped. I inquired about Lianshu’s illness. She was not very clear, only saying he had probably been wasting away for some time, but no one paid attention because he always seemed in high spirits. Over a month ago, she heard he had coughed up blood several times but apparently saw no doctor. Later, he took to his bed. Three days before his death, he lost his voice and could not utter a word. The Thirteenth Elder made the long journey from Cold Stone Mountain to the city to ask if he had any savings. Lianshu did not make a sound. The elder suspected he was pretending. Some say consumptives lose their speech before death. Who knows…"
"But Master Wei’s temper was truly too peculiar," she suddenly lowered her voice. "He refused to save a penny, spending money like water. The Thirteenth Elder even suspected we had gained some advantage. What屁 advantage was there? He wasted it all胡里胡涂. Buying things today, selling them tomorrow, breaking them… who knows what he was about. Now that he’s dead, there’s nothing left, all squandered. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be so quiet here today…"
"He was just fooling around, never intending to do anything正经. I thought of it and advised him. At his age, he should settle down and marry. Given his present state, finding a match would be easy. If no suitable family could be found, he could first take a couple of concubines. A man should have some semblance of decency. But whenever he heard this, he’d laugh and say, ‘Old fogey, are you still dwelling on such matters for others?’ You see, lately he’s become frivolous, not taking good advice seriously. Had he listened to me, why should he now be groping alone in the netherworld? At least he might hear the weeping of loved ones…"
A shop assistant arrived carrying the burial clothes. The three relatives selected the inner garments and went behind the drapes. Not long after, the drapes were drawn aside. The inner clothes had been changed, and now the outer ones were added. This greatly surprised me. First, a pair of khaki military trousers with broad red stripes was put on him. Next came the military tunic with gleaming gold epaulettes-though what rank they signified, and where such rank came from, I could not tell. When placed in the coffin, Lianshu lay awkwardly. At his feet were placed a pair of yellow leather shoes, at his waist a paper command-sword. Beside his emaciated, ash-grey face sat a gold-braided military cap.
The three relatives clutched the coffin’s edge and wept for a time, then ceased, wiping their tears. The child with hemp bound around his head withdrew, and Sanliang also retreated-both likely born under one of the forbidden zodiac signs.
As the first nail was struck, wailing erupted simultaneously. This weeping prevented me from staying to the end. I retreated to the courtyard and, following my feet,不知不觉 found myself outside the main gate. The damp road lay distinct before me. Looking up at the sky, the thick clouds had dispersed, revealing a full moon casting its cold, clear light.
I walked briskly, as if trying to break free from some heavy burden, yet I could not. Something struggled in my ears. For a long, long time it struggled, until finally it broke forth-faintly like a prolonged howl, like a wounded wolf crying in the wilderness at midnight, its anguish mingled with fury and sorrow.