Explore Chapter 4 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.
Mrs. Siming was pasting paper ingots by the north-facing window in the slanting sunlight, with her eight-year-old daughter Xiuer, when she heard the heavy, slow sound of cloth-soled shoes. She knew Siming had entered but did not look up, continuing with her work. However, the sound of the shoes grew louder and closer, finally stopping right beside her. Unable to resist, she turned her eyes to see Siming standing before her, hunched over and frantically digging into the inner pocket of his robe beneath his cloth mandarin jacket.
After much twisting and turning, he finally extracted his hand, holding a small rectangular package, sunflower-green in color, and handed it directly to Mrs. Siming. As soon as she took it, she caught a whiff of an indescribable scent, reminiscent of olives yet not quite. She also saw a glittering gold seal and numerous fine patterns on the sunflower-green wrapper. Xiuer immediately jumped over to snatch a look, but Mrs. Siming quickly pushed her away.
Then the sunflower-green package was opened. Inside was another layer of very thin paper, also sunflower-green. When this thin paper was removed, the object itself was revealed: smooth, firm, and likewise sunflower-green, adorned with fine patterns. The thin paper turned out to be beige, and the indescribable scent, reminiscent of olives yet not, grew stronger.
She noticed that while he said this, his gaze was fixed on her neck. A warmth seemed to spread across her face below the cheekbones. Occasionally, when she touched her own neck, especially behind the ears, her fingers always felt some roughness. She had long known it was accumulated grime but had never paid much attention. Now, under his scrutiny and faced with this fragrant foreign soap, she couldn't help but feel her face grow hot. This heat steadily spread, reaching all the way to her ears. She then decided to give herself a thorough wash with the soap after dinner.
"Mom, give that to me!" Xiuer reached out to snatch the green paper; her younger daughter Zhaor, who had been playing outside, also ran over. Mrs. Siming quickly pushed them away, wrapped the thin paper back up, and restored the green wrapper. She leaned over to place it on the highest shelf of the washstand, took a glance, then turned back to continue pasting paper ingots.
She stopped pasting paper ingots and listened carefully, but there was no response. Seeing him tilt his head back anxiously waiting, she couldn't help feeling somewhat apologetic. She raised her voice as much as possible and called out sharply:
Xuecheng retreated two steps in fright, standing even straighter. Although he sometimes thought his father walked like an old man on stage, he had never regarded him as a woman. He knew he had answered very wrongly.
"Hah, I wasted money sending you to school, and you don't even understand this. Your school brags about 'emphasizing both speaking and listening,' but it teaches nothing. The person who said this ghost language is at most fourteen or fifteen, younger than you, and already chatters away, yet you can't even explain the meaning, and you have the nerve to say 'I don't understand'! - Go look it up now!"
"This is truly disgraceful," after a while, Siming continued indignantly. "Students these days. Actually, during the Guangxu era, I was the biggest advocate for opening schools, but I never expected the drawbacks to be so severe: liberation, freedom, no practical learning, just mischief. As for Xuecheng, I've spent no small amount on him, all wasted. With great difficulty, I got him into a school that blends Chinese and Western styles, with English specifically emphasizing 'both speaking and listening.' You'd think that would be good, huh? But after a year of study, he still doesn't understand 'vicious woman.' Probably still just memorizing books. Hah, what kind of school is this? What does it produce? I say: they should all be shut down!"
"Xiuer and the others don't need to go to school either. 'What's the point of girls studying?' Ninth Uncle said that before, when opposing girls' education, I even criticized him. But now it seems the old man was right. Think about it, women walking in groups on the streets is already quite unseemly, and they even cut their hair. What I hate most are those female students with short hair. I say, soldiers and bandits might have some excuse, but it's they who disrupt the world. They should be dealt with severely..."
"'The name of a mutual aid society founded in the eighteenth century.' - Hmm, not right. - How is this sound pronounced?" he asked, pointing to the foreign word in front.
"Oddfellows."
"No, no, not that," Siming suddenly became angry again. "I tell you: it's a bad word, an insult, aimed at people like me. Understand? Go look it up!"
"What kind of riddle is this, so vague and confusing? You should explain it clearly first, so he can look it up properly." Seeing Xuecheng in distress, she felt pity and spoke in a mediating yet dissatisfied tone.
"It was when I was buying soap at Guangrunxiang on the main street," Siming let out a sigh and turned to her, saying. "There were three students in the shop buying things too. From their perspective, I probably seemed too fussy. I looked at six or seven items in one go, all costing over forty cents, so I didn't buy any. The ones at ten cents a piece were too poor, not fragrant enough. I thought something in between would be better, so I settled on that green one for twenty-four cents. The shop assistant, a snob with eyes on his forehead, had already puckered his dog-like mouth in disdain. What's hateful is that those student brats were winking and making faces, laughing and speaking ghost language. Later, I wanted to open it and take a look before paying. How can you judge the quality when it's wrapped in foreign paper? But that snob not only refused but was utterly unreasonable, spouting a lot of hateful nonsense. The brats joined in, laughing and joking. The youngest one said that sentence, and he was looking right at me. Then they all laughed. Clearly, it must be a bad word."
"They still shout about 'new culture, new culture.' Hasn't it 'transformed' enough already?" He fixed his eyes on the ceiling and continued. "Students have no morals, society has no morals. If we don't think of some way to save it, China will truly perish. - Don't you think that's lamentable? ..."
"A filial daughter," he turned to her and said solemnly. "Right on the main street, there were two beggars. One was a girl, who looked about eighteen or nineteen. - Actually, at that age, begging is quite unsuitable, but she still begs. - The other was an old woman in her sixties or seventies, with white hair and blind eyes, sitting under the eaves of a cloth shop begging. Everyone says she's a filial daughter, and the old woman is her grandmother. Whatever she begs, she gives it all to her grandmother to eat, willingly going hungry herself. But for such a filial daughter, would anyone be willing to give alms?"
"Hmph, no," he finally answered himself. "I watched for a long time. Only one person gave a small coin. The rest formed a large circle, actually making fun of her. There were two ruffians who brazenly said, 'Ah Fa, don't think this goods is dirty. Just buy two pieces of soap, give her a good scrub all over, and she'll be fine!' Now, what kind of talk is that?"
Siming also stood up and walked out into the courtyard. The sky was brighter than inside the house. Xuecheng was practicing Baguaquan in a corner of the wall. This was his "family instruction," an economical use of the time between day and night, which Xuecheng had been following for nearly half a year. Siming nodded slightly in approval, then clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth in the empty courtyard. Before long, the broad leaves of the sole potted plant, the evergreen, vanished into the gloom. Stars twinkled among the tattered clouds, and night began. At this moment, Siming couldn't help but feel inspired, as if he were about to accomplish great things, declaring war on the bad students and evil society around him. His spirit grew bolder, his steps larger, and the sound of his cloth-soled shoes grew louder, startling the hens and chicks already asleep in their coop, causing them to chirp and cluck.
Light appeared in the main hall, signaling the call to dinner like a beacon fire. The whole family gathered around the central table. The lamp was placed at the lower end. At the head, Siming sat alone in the center, with a plump, round face similar to Xuecheng's but with two thin mustaches. Amid the steam from the soup, he occupied one side alone, resembling the God of Wealth in a temple. To the left sat Mrs. Siming with Zhaor; to the right were Xuecheng and Xiuer in a row. The clatter of bowls and chopsticks sounded like rain. Although no one spoke, it was a lively dinner.
Zhaor knocked over her rice bowl, spilling soup over half the table. Siming widened his narrow eyes as much as possible, glaring at her until she was about to cry. Then he withdrew his gaze and reached with his chopsticks for a vegetable heart he had eyed earlier. But the vegetable heart was gone. He glanced around and saw that Xuecheng had just picked it up and stuffed it into his wide-open mouth. So, he had to content himself with picking up a yellowed vegetable leaf.
"Hmph, see? No learning, no understanding, only knowing how to eat! Learn from that filial daughter. Even as a beggar, she remains filial to her grandmother, willingly going hungry. But you students have no idea about such things, acting recklessly. In the future, you'll end up like those ruffians..."
"What kind of talk is this? You women..." Siming stammered, his face sweating oil like Xuecheng after practicing Baguaquan, though mostly because the meal was too hot.
"Sorry for not greeting you properly," Siming said, still chewing his food, coming out and cupping his hands in salute. "How about having a simple meal here?"
"We've already eaten," Weiyuan stepped forward, also cupping his hands. "We rushed over tonight precisely for the eighteenth征文 topic of the Yifeng Literary Society. Isn't tomorrow the 'seventh day'?"
"'Respectfully Drafted: A United Petition from the People of the Nation Urging His Excellency the President to Issue a Special Decree Emphasizing the Sacred Classics, Honoring Mother Meng, to Rectify Decadent Trends and Preserve National Essence.' - Excellent, excellent. But isn't the word count too high?"
"Oh, no, that won't do," Weiyuan quickly waved his hand, interrupting him. "I saw that too. She's probably an 'outsider.' I didn't understand her language, and she didn't understand mine. I don't know where she's from. Everyone says she's filial, but when I asked if she could compose poetry, she shook her head. If she could, that would be good."
"That's not so, and who knows it's not so!" Weiyuan spread his palms, rushing toward Siming while shaking and pushing, arguing. "She needs to be able to compose poetry to be interesting."
"We," Siming pushed him away, "will use this topic, add an explanation, and publish it in the newspaper. First, to commend her; second, to critique society through it. What has society come to? I observed from the side for a long time and didn't see anyone give a single coin. Isn't that heartless..."
"Ah, Fourth Uncle!" Weiyuan rushed over again. "You're practically 'cursing a baldhead in front of a monk.' I didn't give any money either; I恰巧 didn't have any on me at the time."
"Don't be sensitive, Weiyuan," Siming pushed him away again. "You're naturally an exception. Listen to me continue: A large crowd gathered around them, showing no respect, only making fun. There were two ruffians who were even more brazen. One simply said, 'Ah Fa, go buy two pieces of soap, give her a good scrub all over, and she'll be fine.' Think about it..."
Daotong, startled by the shout, stopped laughing. They finalized the explanation, Weiyuan copied it onto letter paper, and they rushed to the newspaper office. Siming held the candlestick, saw them off at the door, and returned to the outer part of the main hall. He felt somewhat uneasy but, after a moment's hesitation, finally stepped over the threshold. As soon as he entered, he saw right in the center of the square table the small rectangular sunflower-green package of soap. The gold seal in the middle of the package glittered brightly under the lamplight, surrounded by fine patterns.
Siming faintly heard Xiuer saying behind him. When he looked back, there was no movement, only Zhaor still scratching her own face with the fingers of both small hands.
Feeling he couldn't stay, he extinguished the candle and paced out into the courtyard. He paced back and forth, but不小心, the hens and chicks chirped and clucked again. He immediately lightened his steps and moved farther away. After some time, the light from the main hall moved to the bedroom. He saw the ground bathed in moonlight, as if covered with seamless white gauze. The moon, like a jade plate, hung among the white clouds, not a flaw in sight.
He felt quite sad, as if, like the filial daughter, he had become "a person with no one to turn to,"孤苦伶仃. He slept very late that night.
But by the next morning, the soap was put to use. He got up later than usual that day and saw her leaning over the washstand rubbing her neck. The soap suds piled high behind both ears like bubbles from a large crab's mouth, a world of difference compared to the thin layer of white foam from using soap pods before. From then on, Mrs. Siming always carried that indescribable scent, reminiscent of olives yet not. For almost half a year, it suddenly changed, and anyone who smelled it said it seemed like sandalwood.