

The Sound of Spring

### COPY RIGHT 2020 BY G.X. CHEN

### Smashwords Edition

G.X. Chen

# 1

In my dream, I heard someone calling.

"Chun Ming!" The door had been softly knocked on twice. It was Mother's voice, gentle and sweet: "Are you awake?"

"Yes, Mom," I responded happily. I sat up and reached for the sweater that was resting on the nightstand and put it over my head. Oh, what a beautiful dream! I couldn't help but close my eyes, reminiscing what I had dreamed, and felt my cheeks grow warm. It was so embarrassing! I opened my eyes and subconsciously touched my burning face, then quickly got dressed.

The sky was already bright, and I heard the occasional horns and beeps of cars and buses. I could almost tell the scene on the street below my window: cars moving alongside with the buses and trams; pedestrians rushing toward their destinations, some carrying satchels, some having newspapers under their arms, and some biting into a breakfast sandwich while hurrying along. The shops hadn't opened their doors yet, but the windows were dutifully displaying various colorful merchandise.

I lifted the curtain and looked down. To my surprise, the street was almost empty. Not many cars and bicycles, even fewer pedestrians. Then I remembered: it was New Year's Day, the first day of 1976! It seemed that the holiday had delayed the morning rush. As I looked across at the department store that sat on the corner of our street, I saw the leather display window and the black shoulder bag that he carried.

Why did I always have to think about him! I blushed, quickly putting down the curtain, carefully folding the quilt, and then pulling the cover over the bed.

"Is she still in bed?" It was my father's voice, accompanied by Mother's soft footsteps and the jingling sound of utensils in the kitchen.

I grinned, opened the door, and stood in the doorway, saying loudly, "Dad, I'm up!"

My father was sitting in the wicker chair in his study, reading a newspaper. Hearing my voice, he took off his reading glasses, looked up at me, and smiled.

It was a habit of my childhood: I ran over, kneeled beside him, and wished him a good morning while putting my head against his to take a peek at the headlines of the local newspaper.

"Go and get yourself ready. We're going to visit your uncle after breakfast," Father said, gently pushing me away.

"Today?" I looked at my father with widened eyes. "Now?"

He nodded.

I jumped up and grabbed his shoulders. "Dad, can we go in the afternoon?" I begged. "I'm busy in the morning."

"Busy?" he squinted as he looked up.

"Hmm..." I blushed and paused. "I'll tell you tonight." I reached over and covered his eyes. "So don't ask me now, OK?"

"OK, OK," Father said with a laugh. Having broken free of my hands, he turned to me and teased: "Now I have to think—what could possibly make my daughter blush?"

"Dad!" I turned and ran into the bathroom.

His laughter followed me. I closed the door and looked in the mirror. My face was so red, it looked like an apple, and my heart was jumping so fast I could hear the heartbeats.

I washed my face carefully in front of the mirror. Fang Si Jun and I had arranged to meet this morning at the bus station for a trip to the Yu Garden. I had known him for four years, but this was the first time we were actually taking a day trip together. Every time I thought of him, my heart would jump and sing. I loved him so much!

When I was having breakfast, I noticed my father had been watching me. I smiled at him. As if to express my inner happiness, I naughtily stuffed a piece of pickled cucumber in my mother's bowl when she wasn't looking. When she found out after a few spoonsful of porridge, Father laughed.

"Already twenty-two but acts like a three-year-old," Mother said, slapping the back of my hand with a smile.

"All because of you who spoils her," Father said, pointing at me with his chopsticks. But from the eyes that were looking at me, I knew he loved me even more.

I hurriedly finished my bowl of porridge and said to my mother: "Mom, I won't be back for lunch."

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Ask Dad!" I made a face at my father. Afraid of being detained with more questions, I turned and swiftly went out the door. As I rushed downstairs, I couldn't help wondering what my parents would say about me. My father had probably guessed, but what would my mother think? Oh well, I had planned to tell them tonight anyway, even if they didn't ask, because it was New Year's Day. In the new year, I hoped that everything in my life would go smoothly.

*

I lifted my wrist and looked at my watch. It was five minutes to nine. From our home to the bus station took about five minutes, and I was sure that he was there already.

The northwest wind blew against the sycamore trees, passing through skinny branches, making angry moans and whimpers as I tightened my scarf around my neck, walking briskly toward the station with my head down.

The wind was so strong that it wrapped around me, blowing and messing with my hair with vigilance. To prevent it from fluttering wildly in the wind, I raised my hands to smooth it down. While doing so, I almost slammed into a passerby.

"I'm sorry," I said without lifting my eyes and continued to push ahead.

However, after a few steps, I bumped into another. I was so mortified that I apologized profusely. I let go of my hands and raised my eyes. When I looked up, I was pleasantly surprised.

"I got bumped twice before getting your attention," he said good-humoredly while looking at me with his smiling eyes.

I felt happiness sweeping from my cheeks to my ears and my forehead. I lowered my eyes and said softly, "I didn't know it was you!"

"I waited for a quarter of an hour at the station, thinking you might've forgotten. Finally, I decided to let my feet carry me over to your home." He held my hand and guided me toward the station.

I leaned on him and said, "You must be cold after waiting for me for so long."

"No, not at all," he said. "If you don't believe me, touch my hand." He took off one of his gloves and pressed his hand against mine. "When I'm waiting for you, I feel warm inside even if it's subzero outside," he whispered into my ear.

I glanced at him and blushed.

In Shanghai, the streets were super crowded on New Year's Day—people going out with family and visiting relatives with children, carrying pastry boxes and fruit baskets as gifts, all in festive moods and attire. One of the busiest commercial streets was Huaihai Road, where my home was. People constantly poured into the stations from all directions, squeezing into one of the buses or streetcars, fighting for a space to sit or stand under the screaming of the conductor while being carried to their final destinations.

We stepped down from a crowded bus and headed toward the even-more-crowded Old City Temple. The Old City Temple was the name used by locals for the Yu Garden Shopping Mall. Everyone in Shanghai was familiar with the narrow strips of the alleyways zigzagging through the shopping mall, surrounded by hundreds of specialty shops.

The shops were all small and novel, offering a variety of items. The window of the knife and scissors shop displayed various large and small knives and scissors, from the tiny scissors that trim the eyebrows to the wide-mouth large scissors used by the gardeners; from the small kitchen knife for cutting meat to the big butcher knife for crushing the bones.

During the holidays, the toy store was particularly prosperous. In order to meet the needs of the children, a balloon booth was installed at the entrance of the store. Two store workers were busily filling the balloons with air, and a long queue had formed behind them. The children who had already bought theirs were happy, and the ones who hadn't stared at the colorful balloons longingly. The tea shop in the mall was usually the quietest, but when it came to the holidays, business picked up.

Women generally liked to shop the new trends and styles at the fabric and department stores; elderlies were the regulars at the walking stick and bird shops; children, besides toy stores, loved the shops with candies and snacks. The Shanghai spiced beans sold in a specialty store were famous throughout the country, and the juicy buns from Nanqian restaurant were mouth-wateringly delicious.

During the holidays, children were always the happiest. Parents who were on a tight budget wouldn't hesitate to spend money on their children, who were dressed up like little princes and princesses, holding balloons and dolls or carrying paper wind wheels all around the mall.

We squeezed into the shopping mall, following the crowds. To avoid being separated, he held my shoulders tightly. We leaned against each other and slowly moved forward.

"If it wasn't New Year's Day, there might not be as many people as now," I said conversationally.

He nodded and said with a charming smile, "Yes, but as long as you're by my side, the whole place seems to have nobody but two of us..."

I laughed. What he said was not strange to me—I had heard it in some movie. However, repeated by him, I thought it was very sweet.

Love is so charming and yet strange. As soon as you step into its magnetic field, you've been captured. It makes your soul sing and your mood sparkle; it makes the poet write brilliant poems and the artist paint beautiful pictures.

When he held my waist and pointed at the two big golden characters, telling me that we had arrived at our destination, I couldn't help but laugh because I had no idea how we got there, aiming through wall-to-wall crowds and lost in my fantasizing daydreams.

Yu Garden was built by Pan Yunduan in the Ming dynasty to please his father Pan En, with the name Yu Yue Lao Qin literally meaning "pleasing my old parent."

The garden was dominated by a huge rockery, structured of rocks and meteorites, surrounded by pools, pavilions, and buildings. A flower gallery twisted and turned along the foot of the rockery. The Cui Xiu Tang, next to the flower gallery, led to a footpath and a stone carving of Xi Shan Qing Sang.

"This is the handwriting of Zhu Zhishan, in the Ming dynasty," he told me quietly, pointing to the stone carving. His voice sounded a bit strange, and my heart started racing. He had stopped talking as we entered the garden, and I could tell that he had something pressing to say because he looked flustered.

I could surely guess what must've been on his mind, which made me a bit nervous. I saw a lily pond in front of the flower gallery. I liked to watch goldfish, so I pulled him toward it. There were several couples sitting on the benches along the flower rows inside the gallery. Some of them were whispering, and some were just sitting and looking at each other lovingly. As we sat down quietly by the pond next to the flower gallery, our past was like a blue wave appearing in front of my eyes.

*

It was four years ago when I first stepped through the factory door.

I was as excited as a child and as shy as a kitten, meeting everyone in the factory with a blush and a smile. After a short welcoming party, the head of the factory announced the workplaces where we, the new workers, had been assigned to. Soon, all had been picked up by their supervisors except me. In a large conference room, I was left alone.

"Ah! Your supervisor is sick today," said Yu Shan Zhang, the director of the revolutionary committee at the factory, having stared at me for a long time before realizing something was amiss. He patted his bald head and said, "Oh well, I'll call for someone else to take you there."

"Lao Yu, I am going back to the workshop; I can accompany her." At that moment, a tall, twenty-something young man walked in from an office next door.

"Great!" Yu was so happy that he touched his nose and beamed a big smile. He pointed to the young man and said to me, "This is the talent and the backbone of our political propaganda group in the factory."

"My name is Fang Si Jun," he said politely.

I thanked him, grateful that he had taken the initiative to accompany me to the factory floor. I looked up at him shyly. He was very handsome, having long eyebrows, thin lips, a straight nose, and a pair of big black eyes.

He glanced at me and then smiled generously and said, "Let's go."

In this way, I met him on the first day that I entered the workforce.

On the way, he talked enthusiastically, introducing me to every possible aspect of my new workplace, from the distribution to the types of products it produced. He talked about the Communist Party, the organizations for workers, and himself. He was promoted to the administration team after two years because he could talk, write, and paint. He was very talkative, indeed, and he kept talking until he led me to the door of the workshop.

It felt hot inside because of the large oven in the middle of the room. At the work stations, workers were holding spray guns, adding multicolored paint to the white, unfinished ceramics according to the models and various kinds of porcelain, which were sent to the oven afterward. The finished goods, pots, plates, and cups that came out of the oven, were bright, smooth, and beautiful. I was fascinated as I observed the whole process.

Because the workshop was where he had worked for two years, and he knew all my coworkers, he came to visit whenever he had time. Before long, we became friends.

He told me that his father used to be a private medical practitioner before 1949. His practice had been merged into the People's Hospital in 1956. Because his father was a respected specialist and had achieved a high degree of skill in treating eye diseases, he became the director of ophthalmology at the hospital. He also told me he liked painting, music, and literature, and he did seem to know something about every subject that was ever mentioned. When I told him that I liked to read, he started talking about famous books from around the world—from Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina_ to Romain Rolland's _Jean-Christophe_ ; from Balzac's _Père Goriot_ to Hugo's _Notre Dame de Paris_.

We argued about the values presented in the books and analyzed the actions of the protagonists. If we couldn't finish during the lunch break, we continued our discussion on our way home after work. He walked me home almost every day because we had so much to talk about. Sometimes, he'd ask me to wait for him at the door in the morning if we couldn't reach a mutual agreement at night.

One year, two years, and three years... On the way to and from work, we discussed the art of Byron's poetry, the language of Shakespearean drama, and the short stories of Chekhov...

He had read so many books that he was sophisticated and clever. When he learned that I hadn't had a chance to read much, he took the initiative to find books for me. If he couldn't get a certain book, he'd try to tell me the story. In four years, he had told me quite a few stories of popular novels, such as _Jane Eyre_ , _Gone with the Wind_ , and _The Count of Monte Cristo_. His eloquent narrative and expressive dialogue often brought me into the era depicted in the book. When I looked at him with admiration, his big and dark eyes would show joy and tenderness. Gradually, I'd miss his presence if I didn't see him for a day, and I'd instantly blush when I saw the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me.

We both understood what the subtle emotional changes meant, but neither of us would say anything about it. I knew that I liked to be with him. I liked to listen to him, talk to him, and watch him looking at me affectionately. People say the eyes are the window of the soul, and I could see the sparkles of his heart from his gaze.

A few months earlier, he asked me to meet him at the street garden in the west end of Huaihai Road so that he could tell me about Byron's satiric poem "Don Juan." Before that night, I had no idea there was such a secluded place amid the hustle and bustle of Huaihai Road, one of the busiest thoroughfares in Shanghai.

It was a beautiful night. The countless stars in the dark sky shone luminously. The small garden was empty, as if it was a rendezvous place only for the two of us. A tall palm tree stood next to the green bench where we sat. Under the dim street lights, our silhouettes were quietly projected onto the tree trunk, looking absolutely poetic.

As he eloquently told me the contents of the book, I stared at the shadows under my feet. Suddenly, the shadows moved and squirmed; he had turned to face me. When he grabbed me, kissing my face, my hair, and my hand, I wasn't surprised.

The stars in the sky were smiling and singing, sharing our joy. The palm trees moved with their arms, as if dancing, as if nodding. A bright moon hung in the night sky, like a silver mirror, reflecting a pair of lovers cuddling under the trees.

"I love you, Chun!" he said in the shadow of darkness, his eyes like two glittering stars.

I said nothing but looked up at him happily and affectionately.

The autumn wind swayed our clothes and touched our faces. Since then, the sun of love had been shining on us, giving us endless warmth and fervor.

*

"Chun," he was whispering in my ear. I looked up and saw him beam with a toothy smile. I looked down reflexively and saw that our shadows were reflected in the lily pond, with the goldfish swimming leisurely under the flat round leaves, swinging their tails.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, looking into my eyes.

"Nothing." I was too shy to tell him what I had been thinking. I awkwardly turned to look at the fish and said, "I wanted to ask you the same question; you haven't talked for quite a while now."

"Can you guess what I was thinking?" He smiled sweetly.

"Who knows?" I looked away, and I could tell my face turned slightly red. He lifted me up, gently holding my shoulders and guiding me toward the rockery, following the running creek.

There was a small pavilion at the back of the rockery. The Yang Shan Tang was shown on the manmade lake with a clear reflection. The water started to divert from here. One stream entered the rockery, and the other flowed through a gate toward the Wan Hua Lou. The body of water was narrow and thin, and it wound through the long walls of flowers and disappeared behind the rocks. We stopped at the lake. Leaning against the railing was a couple. The girl was holding a bag of biscuits, throwing pieces into the lake while giggling, attracting a group of goldfish swimming to and fro under her shadow. The man had his hands around her waist.

Si Jun leaned against the railing, looking into my eyes, and asked, "Look at them—do you think they are happy?"

I nodded. In my opinion, those who had found love were always happy. Didn't the hands that held them together symbolize their happiness?

"It isn't always true," he said with a faint smile. "Today's love is far from being pure, at least not as romantic as the stories we read in novels. Just take people in the city of Shanghai. Before looking for someone to love, the woman wants to know whether the man has a house, whether he has a good job and is making good money, whereas the man wants to know how many people are in the girl's household and whether he needs to provide financial support. If the man has a good job and money, he wants a beautiful wife. If the woman is beautiful, she wants to marry a rich man. This is called finding a spouse, not falling in love! It's more like buying and selling, not pairing. Love built on those conditions can't bring happiness. I decided a long time ago that I wouldn't marry anyone if I weren't falling in love with her. If there is no one in the world worthy of my love, I'd rather be single."

I didn't know what to say because I was so impressed. I thought about how noble he was, how pure our love was, and how lucky I was!

"But four years ago, she miraculously walked into my life. She brought me the warmth of spring and the intensity of the sun. I followed her around like a shaMotherdow, and I can't stay away from her. I see her in my dreams, as soon as I close my eyes at night. I love her, can't live without her, just like a drunk who can't live without the wine." He was getting so excited that his chest was undulating, and his breath was blowing on my face. "She is my star, my moon, and everything that I long for. I know she loves me, too, but I haven't heard her say it out loud. Yes, she hasn't said that she loves me!" He held my hand tightly.

I was so in awe that I just stared at him.

"Does she still refuse to say it?" His tone changed as he grabbed my hands, demanding, "Does she love me as much as I love her?"

People walked past us, attracted by the goldfish in the pond. A few couples had stopped right next to us. I broke free of his hands and, embarrassed, said, "I don't want to say it in front of so many people!"

"Why not?" he said stubbornly. "You can lower your voice."

I glanced at him. His face had turned red, and his big black eyes shone with strange brilliance; he stared at me, and the burning fire in his eyes could melt the hardest ice. I quickly lowered my eyes.

"Chun!"

I opened my mouth but closed it again. In my heart, I knew how much I loved him. Hadn't I been calling his name in my sleep? Hadn't I been thinking about him no matter where I was? But when I was urged to tell him my love, my shyness stopped me.

He became visibly irritated and held my arms with added pressure. "Chun!"

I raised my eyes and said softly into his ear, "I love you."

"Yes, you love me—I heard it!" he cried, covering his ears excitedly.

Almost everyone around turned to look at us. I was so embarrassed that I covered my face and fled.

He followed me and caught me in front of Ding Chun Tang.

He pulled me toward him and kissed me. "Thank you," he said with a radiant smile.

From Feng Wu Yi Ming, we could see the Dian Chun Tang across from us. As soon as he saw the pavilion, he insisted we go in. We walked in and sat on ebony chairs, looking out at the scenery outside the pavilion.

Dian Chun Tang was the headquarters of Liu Lichuan, the leader of the Shanghai Rebellion Army Xiao Dao Hui during the Xianfeng period of the Qing dynasty. Today, the hall displayed the weapons used by the members of the rebellion and detailed illustrations of the inauguration of the army. But he didn't look at the display. He was just holding my hands and looking at my face, happily and contentedly, for a long time.

The scene on the east side of the pavilion was beautiful, with different peaks, ponds, and wooden bridges. From there, we could see Kuai, the pavilion.

"Chun..." he called softly.

"Yes?" I was looking at a little red kiosk on the rockery.

"Chun!" he cried, pulling my hands.

I looked back and saw him staring at me. "Are you cold?" he asked.

I shook my head.

He bit his lower lip and said haltingly, "Chun, we have to swear to love each other forever."

I blushed and said, "I swear."

"Swear we'll never separate or grow apart."

"I swear."

"Dearest, I'll love you forever and ever!" He hugged me, and his eyes bright with tears.

The sun shone warmly on us, and our hearts were like the spring water, swaying with happiness.

"Our love will be as deep as the roots of the trees in front of Wan Hua Lou," he looked at me and declared.

I remembered the two big, tall trees in front of Wan Hua Lou, a ginkgo and a magnolia. The labels hanging on the trees told us that they were from the Ming dynasty. Although the leaves of the ginkgo tree were gone because of the winter, from the way its branches were staggered, I could imagine the scene of midsummer with shades of leaves. Looking at the ginkgo tree, which needed three people linked together to enclose it, it wasn't difficult to imagine how deep the roots were. Yes, I hoped that our love would be as deep as the roots of the tree!

# 2

It was already three in the afternoon when I reached home.

"Are you tired?" Father asked, looking up from his desk when he saw me.

"No." I shook my head.

Mother came in from the kitchen. She said casually to Father, "You should leave now; you don't want to be there too late."

I looked back and caught her looking at me searchingly while talking to my father. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.

Father got up. "OK, let's go. Shu Fen, are you going?"

"No, you two go."

"We haven't gone for nearly a year," Father said. "Today is New Year's Day; let's go as a family. Chun Ming, what do you think?" He winked at me with a smile.

I got the hint and immediately begged my mother to join us: "Mom, please!"

"Go with your father," Mother said. "I have to finish a pair of pants for you and a shirt for your father." Her voice was so gentle that it effectively prevented us from discussing the matter further. At home, Father and I always listened to her. If she had decided on something, neither of us would object. Besides, she had to take care of us and do all the shopping, cooking, cleaning, and sewing, in addition to her full-time job as a high school teacher, working six days a week. She was busier during the weekend and holidays because she'd often take on some project, like making us new outfits, when she had a chunk of free time.

Father bought two bottles of wine soaked with tiger bones for my uncle, and Mother gave my aunt a bag of _Gastrodia_ as a gift. Carrying a bulging bag full of goodies, I squeezed onto the bus with my father.

My uncle was a professor of physics at Fudan University. He and his wife had one child, a son, who had been sent to Heilongjiang Construction Corps by the government eight years ago. Because they hadn't had a kid around for so long, they treated me like their own. When I was in school, I went to visit them quite often. Now I could only go during the holidays because I had to work, and they lived very far from the city. It just so happened that I was actually looking forward to seeing my uncle because I wanted to seek his advice on drawing and painting. Earlier that morning, Fang Si Jun had told me that I'd be transferred to the pattern design team next week, a much better job than a floor worker spraying colorful paint on cups and bowls. It was what he had gotten for me through persuasion and maneuvering. But I didn't know how to paint, so I wanted my uncle to teach me.

My uncle had picked up painting only ten years ago when he was forced to step aside at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution. Without anything to do at home, he began to learn brush painting. Now he was so good at it that many painters had become his painting buddies. I knew he'd be pleased if I asked him. I told my father what was on my mind, and he agreed. He only wondered why I'd suddenly changed my job. He asked me twice but let it drop when I refused to tell him.

Because we were riding a bus with people all around us, my father and I didn't talk at all on the way to my uncle's house; we just looked at the scenery outside the bus and fell into meditation.

*

I loved my father, but I rarely saw him when I was growing up. Every night, he came home after I had already fallen asleep; every morning, he left before I woke up. The only times I could see him were Sundays and holidays, when he let me sit on his lap, hugging me, kissing me, tickling my face with his bearded one. Those were my happiest times. If the weather permitted, he'd take me to Xijiao Park to see lions, elephants, monkeys, and tigers; to Changfeng Park to climb the rocky mountain and to row; and to Hongkou Park to visit Lu Xun Memorial Hall. He taught me to sing, told me bedtime stories, and bought me comic books. I followed him around like a fascinated puppy.

During the week, however, I'd always ask my mother before going to bed: Where was my father? Why didn't he come home? My mother would put down the homework that she was correcting and try to soothe me. If it was a Saturday, she'd say, "Daddy will be back soon. He'll take you to the park tomorrow." As if hearing a lullaby, I'd close my eyes and fall asleep instantly.

Gradually, I grew up, went to school, and got my own bed in a small room between my father's study and my parents' bedroom. As I grew older, I got used to his absence. At that time, he was always smiling, revealing his contentedness and self-confidence. He loved my mother but loved me even more. Mother always told me that when he came home, he'd first go to my room to see me and press a kiss on my cheek.

Every Sunday morning, he sat in the wicker chair in his study, reading his newspaper. As soon as the door opened, I'd fly into his arms and say loudly, "Good morning, Dad! Good morning!" My childish cry like a little sparrow, making my father laugh heartily.

Everything changed ten years ago, before I graduated from elementary school, when my father started coming home early. Since then, he often stayed at home all day and all night. The confident smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a sad expression that hadn't really left. He'd sit in front of his desk silently, without saying a word, for long stretches of time. Back then, I was the only one who didn't know what was happening and the only one who wasn't depressed.

Finally, he smiled again. It was after the Fourth National People's Congress a few years ago when his company, the Computer Technology Research Institute, had resumed daily research activities. As the chief engineer who had been sidelined for eight years, he regained his job title and became a consultant for the younger generation.

When he smiled, my mother smiled, too, and our family was full of laughter again. With a smile on his face, my father started working late into the night. He used to work in his office in the early years, but he worked mostly at home now, going to his office twice a week. If Mother didn't put a stop onto it, the lights in his study would be kept on until dawn.

Mother was worried because of his health. She knew that he wouldn't do anything she didn't approve of, so she often pretended to be mad and ordered him to turn off the lights and go to bed. Father would promise, but if Mother didn't turn off the lights herself, they'd be on all night long.

Slowly but surely, the illness that had invaded my father's body was getting more and more serious. Excessive work and insomnia made his preexisting conditions, high blood pressure and heart disease, much worse. The risk of heart failure suddenly became very real. My mother was so worried that sometimes she'd turn off the lights without even saying a word.

"Shu Fen..." Father begged in the dark.

"You aren't well!" Mother replied, anxious and concerned. "You have to go to bed now!"

"But we're in this last phase..."

In a deadly silence, the lights would go back on again, sometimes. But most of the time, Mother wouldn't allow him to continue working because his health was failing fast.

Two months ago, he had come home with a sullen face that we hadn't seen for a long time. Mother asked him what went wrong, and he told her that the party secretary of his company had been replaced, and the newcomer had ordered the stoppage of all research projects immediately.

"Why?" my mother asked.

"He said if we were doing research, we wouldn't be interested in class struggles," my father explained. "He also said that we shouldn't use scientific research as an excuse to replace revolution; otherwise, we would fail the goal and ideals of the Communist Party."

"Perfect for you," Mother said a bit sarcastically. "You can stay home recuperating and getting your health back."

"What does he know?" Father muttered with a sigh. "He's only a young man..."

For a short period afterward, my mother didn't have to urge him to turn off the lights anymore.

About half a month ago, however, he came home one night humming a tune. My mother and I were intrigued about what had happened to make him so happy. He told us that he had received an order from his superiors to report to the Bureau of Telecom to help design an integrated circuit computer, called "Project 114."

"I can finally work again." He beamed with excitement. "This order came from the very top, so they had no choice but to let me go."

To my father, work was his life, and he could hardly live without it.

*

The loud voice of the bus conductor who was announcing the name of our stop roused me from my reflections. We got off at Fudan University and walked to the faculty dormitory.

The faculty dormitory at Fudan consisted of several rows of three-story brick houses with empty lots in front. In the past, the slots were planted with flowers and vegetables, but now they were mostly barren. Ropes were tied between withered tree trunks, some with clothes hanging and others bare.

My uncle lived in a small house, built for tenured professors, located on the other side of the faculty dormitory. I walked up the stone steps leading to the house with my father and gently pushed the door open.

Inside was quiet; I couldn't hear any noise, but the door leading to the hallway was open. I thought my uncle must be in the study. Sure enough, he was sitting in front of his desk, painting, while being watched by Uncle Zhong, who was a good friend and a professor in the Chinese Department at Fudan, specializing in pre-Qin literature. He had published quite a few research books and articles on the Book of Songs and Chu Ci before the Cultural Revolution. On Sundays, he was often a guest at my uncle's house, and I'd known him since I was a child.

Seeing us, my uncle immediately stood up from his antique ebony desk, which occupied a third of the room, greeting us happily with a big smile. Father and Uncle Zhong were old acquaintances; they shook hands and chatted amiably.

"Where is Auntie?" I looked around and asked.

"She's out in Wujiaochang right now, grocery shopping," my uncle told me. "We received a holiday fish certificate," he explained to my father. "She waited in line for three hours this morning but got nothing. They ran out of supply! I told her to give it up, but she didn't want to, so she went again after lunch, hoping to get some fish. You'll see—more than an eighty percent chance she'll be disappointed again."

My uncle was my father's only brother, ten years older. They looked very similar: same height, same build, except my uncle was a bit rounded around the waist. My father was too thin. If he didn't have heart disease, I believed he could be as bulky as my uncle. The only difference between the two brothers was that my father's hair had only a touch of silver, whereas my uncle's hair was completely white.

Father took the _Gastrodia_ from the bag, saying that my mother had bought them for my aunt, who suffered severe headaches from time to time. My uncle took down two boxes of medicine from the bookcase and handed them to my father, telling him they were the newest drug for coronary heart disease. Father thanked him and took out two bottles of wine. "Drink a small amount every night; it helps to reduce arthritic pain."

"Don't you worry about me," my uncle said dismissively. "The sheepskin covers Shu Fen made for me last year are very good. I put them on during the winter and feel much better. What I worry about is you—high blood pressure plus heart disease! My friend, the doctor, told me that you have to take it easy while taking this medicine. Don't work too hard; don't get too excited."

"Nonsense," Father said indifferently. "I am getting used to it now, and I know how to control it." What more could he say? My uncle knew him too well to say anything.

At that moment, I told my uncle about my intention, and he was very pleased. "Yes, the design itself is an art form that requires the skills of drawing and painting," he said cheerfully while looking at me. "A few years ago, I even advised your father to give it a try."

I glanced at my father, who was standing in front of the bookcase, reading the spine of a book absentmindedly, as if he didn't hear anything that my uncle had said.

Uncle lifted his right hand, waving a circle at the walls of his study with self-satisfaction. "These are the results of the ten years that I spent on painting. You're young and a quick learner. You can definitely catch up with me in less than ten years."

My uncle's study was quite small, only about 150 square feet. But there were more than twenty paintings hanging on the walls: some were simply pasted; some were placed in frames. There were long strips and banners; there were landscapes, flowers, and birds; some were meticulously painted, and some were big splashes of ink; some as elegant as Dong Qichang, Ni Yunlin, and some as rich as Li Sixun. I usually didn't pay much attention to the paintings on the walls. But now that I had looked closely, I couldn't help but admire the skill of my uncle as a painter.

"If you want to be good at a craft, you have to use your brain as well as your heart. You can master it only when you dive in wholeheartedly," he added with a smile.

I nodded. He must have been devoted to his craft!

"Chinese brush painting is about artistic conception," he continued. "The intention is foremost. You want to form an image, or a realm, to enable people to see the painting as your spiritual taste and understanding."

"Just as Su Dongpo said: every word in a poem has to have a meaning; more is achieved when less is said, but the best should bring out the aftertaste that makes people think. Professor Du's work is the perfect example of merging the scene with poetry."

"Ha-ha!" Uncle burst out laughing. He squinted his eyes and said to me, "Your Uncle Zhong loves to tease me." He turned and pointed two fingers at his old friend. "However, it is true that you should embed poetry in what you paint."

Holding his long silver-white beard, Uncle Zhong turned to my father and said with a smile, "Jing Zi, your brother has successfully transferred from a professor of physics to a painter without even trying."

I looked at my father nervously because he disapproved of my uncle's indulgence. I remembered what he had once said to my mother: "Physicist falls in love with painting—what's become of him?" I was afraid that he'd blurt out his criticism and make everyone around him uncomfortable.

But Father only smiled. "For him, everything is easy if he dives into it."

My uncle looked quite pleased. He pointed at me and said proudly, "When I was her age, I was fascinated with molecules and particles, so I dived in. Now I am fascinated with painting..." His face, however, soon became gloomy. "Come, my child, I'll teach you now," he said bluntly.

I looked at my father as well as Uncle Zhong, who had subtly different expressions on their faces. Uncle Zhong wasn't on the same boat as my uncle. He was still a member of the faculty. Although he hadn't been invited to give lectures since 1966, he was called back to speak at the assembly from time to time when he was needed. But he understood my uncle and approved everything he chose to do. He and my uncle were best friends and confidants.

"To start, you shall paint from life. You see, that's the reason I planted all those things in the garden—daffodils, orchids, bamboo—so I can paint them. You have to paint the real things until you can sketch from your memory." He went to the tall windows and pushed them open. A breeze came in; it smelled so refreshing that even my father's gaze was attracted to the garden beyond.

The house my uncle lived in was detached. There were several identical houses in the vicinity, and the dormitory stood in the distance. There was a large open field in front of the house where my uncle had cultivated a small garden near his home. There were leafy vegetables and cabbage varieties but mostly plants. Near the window, there was a row of banana trees. Some mature ones had more than a dozen large leaves, whereas the young ones had only a few. The banana trees were surrounded by a cluster of rose bushes that had bare branches. On one side of the wall, there were dozens of tall chrysanthemums with withered leaves due to the cold weather. My uncle didn't plant flowers before the Cultural Revolution. It used to be a vegetable garden with many varieties. Every time I came to visit, my aunt would pick up a few for the dishes that she'd cook for me that night. But now, the vegetable garden had transformed into a world of plants.

My uncle soon concentrated on the task of making black ink on the inkstone. He looked so serious it was reminiscent of his rigorous attitude in the laboratory. I couldn't help thinking innocently, _If he could teach me physics now, how thrilled he'd be!_ As I was reflecting, I turned to my father, whose face looked so bleak it startled me.

I glanced at him nervously, forgetting that my uncle was giving me a valuable lesson on brush painting. Vaguely, I heard him telling me about the difference in styles that emerged in the past and what the two main schools, Nanzong and Beizong, represented in the art world. My nervousness must have caught the attention of my uncle, whose gaze quickly confronted my father. They looked at each other silently for a long time, and then my uncle slowly withdrew his eyes, and Father lowered his. I stood between the two, as unnerved as if I was sitting on a fire. Uncle Zhong fared even worse; he looked so jumpy that he turned this way and that, entertaining the possibility of withdrawing his presence.

"Are you going to go on like this?" Father finally said; his voice was so low it seemed that he was murmuring to himself.

My uncle glanced at him but said nothing. He picked up the brush and soaked it with ink, lifting it up and then putting it down. He sighed. "Is there any other way? Do you think I'm willing? If they come to me, I'd go back in a second! But...sometimes, people have to do what they can to protect themselves..."

"Protect...?" Father's face wrinkled up. He turned his gaze toward the window impulsively while pressing his chest with his hands, as if asking himself, "What do we live for? Just for protecting ourselves?"

"What do you know?" uncle roared, standing up. He had a blue vein on his forehead, like a trapped tiger.

I was so shocked that I felt as though my heart had been tightened by an invisible rope so that the air couldn't pass through.

Uncle bit his lip and stared at the inkstone in front of him. "This is the last resort," he said with a sigh. "But I'd never hurt anyone to save myself like some people did. I..." He closed his eyes and fell into the chair.

Father hung his head in silence; he must have felt very regretful. I looked at Uncle Zhong, hoping he would say something to change the atmosphere in the room, but he, sitting on the edge of a chair, was more nervous than I was. What should I do? If only my aunt would come home! I suddenly realized that my aunt, who was trying to get some fish at the market in Wujiaochang, was the only one who might be able to handle this embarrassing situation, and I looked forward to seeing her as our savior.

But the ultimate silence breaker wasn't the return of my aunt but, instead, my father. "Forgive me," he said in a low voice that was almost inaudible. He covered his eyes with his hands. "How could I not know you? Like me, you've been put in a cowshed, arrested and criticized as a counterrevolutionary; the lab that you worked for was forced to shut down. The campus of Fudan has always been a battleground—"

"We're different," my uncle interrupted him. "You're still working for your ideals, but I'm not..."

"You're forced," Father said with a trembling voice. "We all are! Oh, why are we still talking nonsense!"

"You're right! We can't live just to save ourselves; we...our cause...career," my uncle whispered, and the brush in his hand was broken in half.

Looking at his older brother with deep feeling and affection, my father raised his right forefinger and said to me, "Go, my child. Go to your uncle and ask him to teach you."

I hesitantly moved closer to my uncle.

Uncle slammed the table and rolled up his sleeves. He threw away the broken brush and said to me, "Let's begin."

Uncle Zhong heaved a long sigh as he settled into his chair.

At that moment, my aunt walked in with a basket. As soon as she saw me, she laughed. "I was mad at everything before coming home, but as soon as I saw you, my mood brightened!"

We all laughed awkwardly. She soon left to put things away in the kitchen, without noticing the embarrassing atmosphere in the room.

That night, we had dinner together at my uncle's home. My aunt had spent hours waiting in line but only got two small yellow croakers and a pound of pork meat. Fortunately, she was a culinary expert. The pound of meat was diced, shredded, sliced, and fried, then mixed with vegetables to make several dishes. Uncle opened a bottle of fragrant rice wine, and the two brothers talked. They talked about their hometown where they grew up, about studying in the United States, and about their desires in life. My father asked about Jian Hua, my cousin. He had heard that the only child might soon be allowed to return home.

"But his affair might complicate his return." My uncle had poured a small cup of wine and drained it.

My aunt smiled and turned to my father. "Jian Hua has a girlfriend, from Beijing..."

"Really?" I was so excited that I stopped eating.

"Oh?" Father looked at my uncle, interested.

My uncle nodded. "He has to decide what to do about it," he said. "If he returns to Shanghai but she can't, what should he do?"

"According to Jian Hua, the girl is not only beautiful but has a mild temperament. They seem to like each other a lot..."

"Then your son won't be back home," my uncle retorted.

"As long as they love each other, I don't mind." My aunt thought for a moment and said, "Jian Hua can go to Beijing if she can't come to Shanghai. By the way, they said they'd come home to visit us."

"Great!" I clapped.

"When?" my father asked.

"Before Spring Festival," said my aunt happily.

I was so excited that I didn't hear what else my uncle and my father said because I was busily thinking what it'd be like to meet my cousin's girlfriend for the first time. The last time my cousin came home, I was still in school. Now I was a factory worker who had four years of experience. I hoped my father would invite them for dinner during the Spring Festival when we had three days off.

Uncle Zhong was sitting on my left; because the two brothers were talking nonstop, and he had failed to insert himself, he started talking to me about the pre-Qin philosophers, the martial affairs of the Spring and Autumn Period (770–476 BC), and the Warring States Period (475–221 BC). Although I wasn't interested at all in ancient Chinese history, in order not to disappoint him, I tried my best to listen to him attentively. It made him very happy. After the meal, he praised me and said to my father, "If Chun Ming would study classics with me, she could become a great scholar."

*

We left after nine o'clock at night. My father suggested that we take the bus to the Bund and then walk home from there, saying that walking after a meal could help digestion.

There was no need for him to explain because I knew what he was up to. In the past twenty years, my father had always been my mentor and my friend. I had never done anything without consulting him. Every step I took, he pointed my way, and everything I learned had his effort. He not only raised me but also taught me. I could never hide from him or deceive him.

Even though I had tried to suppress my impulsiveness so that I could introduce Fang Si Jun to him with a calm and objective tone, I still couldn't help showing my emotions between the lines.

In the course of my narrative, my father barely said a word.

I raised my eyes and studied the expression on his face. I knew my happiness would be guaranteed if I could get his consent. But what if he vetoed it? I couldn't imagine what'd happen if he did. He loved me, and he knew how much I loved Fang Si Jun, and he must know that his disapproval would take my happiness away. He wouldn't reject him without a reason, of course, but what would I do if he did? Did I want to abandon my lover? Could I stop loving him? Oh no! I had given him everything, including my heart, and I couldn't live without him. However, without my father's blessing, I wouldn't be happy. A daughter needs her father like the flower needs the sunshine; if the world has lost the sun, everything becomes dark.

As I was thinking, there was an ill-omened premonition of a cold wind blowing over the Huangpu River, and I shivered.

My father was quiet, looking like a judge who had unlimited power. I watched him expectantly, afraid of hearing the ominous word of rejection.

"I can tell that you love him very much." This was his first sentence. "Does he love you?"

"Of course! He loves me as much as I love him."

"Since I haven't met him yet, I can't tell what kind of person he is. However, as a father, I want you to be happy and loved by a good man, not some hypocrite."

"You can rest assured, Dad, he is by no means the kind of person who is shallow, looking only for beauty or money. He vowed a few years ago..."

"Do you know him well?" Father's eyes showed a smile.

"Yes, I know everything about him. I know his character, his personality, his knowledge..."

After listening to my father's questions, I felt as if a heavy rock had been removed. I knew he'd approve—because he loved me, and he knew my heart. My radiant smile made my father smile.

"Chun Ming, do you want to hear the love story of your parents?" he asked, his eyes flashing brightly.

"Yes, I do!" I knew my father met my mother in the United States, but I didn't know the details as to where and how they met.

"You know, my first love wasn't your mother." His eyes had left my face as he recalled his earlier years. "She was a very beautiful girl, smart, loved to dress up, and loved me. At that time, I was studying at UCLA. I had a very good friend, a classmate, and your mother is his sister. Unfortunately, he had a car accident and died young. During the weekends, I often took my girlfriend to his home. She and your mother knew each other and were very good friends. In 1949, I graduated from college, and she urged me to marry her. But I thought I should return to China because it was so poor, so backward, so lacking in technical strength. When I left to study abroad with your uncle, we had vowed to return so that we could help to change all that. I put my plan in front of her, asking her to wait for another few years, let me learn some more, and then we'd return to China. When she knew that I planned to return, she had a nervous breakdown; she couldn't understand why I wanted to give up such good living conditions in the United States. When she saw that if she followed me, she'd have to give up everything, she was scared. She wrote me a letter saying that I was to choose either her or China. Choosing between the two. At that moment, I finally realized that the love between us was very fragile. I didn't really know her, and she didn't know me; therefore, I didn't hesitate to choose the path that I took. In the following three years, I studied hard and obtained both a master's degree and a doctoral degree. In 1952, I said goodbye to my classmates and friends, and with your mother by my side, I returned to China. Your mother is my best friend and my confidant; she abandoned everything and followed me back..."

He raised his eyes and looked at the dark sky. His face was so sincere when he said: "Every day I thank her for giving me what I have, a true love, a happy family, and a lovely angel, my daughter." He smiled, his eyes filled with happiness and satisfaction.

"Dad!" I was so moved that I stopped walking and hugged him.

"You see," he said, looking into my eyes dotingly, "I understand the value of love, knowing that true love can bring happiness and that blind love can bring pain. I have no demands on my future son-in-law, as long as he is upright, motivated, and truly loves you."

# 3

Soon the Spring Festival, a.k.a. Chinese New Year or Lunar New Year, arrived. In the month leading to it, a mournful event took place in China: our beloved Premier Zhou Enlai passed away. His death caused not only sorrow but anxiety among the people. What followed was extremely bizarre—as if losing the lighthouse on a stormy night while cruising, people panicked. There were hushed discussions, nervous anticipation, and outright fear. Over the sky above China, the darkest clouds were gathering...

The day before New Year's Eve, my father received a phone call from my uncle, saying Jian Hua and his girlfriend had arrived. Father invited them over for dinner on the first day of Chinese New Year.

Although the city had banned the sale of firecrackers to private individuals since the Cultural Revolution started, firecrackers still dominated the streets and the sky of the city during the festival. A series of smashing and blasting followed me to bed. In the morning when I woke up, there were still the sounds of firecrackers in the distance, one after another, extinguished here but ringing out there.

I yawned but quickly pulled a sweater over my head. In February, the morning was bitterly cold. Without heating in the city and at home, I shivered, trembling through the hallway and into the bathroom. It was quiet in my parents' bedroom. In order to provide a nice meal for my cousin, I was the first one to get up.

When we were eating dinner last night, my mother complained that the shortage of holiday supplies had required longer queues even with rationed food, so some of the ingredients for the dishes that I planned to cook hadn't yet been bought. She intended to get up before dawn to do some last-minute shopping, but I thought she had done enough for us in the past few days—shopping, cooking, cleaning, preparing for the festival—that I volunteered to do it for her. She wasn't so sure at first, afraid that I didn't know what to buy. But I said that because everything was rationed and needed a certificate, as long as the certificate matched the item, like one fish certificate for a pound of fish and one egg certificate for a dozen eggs, what could possibly go wrong?

However, I became a bit nervous as I was getting ready for the long queues. What would happen if I couldn't secure what I needed? My cousin came home once in several years; it'd be a huge letdown if I couldn't treat him in style.

I washed, grabbed a bag of biscuits and put it in my coat pocket, and then wrapped a scarf around my neck and quietly opened the door.

At the head of the stairway, I could hear the footsteps of someone downstairs. It must be one of my neighbors who had to do the last-minute shopping like I did. In fact, I had a lot of company on my way to the market, all of them bundled up, with bamboo baskets in their hands.

In those days, on almost every occasion, I'd hear people complain about getting the basic supplies. We had to spend hours waiting in line for the necessities. Over the years, the variety and quantity of meat, seafood, and dairy products had been greatly reduced. To buy something nutritious that hadn't yet been rationed, like tofu and seasonal vegetables, people had to rush to the market at the crack of dawn to queue up. As the lines got longer, the complaints got louder. If my mother got up a bit late, she wouldn't be able to get something as basic as Chinese cabbage. In that case, she had to substitute our meals with buns and breads that she got at the local bakeries.

Fresh fish and meat were scarce, and there was only one dozen eggs a month for each family. During the national holidays like Chinese New Year, however, we could get an extra ration of everything. For people who didn't eat pork, even beef and lamb were available.

In the past, it wasn't difficult to get fruits and vegetables, although fish and meat were always rationed. When I was a child, my mother could bring home a basket full of fresh produce within ten minutes. There was a stall outside our building. The old lady selling vegetables and fruits was so loud that her yelling to promote her produce could rival the horns of the cars.

It was still dark when I reached the market. Under the streetlights, I could see it was packed. It seemed that everyone had come earlier than I did, and the food stalls were mobbed with shoppers. I had to push myself in and out of the crowds so that I could tell what produce the stall was selling. I was horrified. Feeling the booklet of certificates in my pocket, I began to worry whether it'd been in vain to get up so early. I wouldn't mind if I only missed a few hours of sleep, but today was different; I couldn't go home with an empty basket.

A middle-aged woman squeezed past me. She stood on her toes and peeked in, checking the goods at the stall in front of us. "No worries," she said, turning toward her husband. "They won't run out of fish."

"What do you want me to do?" her husband asked. "You can wait here for the fish, and I'll go for the eggs."

"Wait!" His wife grabbed him and handed him a small bamboo basket. "Take it and place it behind you. As soon as you see someone come, ask him to watch the basket, so you can go to the bean stall and get some fried tofu."

The man took the small bamboo basket and left.

"Beware of people who'd kick away an empty basket!" his wife cautioned him.

I thought I should do the same. I tightened my scarf a bit and squeezed into the alley, following the middle-aged woman. A long line from the entrance to the back of the alley had formed. I waited for a while, and the moment I saw two people line up behind me, I asked them to watch my basket and hurried away toward the meat stall. Soon, I had positioned myself for three stalls.

As soon as the sky revealed a thread of pinkish white, the market exploded. All the stalls were opened at five, and the sound of shouting, arguing, tapping, and percussion burst into the open. I didn't think the wild cats seeking forage could be as busy as I was, rushing in and out of the stalls like a crazed woman.

My shoes got dirty, and I was sweaty as I rushed around, but my basket became heavier and heavier. When I finally returned to the fish stall, I had a sense of accomplishment. I had bought everything except the fish! There was still a long line in front of the stall, but people around me were chatting confidently that it had ample supply.

The sun had finally shown its smile, expelling the fatigue of early morning out of my system. Under the sun, I could see the faces of the people waiting around me. The minute I saw how everyone looked; I broke out in a smile. It was understandable if the old folks didn't pay attention to their appearance, but it was rare when young women skipped their beauty routines. Instead of being presentable, everyone in the market looked disheveled and unkempt—they probably hadn't spent a second in front of a mirror before dashing out the door. The urgency of getting enough food for the holiday had made people forget everything. I couldn't help but blush when I subconsciously touched my hair. Out of the house in a hurry, I had forgotten to brush my hair, the first time ever in my life! I couldn't do anything now because there was no mirror in the marketplace and no comb!

The long line was gradually shortening, and the time passed quickly. Looking at the rising sun, however, I was getting more and more restless. The bag of biscuits had been swallowed whole a few hours ago, and I felt my stomach grumbling while the cold wind blowing. The people around me all rubbed their hands and stomped their feet, looking at the fish barrels around the salesmen anxiously.

Finally, I had fish in my basket too. When I walked home with a full basket, I was so happy that I forgot that I was very hungry and freezing cold.

*

"Mom!" If I hadn't touched the fish, which had left some fishy residue on my hands, I would've lifted her in excitement. "I got everything!" I was so proud that I almost shouted.

"Hush," Mother said with a smile. She stroked my frozen face and told me my cousin and his girlfriend had arrived.

"Really?" I turned around and rushed out.

"Wait." Mother grabbed my hand and stopped me. "You haven't combed your hair!"

"Oops!" I shrunk back. Feeling rather embarrassed, I asked her if she could go to my room to get me the comb. I was just ready to open the cupboard and find something to eat when I heard someone calling me.

"Ah, Jian Hua!" I didn't jump at him only because I saw a girl standing next to him.

"This is Lin Nan," Jian Hua said, introducing her to me.

"Hi, Chun Ming," she greeted me with a big smile. Her voice was soft, with a Beijing accent.

"Hi." I lowered my eyes shyly.

"Your father said you'd left home very early this morning; you must be tired," she said with concern.

"No, I'm not tired," I shook my head, raising my eyes to meet hers.

"Wow, a full basket!" Jian Hua's eyes widened when he saw the basket that I had placed on the gas stove. "You must've got up in the middle of the night!"

"She knew that you were coming, so she insisted on shopping for you," said my mother, coming into the kitchen with a comb in her hand. "In such a rush that she forgot to comb her hair," she said and handed me the comb.

"You must be very hungry," Lin Nan said, taking the comb from me. "Please sit down and eat, and let me help you."

"No, I can do it."

"Let her do it," my mother said.

Lin Nan insisted on helping while asking my cousin to take my mother back to the living room.

Mother couldn't resist; she took the festival specialty dish, steamed sweet rice with red bean paste, from the warmer for me before heading to the living room.

Lin Nan let me sit in a chair, making sure that I started eating before gently opening my braids and combing my hair.

I felt her hands, soft and warm, on my head. She combed it, braided it, and tied it up before walking over to look at me. "Do you like it?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said, feeling my hair with my hands.

"Let's look at it in front of a mirror." She smiled and pulled me up.

We walked into my room and stood side by side in front of the mirror.

"Looks good." In the mirror, I saw her smile.

"Yes." I smiled back.

She had a straight nose, a mouth with full lips, and a pair of beautiful eyes, big and bright; when she looked at you, they were filled with gentleness. She was beautiful, kind, and calm.

I took her to my desk and showed her all kinds of things that I had collected over the years. Maybe we had spent too much time together in my room—my cousin had come in and out more than a few times.

"Jian Hua, why do you keep walking in and out?" I finally asked.

He smiled at me and didn't answer. He walked to Lin Nan and said, "Nan, can you go and help Auntie?"

"Oh." She blushed as she raised her beautiful eyes. "I asked her to call me if she needs help," she said hurriedly and stood up.

"Don't go; you're a guest." I blocked her, insisting that she should sit down. "I'll go to help her."

"We can work together." She smiled warmly, grabbing my hand and leading me to the kitchen.

She was very efficient and tidy, which made my mother happy. My cousin, meanwhile, cutting the meat into small squares and pieces, would look up at her from time to time. If she caught his glance, she'd smile at him. Looking at them, I suddenly remembered what my uncle had said when we visited him. I quietly pulled Jian Hua aside when I got a chance and asked, "Does Uncle like your girlfriend?"

"Oh yes," he said happily with a broad smile. "Mom and Dad both like her a lot!"

I later learned that after my uncle had met Lin Nan, he was so smitten that he told my aunt that his son could choose which city to settle in. Lin Nan was such a sweetie; I could guarantee that whoever met her would like her.

In order to keep my promise to cook for my cousin and Lin Nan, my mother persuaded them to leave me alone. As I rolled up my sleeves in the kitchen, Mother was by my side, preparing the side dishes.

I bought a big pomfret fish, which was fried and then served with tomato sauce and seasoning. The tofu was cooked with wild mushrooms. The most interesting dish I made was fried creamed egg with black fungus. It had to be soft and had to be tender; it couldn't be too watery or too dry. I was looking at the frying pan, holding the gas switch with my left hand while using my right hand to quickly stir. Busily cooking felt totally different than waiting in line. It was exciting and rewarding because I was firmly in charge.

My cousin and Lin Nan were duly impressed. They told me that my cooking skills might be better than those of the cooks in the restaurants. I was so flattered that I giggled with delight.

My mother knew I liked Lin Nan, so she had assigned me to sit next to her. My mother was on my other side, then my father, who sat between my mother and Jian Hua.

Looking at Lin Nan and Jian Hua, I felt so happy. My mother's brother had died young. My father had one brother. I had only one cousin, whom I loved dearly. Every time my father took me to my uncle's house when I was a child, I'd always go after Jian Hua. He'd tell me tall tales; draw pictures for me, a car, a train, or a small motorboat; but also tease me, making me either laugh hysterically or cry sadly. If he had a toy that I liked, he always shared it with me.

When I grew older, I loved him even more because he was so smart and brainy. When I had a problem or ran into trouble, I'd ask for his help, and he could always find a way to help me. When I was with him, I depended on him. I'd consult him even on tiny issues like what color skirt I should ask my mother to buy. When he encountered such a problem, he showed his disdain unfailingly, of course.

Eight years ago, he was sent to Heilongjiang after high school, along with hundreds of thousands of others. Since then, we had only met a few times. When he came home for a visit, he could only stay for a week. Even though we hardly saw each other, my trust in him never diminished. He was always a capable, assertive big brother, and I was so glad that because of him, I gained a beautiful and sensible sister.

"Chun Ming," Mother said, touching my hand with her chopsticks.

"Ah?" I looked at her, at a loss.

"Why don't you help Lin Nan?"

As hosts, we should always keep our guest's plate full as a rule. Because I had been daydreaming, I forgot to be a good host. I blushed, picking up a piece of fish and putting it on her plate.

"I'll help myself," she said and turned to look at my mother. "Auntie, is it true that you're having trouble getting vegetables these days?"

"Yes." My mother grimaced. "Under the slogan 'No farmer should eat commercial rice,' the suburban farmers had to switch their vegetable fields to plant grains. Coupled with the fact that provinces around Shanghai like Jiangsu and Zhejiang are no longer willing to supply us with their produce, we're having a severe vegetable shortage right now."

"That's because all those people are from Shanghai!" Jian Hua burst out suddenly. He took a sip of the wine and put down the glass heavily.

"What do you mean?" Father put down his chopsticks and turned to question him.

"Have you heard the expression that Shanghai is a pool of stagnant water?" he asked instead of answering.

"After the death of Premier Zhou, even the United Nations was at half-staff. Foreign newspapers and periodicals published numerous mourning articles. However, in our country, after the memorial service, his name disappeared; many of his old comrades wrote commemorative articles, but none was published," Lin Nan said with raised eyebrows and a chilling look in her eyes.

"Oh!"

"Who are they?" my mother asked.

"The ones who are in charge of the newspapers and media," Jian Hua said.

"Premier Zhou had set an ambitious plan years ago for China to realize modernizations, strengthening the fields of agriculture, industry, defense, science, and technology," said my cousin. "The whole country had already moved ahead until they stopped the momentum with the accusation of him having pushed the country to the right."

My father nodded. "In the second half of last year, I thought everything was on track, then somehow, it stopped. The current situation is even worse than before!" He shook his head in dismay.

"Their slogan 'Better to be a socialist weed than a capitalist flower' is such bullshit! Their purpose is to mess up our country!" Jian Hua was fuming. He pointed to Lin Nan and said, "Her father works for the Bureau of Planning. He told us if we can't reverse the situation in time, the entire economy of our country could collapse!"

"If the entire economy collapses, our country will be finished!" Father pointed out the obvious with a frown. What was more worrying than the fate of one's country?

"Didn't anyone in the party object to them?" Mother asked.

Jian Hua shook his head. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another glass of wine, then emptied it in one gulp.

"Even Deng Xiaoping has disappeared from public," Father said.

"Deng Xiaoping is their opponent; they hate him," said Lin Nan matter-of-factly.

Father shook his head sadly. "Premier Zhou left us too early," he said.

"In my dreams, I sometimes hope for a miracle," my cousin said dreamily, holding his jaw in his hand, "that one day we'd be able to sweep those worms into the garbage..."

"I believe that the day will come." Lin Nan's voice was low but clear.

I looked at her. She was sitting rigidly like a marble statue. Except that her eyes were still big and beautiful, her lips still red and full, I could no longer find the warmth and gentleness in her. At that moment, I saw another Lin Nan, the one who made me feel awe. I had to say I liked the former, who reminded me of tenderness and love, but I couldn't help but respect the present one, who showed me the inner will and the strength of a modern woman.

"She wants to go back to Beijing," Jian Hua told us. "Her high school classmates had invited her to go to Tiananmen Square to properly mourn the Premier."

"When?" Mother sounded envious.

"If possible, please send a wreath for our family," Father said, looking at her with sincerity and expectation.

"I will," she said with a nod. "His parents asked me the same," she added shyly.

I could tell that my parents liked Lin Nan as much as I did. Her intelligence gained my father's respect, her temperament had my mother's approval, and her kindness and beautiful smile melted my heart. Even though we didn't say it out loud, we had been thinking the same thing: Jian Hua was so lucky; he had gained a life partner in Lin Nan.

She also told us a lot of surprising stuff. I had never heard of such things in my life before, so I couldn't help but move closer, listening to every word she uttered. From what she had said, I understood that even though Premier Zhou was dead, he was alive spiritually; although the TV stations didn't broadcast it, and the newspapers didn't publish articles mourning him, his name was engraved in the hearts of the people, who had been talking about him, thinking about him, and remembering him. His image was greater than ever.

"This may be the result that they didn't expect," Jian Hua said with a witty smile.

At the New Year's Day dinner table, people liked to talk about good omens and bright futures. Although Lin Nan talked about the dark clouds in the sky, it was more about the hope. She said with confidence that the current situation could be changed and that we, as people, had the power to change it.

"If the day, as you said, finally arrives, we'll have to drink for two celebrations!" Father said with a twinkle in his eye.

"You're correct." Lin Nan was unexpectedly frank; she looked at Jian Hua, eyes flashing with happiness and excitement. "We've already agreed that we'll get married when the day arrives."

My mother turned to Jian Hua, and he nodded with a smile.

"OK, your uncle will be looking forward to the day!" Father lifted his glass.

Lin Nan laughed, and her face was turning pink; in a blink of an eye, it had bloomed into a beautiful peach flower.

That night, I wanted her to sleep over. If Jian Hua hadn't told me jokingly that he'd be very jealous and probably mad at me, I wouldn't have let her go.

*

"She's so nice!" I couldn't help but cry when she and Jian Hua had left. "I love her!"

"What a wonderful daughter-in-law your brother is getting," Mother said to Father.

"What about our future son-in-law?" Father winked at me.

"Dad!" I felt my face turn scarlet. I pretended to turn away from him angrily but met my mother's smiling eyes as I turned. "Mom!" I hid my face in her arms. "Do you know? Did Dad tell you?"

Mother didn't answer; she just caressed my hair tenderly.

"Mom," I looked up at her and asked, "when can you and Dad meet him?"

# 4

I was tired after a busy day, but I couldn't sleep while lying in bed. The arrival of Jian Hua and his girlfriend reminded me once again of the man I loved. As soon as I thought of him, my face started burning, and I pulled up the quilt to cover it reflexively. When I remembered I was alone in my room, I broke into a quiet laugh under the sheet.

I could no longer hide the secret that I loved him. I wanted to see him all the time. If I didn't see him in a day, "it seemed like three autumns," as the Chinese proverb says, and I'd be restless. We usually saw each other every day at work, sometimes briefly, but as long as we met and looked at each other, we felt loved because what our hearts desired shone through our eyes.

I was thinking about him when I fell asleep.

"Chun Ming, telephone!" My mother's knocking on the door awoke me; I walked barefooted and opened the door.

"Who's calling?" I asked.

"Look at it yourself." Mother smiled and gave me a note.

It was a recording from the public phone booth downstairs. At that time, nobody had a private phone at home, so each building or house compound had its own phone booth, manned by a few retirees. There was only one short line: "4:00 p.m., wait at our usual place."

It was him! I closed my eyes and placed the note on my chest. "Wait at our usual place," I said, repeating the words in a whisper, and my mind flew to the street garden, where, in the depth of the palm trees, we had been meeting again and again. I loved the place because it nurtured our love.

"Is it your boyfriend?" I didn't know when my father had appeared by my side.

"Yes." I blushed and handed him the note. "We might go for a movie; I probably won't be home for dinner."

He stroked my shoulder and said softly, "Don't be home too late."

"I won't." I looked up at him and said cheerfully, "I should be home before ten."

I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the afternoon. At three, I went downstairs. The atmosphere of the festival in the city infected me, making me feel joyful and excited. I hummed a tune gaily while walking toward the bus station. On the street, everyone looked happy and relaxed, in the joyful mood of celebrating.

*

I arrived earlier than the appointed time, but he was already there. The small garden was much more lively than usual. Children dressed in new clothes laughed while playing; some were busily lighting firecrackers.

He took two tickets from the pocket of his winter jacket. "Those are the tickets for the show at the Cultural Square tonight," he said proudly.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier when you called?" I was a bit taken aback. "I just promised my father that I'd be home by ten!"

"By ten?" He looked at the two tickets and frowned. "It isn't possible."

"But he'll wait for me."

"These are the tickets for the Gala of Spring Festival," he said importantly. "I got them from my classmate who works at the venue. He told me the show is extremely popular. It'd be a pity to leave a good show early."

"What's the program? I don't like the old stuff." In the past ten years, all we had were a few dramas in different art forms: an original opera turned into a movie, then a musical, and finally winding up as a symphony. I saw one in so many forms that I had memorized the whole story.

"Who likes the old stuff?" He glanced at me and said, "It's just that I haven't seen you for two days. I really miss you! Do you miss me?"

I nodded.

"Then spend some time with me!"

I hesitated.

"Chun!" He looked into my eyes and begged.

"OK."

"You're the best!" He jumped up like a kid. "I knew you'd agree." He pulled me closer, held my waist, and said, "Let's go to eat."

We spent a few hours in the restaurant, then walked along Fuxing Road to the Cultural Square. Outside the venue, it was crowded with people, bikes, and vehicles. The lack of entertainment and cultural life made people hungry for anything. As long as there was a performance, no matter how uninspiring and monotonous, the venue would be packed full.

Entering the place that could accommodate ten thousand people, the first encounter was a huge banner of a slogan hanging above the red velvet curtains: "Long live the victory of Chairman Mao's proletarian revolutionary arts!" Beneath was a smaller banner: "Performance for the workers, peasants, and soldiers." Because the banners had been hanging there for so long, most of us didn't even notice they were there.

He bought a program at the door. It listed more than twenty sets, mostly the revolutionary songs, operas, and ballets, such as "Raising Army's Horse for the Revolution" and "A Farmer's Girl Goes to College."

We quickly found our seats and sat down. Countless rows of wooden benches were filled mostly by young men and young women, occasionally a few white heads and children.

The lights faded and the curtains opened as soon as loud drums began to beat. This was the first program, a part from the revolutionary opera _Harbor._

I wasn't sure if all the young couples were like us. We never paid attention to the stage. Even though we saw each other at work almost every day, we wanted to talk as soon as we sat down. There were times when we walked out of a venue with a flow of people, only to realize that we hadn't seen anything. Some people blamed it on the monotony of the entertainment. There were less than a dozen shows allowed to perform in public since the Cultural Revolution, so people were sick and tired of seeing the same-old thing for ten long years, and the theater and cinema became the meeting place for lovers, who had no intention of seeing anything but just wanted a place to talk and make love.

I couldn't wait to tell him about the visit of my cousin and his girlfriend, and I also mentioned that my father had asked about him.

He looked very happy. "Chun, if I have a chance to get to know your cousin in the future, I think we'll be good friends. Do you agree?" He was holding one of my hands.

"Yes, you will. By the way, he's the same age as you."

"What a coincidence." He was amused. "I hope to know him next year."

"Why next year?"

"Because by next year, I should be able to step into your home as..." He looked at me affectionately.

I got it and blushed instantly.

He fiddled with my hand and asked, "Chun, do you love me?"

"I'm not answering," I said, pretending that I was annoyed by his question. "I've said it more than a hundred times."

"I just love to hear you say it." He smiled and looked at me tenderly. "I can't get enough."

I smiled, immersed in an ocean of happiness. Oh, love! It brings the spring and its sweetness into people's hearts, nourishing their feelings, making them forget their worries, unhappiness, and everything surrounding them. I never tired of listening to his tender words or looking into his passionate eyes. I wished when the day came, we'd never, ever separate again.

"Chun, who do you think is more lovely, your cousin's girlfriend or you?" He suddenly lifted my jaw with his hand and looked at me playfully.

"My cousin's girlfriend, of course," I said sincerely.

"She might be good, but in my eyes, my angel is better. Even though the peony is beautiful, I prefer my rose."

"You're saying it only because you've never met her. If you met her, listened to what she said, you'd definitely think she's the loveliest girl."

"Are you sure that her voice is as attractive as my girl's?" he asked me with a smile and widened eyes.

"Don't be silly; what she said is philosophical. I never knew that the current situation in our country was so complicated until she told me. She's the smartest girl I've ever met, might be as smart as you are."

"Oh, really?" He was skeptical. "What did she say that fascinated you so much?" he asked. "Can you tell me?"

It took a lot of effort to retell the main content of what Lin Nan had said at our dinner table. Some things I had a hard time understanding, but I tried to tell him in what I considered as her original words.

His hand that gripped mine loosened, and I saw a strange fluster in his eyes.

"What?" I subconsciously squeezed his hand.

He put my hand back to my knees and then looked around a bit nervously. "Chun, have you repeated what she said to other people?" he asked, looking at me anxiously.

"No." I shook my head, at a loss. The sudden change in his manner made me feel confused. I didn't know what to say.

"Good," he breathed a sigh of relief. "You can't say anything like that to other people!" He raised his right forefinger and warned me. "If you do, your life would be ruined!"

"Why?" I was scared.

"Do you know what her words are aiming at?"

I was really confused. I didn't know whether what Lin Nan had told us was true. But listening to her analysis, I thought it was justified. "Aren't some of the things she said reality?" I said hesitantly.

"You're such an innocent child who has no political sense whatsoever." He frowned disdainfully. "I know what she said is reality, but can we mess with it? No!"

I felt so wronged I dropped my eyes. It was irritating. He admitted that what I told him was the reality, but he had still forbidden me to say it.

"Chun." He leaned against me and picked up my hand from my lap. "I have to tell you the truth," he said quietly. "Nowadays, I don't want to think about anything but the little enjoyment I can still get from our daily life. Whatever the reality is, let it be. I don't want to touch it again..." He sighed.

"Why are you so dissolute?" I was shocked.

"I believe that I've told you already. Remember the day you came to my home to look at the albums?"

Yes, I remembered—it was last year when he invited me to go to his home to see the paintings.

*

"Do you like them?" He opened the drawer and took out a selection of works by foreign painters in several albums of the prints. He explained to me eagerly, "This is the work of Leonardo, the most famous artist of the Italian Renaissance. He's a master of religious and character painting. This is his masterpiece _The Last Supper."_

"Isn't _The Last Supper_ the work of da Vinci?" I raised my eyes and asked. The painting was well known. Many art periodicals had published analyses of the artistic expression of the protagonists in the painting: Jesus's helpless facial expression, with his two hands spreading out, as if saying "I have been betrayed," while the twelve disciples have their unique and different expressions; some look up to the sky, as if to express their loyalty; some are anxiously asking if there is any way to prevent the disaster. Only Judas has a guilty conscience, with the forty gold coins hidden in a bag. Unfortunately, due to the age, the paint in many places had peeled off, and the photo of the painting was so blurred that it was hard to see the subtle expression of each person.

"Yes, yes." He looked at me happily. "Da Vinci is Leonardo. Here is one of his most famous portraits: _Mona Lisa_. Now, I'm going to show you the work of Francisco Goya. Goya is the most famous painter in Spain. This is one of his masterpieces, _Naked Maja_. So romantic! Look how vivid the fold of her skirt, her hair, and the skin color are! This is the still life of Paul Gauguin, who is a French impressionist. This is his _Still Life with Apples_."

I didn't like impressionism very much. I thought that the apples in the painting didn't look like real apples but a mess of rotten fruit. The unevenness, the two-dimensional rather than three-dimensional nature, the color jumping from extreme cold to extreme warm... I preferred the softer touch and harmony of the classical style.

But he disapproved of my opinion. He said, "Impressionism is about overlapping strokes and strong contrasts. It is their characteristic to ignore the shape and contour of the scene. If you look at him again—"

"I don't want to look at it again because I don't understand it." I looked at some more messy and bizarre paintings, and I'd had enough.

"Impressionism was very popular in the mid-nineteenth and early twentieth centuries!" He looked up at me with amazement, wondering how ignorant I must be.

I saw that he not only had an artistic taste for painting but also had good knowledge. I couldn't help but say, "If you like it so much, why don't you learn to be a painter?"

He smiled sarcastically. "What for? When I was a child, I spent a lot of time on painting, even dreamed about being a painter. But the Cultural Revolution changed everything. More than a few writers and artists were beaten to death. Their arts, their painting skills, helped them with nothing and brought them misery. Better off being an ordinary worker like us, no risk, no danger, but having a better reputation and standing in society."

*

"Chun, some past events I don't really want to recall because memories bring back pain. However, knowing how naïve your views on reality and politics are, I'll have to do it. If I don't say anything now, you'll be like me, facing the danger of being deceived." He turned his eyes to the stage. An opera singer was singing a battle song, and the powerful and loud music seemed to influence him as he sank into the painful remembrance.

I looked at him searchingly; I wasn't sure what he meant about having a painful past...

"You don't know how innocent and idealist I was when I was young," he said thoughtfully, turning to face me. "My family was rich, and I was taught at an early age that I could be anyone I wanted to be. I wanted to be a writer, I wanted to be an actor, and I wanted to be a painter. I studied hard at school; I read novels, studied painting, and played the violin at home. When the Cultural Revolution started, I joined the Red Guards to answer the call of Chairman Mao. But what kind of result did it bring me? The Red Guards trashed my home and took our property. Because my father was famous, he was detained and put in jail, and I became a black kid, the offspring of a counterrevolutionary. I was so mad that I quit. Fortunately, I quit! Shortly afterward, my friends and classmates went on to oppose Zhang Chunqiao. As a result, they were arrested and sent to the frontier to be reformed through forced labor. If I didn't submit certain materials as requested, I could've been arrested myself."

"You exposed others?"

"It was the last resort." He sighed and continued. "Reality gave me a cruel lesson. It is better to be the quiet one in a crowd. If you want to survive, you have to know how to protect yourself. Since then, I changed. I no longer dream of being an artist; I'm happy to work in a factory. After my shift, I can go home, play music, read, and paint, or I can do nothing. I am completely out of touch with reality, and I'm not going to touch politics either. If it touches me, I turn to the other side and hide. Life is good only when you're safe. If I looked at politics and reality like Lin Nan does, you wouldn't even know me. I would've followed the footsteps of my classmates, being sent to a remote place to be reformed—or worse, I could be dead!"

"It's horrible!" I cried as if I had woken up from a nightmare.

"The reality is horrible. It doesn't allow you to think. Chun, if you like your cousin and Lin Nan as much as you say you do, you have to tell them not to be the fool. Arrogance can kill. Forget about reality! If everyone else is asleep, why do they have to wake up? Don't let them make trouble. If they do, not only they will get hurt, but you and your parents will too."

In front of my eyes, I saw Lin Nan, whose gentle eyes were watching me; I wanted to hold her and tell her the danger of reality.

"Dear, don't be afraid." He squeezed my hand tightly. "You can talk to them, reason with them. They'll understand..."

I said nothing because I was scared.

"What're you thinking?" He looked at me, smiling. "Don't think about them anymore. Let's talk about us."

I shook my head pitifully. "I can't stop thinking of them..."

"Why? If they don't talk to outsiders, they won't be in trouble. Who doesn't complain these days? Just don't tell people what you know or what you really think. Now, give me a smile; otherwise, I'll regret that I told you what I think. Because of me, you are so unhappy."

"Who said I'm unhappy?"

"That's my good girl," he said cheerfully, taking one of my hands and holding it tightly. "Let's watch the show. I haven't watched any of it all this time!"

"Why didn't you watch?" I retorted with a smile.

"I've been busy watching you," he said, looking at me affectionately. "You're more fun to look at than anyone on the stage."

I blushed.

"To be honest, I don't want to watch the show; I am so tired of watching." He pointed to the stage. The ballet "A Little Red Flower in the Snow" was being performed. "I've seen it three times already!"

"But you told me the show was good..."

He smiled mischievously. "Don't you understand?" he said with a laugh. "I just wanted to see you and be with you! Really, Chun, you're always on my mind. I see you every night when I'm in bed; I want to talk to you and tell you about my thoughts. Whatever I do, I want to share it with you. Unfortunately, I'm not too good at telling you how much I miss you. I am thinking that I should write a love song, maybe a poem... Would you like that?"

"I'd love it. The way you missed me was the same as how I missed you. I always want to be with you, and I hate to be separated from you!" I rested my head on his shoulder, and we held each other until the end.

After the show, he took me home. We stood on the stairs and looked at each other for a long time.

"See you tomorrow," I said, gently pulling my hands out of his.

"Good night." He hugged me and kissed me.

I watched him disappear into the darkness before slowly walking up the stairs.

*

It was almost eleven o'clock; I thought my parents must've gone to bed. In order not to wake them up, I walked in quietly.

"Chun Ming, come here for a minute," I heard my father call from his study. The door was half-closed, casting a long trace of light on the floor.

I walked over and gently pushed the door open.

Father leaned back in his chair and looked at me with a smile. The table was covered with drawings and blueprints; the table lamp with a green glass lampshade emitted a soft yellow light that covered only a part of the desk.

"Dad, why are you still awake?" I asked, trying to clean away some of the mess.

"How come you're home so late?" He took one of my hands and pulled me to his side.

"We ended up going to the Gala of Spring Festival."

"Oh?" Father asked with interest. "What are the programs?"

"Well, some opera, some dance..." I blushed and said, "Dad, we didn't watch much; we talked."

"Oh." He seemed to be thinking about something else, as his eyes had left my face.

I put my hand on his shoulder and leaned over. "Dad, don't stay up so late, or you might have a heart attack."

"Oh." He stared absently at the drawing in front of him.

He was definitely thinking about his design again. Since Project 114 started, his sleeping time had been significantly reduced, and he spent most of his day in his study. He was there during the day and at night. Even if he was in bed, he'd get up if he thought of something that could help the design. Because he knew that the project was the first step taken by the bureau to modernize the communication system, the pressure on him was even greater. If we tried to persuade him to take a break, he'd bring out the goal of modernization to block our complaints and protest.

However, I still insisted that he needed to take care of his own health, no matter how important the project was, because if he went down, it wouldn't help it either. I shook him and said, "Dad, what're you thinking? You have to go to bed!" I knew if I persisted, he'd listen to me because he loved me.

Sure enough, he smiled and raised his head. "Well, I could be in Suzhou in my dream right now if you didn't come home so late."

"Have you been waiting for me?" I was so moved that I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. Oh, Father! I could just imagine how he was sitting under the lamp, wondering where I was. I really regretted that I didn't come home earlier. I wasted time at some boring shows, and my father wasted time at home. If I had come home earlier, he'd be in bed by now. How important it was for him to get enough sleep!

"I was waiting for you while thinking about something else," he said with a grin.

I felt my face suddenly grow hot because from what was implicit, I knew that he must've been thinking about my boyfriend and me.

"Can you guess what I was thinking?" He continued to smile.

"Dad!" I could feel the heat spreading up to my forehead.

Father looked at me and said, "I know that you love him very much."

"He also loves me very much." I couldn't help pointing this out.

He said nothing.

I looked at him earnestly. I wanted him to know how deeply we felt for each other and loved each other; I wanted him to know him, understand him, and even love him.

Father seemed to have read my mind because a smile appeared on his lips.

My heart jumped. "Dad!"

"I think your mom and I should meet him now."

"Oh, Dad!" I cried with joy. "Do you really want to see him?"

"Of course, if you really love each other."

"We do; we really love each other," I said.

Father stroked my hair and said, "I wish him well if he can be your life partner."

I almost choked up with tears. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Let's find a day. When do you want to bring him home?"

I thought about it. "I'm off next Thursday, and Mother's school hasn't started yet."

"You mean the twelfth? When does your cousin leave?"

"Twelfth? Great! Jian Hua planned to leave on the twelfth. I can see them off in the morning, and then let him come to see you and mom in the afternoon." I clapped my hands happily.

"Perfect." He patted me on the shoulder. "We'll tell your mom tomorrow; she'll be thrilled."

# 5

After the Spring Festival, I didn't have a chance to meet up with my cousin and Lin Nan again. Time passed quickly and mercilessly; when I finally had a day off, it was time for us to say goodbye.

People had arrived at the train station early. There were crowds everywhere: some carried backpacks, some duffel bags, all surrounded by relatives who would be left behind. As soon as the holiday ended, the young had to return to their posts. Almost everyone's heart was affected by the departure of their loved ones. Who didn't have children, brothers, sisters, classmates, and friends in remote countries or frontiers? Who hadn't seen the scene of forced separations?

When I reached the North Station, I saw my uncle, aunt, Jian Hua, and Lin Nan waiting under the pillars of the main entrance.

Having greeted my uncle, aunt, and cousin, I threw myself into Lin Nan's arms. People who didn't have sisters might not realize how affectionate sisters could be. I respected my cousin; I had loved him since I was a child, but when I had personal issues that needed a heart-to-heart talk, I wouldn't want to talk to him.

As an only child, I grew up in the world of "I" and "me." I used to talk to my parents about my feelings, but when I grew older, I began to realize that some of my issues were unsuitable for the ears of my parents. For a long time, I could only confide in colleagues at work. Now, suddenly, I had someone as nice as Lin Nan in my life, and I was more than thrilled. Our relationship made me realize for the first time that sisterhood was something I had missed in my life. I could tell her my loves, and she could tell me her thoughts. She felt my breath, and I touched her pulse.

"Don't be sad." She smiled while holding me tightly. "I'll see you again."

Jian Hua said with a twinkle in his eyes, "If you really want to be with her, you can move to our farm."

"Don't be silly," said my aunt. "It's sad enough for us to have you away at the frontier, and you wish your uncle to have the same fate?" She sobbed, letting her tears run freely.

"Mom!" His face dropped. He stepped forward and put both of his hands on his mother's shoulders. "Please don't cry. You should be happy to see us doing well and in good health."

"Yes..." My aunt's tears were like broken pearls, rolling down in strings. "As long as you are happy, I'm happy too..." She cried so hard that she couldn't carry on.

"Mom!" Jian Hua and Lin Nan grabbed my aunt's hands; their eyes were red.

"OK, let's move," said my uncle suddenly. He lifted one of the duffel bags and walked through the door without looking back. I could see that he was trying to balance his walk, but his legs were trembling, and his steps were unsteady.

Lin Nan held my aunt's arm, and I walked next to her. I didn't know when I'd see her again, and I felt lost and desolate.

"Are you going to be back next year?" I whispered.

"Hopefully," she said with a smile that looked so forced and unnatural that I broke into tears.

"Please don't cry..." She took out her handkerchief and gently wiped away my tears.

I grabbed her hand and sobbed uncontrollably.

She hugged me and said softly, "After we leave, you need to take on more responsibilities to help your uncle and aunt. They both are getting old. If they need something—"

"Don't you worry," I interrupted her. "They're my family too; you can rest assured that I'll do my best."

"Thank you." She hugged me again, and our faces pressed together.

The train to the frontiers normally allowed passengers to board an hour before the scheduled departure. Having passed ticket inspection, people rushed to the train parked on the platform, grabbing their seats and filling the luggage racks before settling down. To cherish every minute left together, they then came back to the platform where the families were waiting to say goodbye.

"My child, be careful out there; if you ever need anything, please let me know," my aunt recited; she'd probably go with her son if she was allowed.

"As soon as you arrive, write to us. Your mother will go crazy if she doesn't hear from you." My uncle tried to keep calm, but every muscle on his face tightened, carving out a father's love and parting's sorrow.

What did I want to say? What should I say to them? As I watched them bidding farewell, I wondered what should be my parting words.

"Chun, if you like your cousin and Lin Nan as much as you say you do, you have to tell them not to be the fool," his voice suddenly rang in my ear. I was so shocked I covered my ears with my hands. "Arrested and sent to the frontier to be reformed through forced labor..." The voice stubbornly hovered in my head. Did I have to repeat it to Jian Hua and Lin Nan before their departure? I refused to admit that it was the call of my soul. Ever since I had heard this terrible metaphor, I had been struggling to push it out of my mind.

"Chun Ming." Jian Hua looked at me affectionately. He held my hand and smiled. "Goodbye for now! I hope when we meet again, we'll have a cloudless sky over our country!" His eyes glowed.

As if being pushed forward by an unseen force, I blurted it out, "Jian Hua, please don't talk like that in front of other people." I saw Lin Nan cast me a puzzled look and explained further: "Reality is something that we can't change. So many people are being labeled as counterrevolutionaries only because they said something that shouldn't have been said."

Jian Hua looked at me strangely. "Are these words your own?" he asked.

"No. Oh yes..." I nodded. "When you're out there, you have to be very careful."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Lin Nan said with a faint smile. "The road is tortuous, but the future is bright, and the strength of our people is invincible! Of course, there are huge obstacles in front of us, but for the future of our country, we shouldn't only care about personal gains and losses. We'll discuss it further next time when I see you."

I nodded. What else could I say? My thoughts were vague, and I couldn't really tell what was going on politically. I relied on others to guide me and show me the direction. Lin Nan knew more than I did, but what about him? What he told me was justified too!

Jian Hua smiled and said to me, "You'll understand."

The first round of whistles sounded, and he and Lin Nan walked toward their carriage.

"My child, be very careful!" My aunt squeezed in between them and impulsively grabbed the hand of her son. Her wrinkled face twitched, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Mom, I'll be fine," Jian Hua said to her.

"Go in—you go into the carriage." My uncle took his wife's hand and waved to the children.

The doors to the carriages were all packed solid with young people. They first squeezed in, then turned back and refused to go. Below were their families; after this, nobody knew when they would meet again. They looked at their loved ones, and their loved ones looked back at them.

The second round of whistles sounded more thrillingly than the first, and everyone burst into tears while extending their hands toward their loved ones.

"Mom!"

"My son!"

The screams pierced people's hearts. I saw my cousin's face disappear from the crowd. Everyone was crying, even the young who were about to leave.

As the final whistle began to sound and the wheels started rolling, the repressed sobs suddenly broke into the loud cries of grief.

"Mom! Mom!" I heard the cry of my cousin, and I saw the young ones sticking out their heads and hands from the packed window. Who wouldn't want to take another look at his mother; who wouldn't want to take another look at her beloved child! Looking at all the heads with blue veins showing, desperately trying to squeeze out the window, and all the arms waving wildly, my eyes were blurred. I ran after the moving train desperately, waving to my cousin and Lin Nan frantically.

"See you next year!" I shouted.

"Goodbye!" Jian Hua shouted back.

Lin Nan waved at me, red-eyed. At that moment, she looked so gentle, with her beautiful eyes flashing with shining tears.

"Don't forget to write!" My aunt had been crying so hard that she could hardly talk. She leaned heavily on my uncle, and the couple relied on each other while sending away their children.

I cried and chased the train until the last carriage disappeared, along with the whistles. "See you next year," were the last words of Lin Nan.

"Let's go home." My uncle approached me. I took his arm and slowly left the place that could bring full joy as well as the deepest sorrow.

*

It was very difficult to calm down after going through such an emotional event. The sadness I felt in parting with my cousin and Lin Nan had greatly reduced my interest in meeting my boyfriend. After returning home, I was so upset, as the scenes of the farewell appeared repeatedly in front of my eyes, that I locked myself in my room so that I didn't have to talk. When it was time for Fang Si Jun to meet my parents, I was still in my room, recuperating.

"Chun Ming?" Father pushed the door open and came in. He looked at me and asked with concern, "Are you OK?"

"Yes," I said, quickly standing up. "I just felt tired, but I'm OK now."

"Didn't you invite him to meet us at three o'clock? It's already a quarter to three." He raised his wrist and let me see his watch.

I smiled apologetically. "Thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot." I didn't show it, but I was fretful. He said that he was going to wait for me at the bus station. He refused to come over alone and knock on the door. He wanted me to accompany him. I put on my coat and ran out without buttoning it up.

I hadn't even reached the front door when he rushed in like a gust of wind. "I didn't see you at the station," he said breathlessly. "I thought you might've left. I was so anxious not to be late that I ran all the way. It wasn't my fault; I had to rush because two of my high school friends showed up just as I was ready to leave. I told them I was busy and sent them away." He talked excitedly without taking a break.

"It wouldn't matter if you were late," I said, trying to calm him down.

"I can't be late," he said. "Or I'll leave a bad impression." He winked at me and spread out his hands. "What do you think of my outfit?" he asked.

I hadn't noticed, but as soon as he mentioned it, I gave him a once-over and could tell that he had put some thought into it. He wore a navy-blue tunic over dark gray flannel trousers and a pair of black leather shoes, a combination of smart and good taste. His hair normally draped over his forehead, but now it was smoothly combed back. I was cracking a smile as I looked at him.

"Pretty good, isn't it?" He could tell that I liked what I saw.

"But I'm not sure if my dad will like it," I said deliberately, deciding to tease him.

"Really?" He was actually panicked. "Does he like casual? Why didn't you tell me?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "But you were so sure just now."

He smiled when he realized I was just joking. "We'll talk about it later. But now let's go; I don't want to be late." He looked at his watch to make sure that he was on time.

"Dad," I yelled as I pushed the door open, unable to suppress my joy.

Father stood up from the couch and greeted us with a smile.

"Dad, this is Fang Si Jun, and this is my father and my mother." My mother had come out of the kitchen, and I happily pulled her to my side.

"How do you do?" He bowed. His politeness and seriousness made me want to laugh.

Father shook his hand and invited him to the living room. I saw that in the moment of greeting, my father's eyes had swept over his whole being. Inadvertently, my eyes touched on his shoes. I felt a bit uneasy because they looked too new and too shiny. Would it make my father dislike him? My father didn't care for those fashionable young men whose only concern was to impress the opposite sex. What was the impression he'd get from Fang Si Jun's carefully chosen outfit?

At least he didn't show it if he objected to his appearance; he politely asked Fang Si Jun to sit next to him.

He looked very respectable when he sat down with my father, putting the black bag that he brought with him on the floor next to him.

I made him a cup of tea and placed it on the coffee table.

"Mr. Du," he said, looking at my father with concern, "I heard that you have some health issues."

"Nothing serious." Father smiled and shook his head while pointing at me. "My daughter tends to exaggerate when my health is concerned."

He turned to smile at me, as if saying, _What do you think of my performance? It isn't too bad, is it?_

I gave him a dirty look, warning him not to be too pleased with himself, and then walked into the kitchen to help my mother. On my way, I heard him say, "My father recommends this German drug, very effective to treat heart attack; I brought two boxes for you to try."

Mother was preparing refreshments in the kitchen, self-baked shortbread and coffee.

"Mom," I asked while loading the plates for her, "what do you think of him?"

"How should I know? We haven't said a word to each other," she replied matter-of-factly while pouring the coffee into cups.

I made a face because it was true. The conversation between him and my father flew in from the living room, and I heard my father laugh.

"Here," my mother said, handing me the tray.

I took it to the living room. Even though we had dated for years, I still felt shy in front of my father. I lowered my head and walked straight to my father's side, putting the plate with the shortbread and a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Why," my father said, looking up and teasing me, "you should've served our guest first." It seemed that he had enjoyed Fang Si Jun's company while I was in the kitchen.

I walked over to my boyfriend and put the plate down in front of him. When I met his gaze, he smiled. I grinned at him and quietly walked away.

"Is your father busy at work?" my father asked.

"I don't think so. He spends most of his time caring for his flowers or playing chess with his friends." He picked up the plate holding the coffee cup and took a sip.

"I heard that the People's Hospital is currently carrying out two medical innovations, one of which is aiming at glaucoma."

"My father isn't involved." He smiled faintly and shook his head. "After ten years of the revolution, I don't think he'd want to take the risk again."

"Oh." My father sighed and turned to look at him again. I couldn't help but feel a bit nervous because I knew his habit. When he answered with some noncommittal words, either he wasn't paying attention or he didn't like what he had heard.

He looked at my father, as if he knew about his habit as well, and quickly changed the topic. "Have you been busy?" he asked respectfully.

"Nothing to be busy with, actually," Father said with a smile. "Just passing time." Turning to the plates in front of him, he picked a piece of shortbread and put it into his mouth.

"Well."

"What's the use? Bad to be called names like old and stinky intellectual, worse to be assaulted as an anti-revolution academic authority. We, the intellectuals, are under siege."

"My father felt the same." He nodded understandingly.

"Being a monk for a day, ringing the bell for a day, no more, no less," Father said, quoting the proverb with a sigh.

I was quite taken aback when I heard this. What happened to my father? He loved his work! Why did he say such nonsense? Was he being forced to do what he had been doing? No, it was impossible. He couldn't be forced to skip a meal or stay up late at night in order to work; it had to be from real passion.

"This is all because of the current situation in our country," he said sympathetically. "We've been forced to do what we have to do."

"We've been screwed!" Father shook his head in dismay.

"My father often says that the smartest is the one who recognizes the current situation. As fragile as an egg, why should it crack the stone?" he said, quoting an old saying. "Protecting oneself is a virtue; waiting for one's time is a useful quality."

I wasn't sure if my father was shaking his head or nodding. He seemed to be embarrassed when he said, "But sometimes, the more you're afraid of, the more you hide from it, the more it will come to you."

"It's true, but if you're very careful, you can avoid the trouble."

"I don't think so. For example, we have a young man in our company. He's very conscious and careful, never dares to say a word of deviation. He married a daughter of an old cadre in the Communist Party. His father-in-law committed suicide during the Cultural Revolution, and he's still carrying the heavy weight as a counterrevolutionary by association. What do you say about that?"

He sighed.

"Well?" My father turned to look at him.

"That is just bad luck," he muttered.

"However, someone in the office suggested that he should draw a line, maybe divorce his wife. They have no children, so he could be free if he got rid of his wife—"

"Divorce?" I cried, interrupting my father midsentence. "What about his wife? Without her father and her husband, she might not be able to survive."

Father suddenly burst out laughing. "My child, nothing is as simple as you think. One of the party leaders has talked to him, asking him to consider his political future."

"This is a real problem," he said with a nod. "I've seen plenty happening around me. Some people have to separate from their loved ones in order to save themselves. The children expose their parents, and the wife betrays the husband in order to draw a line. These people aren't bad people; they did what they had to do in order to avoid the disaster."

"They really can't help themselves," Father concurred.

He smiled, sending me a glance as if saying, _Listen to you, so childish_. I blushed.

After finishing his shortbread, Father asked him, "What kind of flowers does your father plant at home?"

"There are roses, calamus, hawthorn, narcissus, water bamboo, and some I can't even name."

"I only have a few pots of _Acorus Gramineus_ there on the coffee table; one of them has a fragrant seedling."

"They're treasures." He looked at the roots of the bulrush and said, "My father has a pot of tigers and a bowl of sword ridges, but not as good as these two pots."

My father looked quite pleased. They continued talking, from natural science to literature, from music to visual arts. My mother had studied piano when she was a child, so she listened with great interest.

His natural genius in speech put on a great show.

"I love classical music by Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. But when it comes to rhymes, romantic music is the most poetic. Listening to Schubert, Schumann, and Liszt rouses one's feeling and illusion. The great composer is often the great performer. Chopin was called the king of the piano before his death."

When my mother heard this, she opened her mouth but closed it without saying anything.

He was so successful that he captured the feelings of my father and touched the heart of my mother. I was so happy that I would've sung and danced if I had been alone.

Around five in the afternoon, he said very appropriately that it was time for him to leave.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" my mother said.

"No, thank you. I'll come again next time," he replied politely.

"We won't keep you, then," Father said, picking up his black bag. "Thank your father for me," he said. "I'm very touched." He unzipped the bag and put the two boxes of medicine back in. "The imported medicine is difficult to get; let him keep it."

"Oh no! My father got it especially for you. If you don't accept, his feelings would be hurt." He threw me an anxious look, asking for help.

"He might need it himself in the future," Father said, taking a paper bag and stuffing it into his bag.

"Chun." He was asking me directly for help now. "Look at your father..."

"Dad!" I thought my father had gone a bit too far.

He looked at me, and I was embarrassed to turn red in front of Fang Si Jun.

I tried to make my father understand with my eyes: _I know you don't accept gifts, but you have to consider my feelings! How can he tell his father that you've refused his gift?_ "Why can't you accept it just for once?" I asked.

"Yes, please," he also begged.

My father gave me a look, and a self-deprecating smile broke out on his face. "It seems," he said, "that if I don't accept it, she'll accept it for me. Well, I'll take the medicine, but please take back the ginseng." He took out the medicine, zipped up the bag, and handed it to him. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

_Now, let's go!_ I looked at him to prevent him from saying anything more.

"Goodbye!" My mother waved at him.

"Goodbye." He bent and bowed politely.

Father walked him to the stairs.

# 6

"What do you think? Did I do all right?" he asked anxiously as soon as we walked down the stairs.

"Why do you ask? Something amiss?" His question made me a bit nervous.

"Your father returned the ginseng, and he wasn't willing to accept the medicine until you interfered," he said with a frown.

"Oh." I couldn't help but smile. "My dad doesn't accept gifts as a rule. It's quite unusual, actually, that he accepted the medicine."

"Really?" A pleased smile appeared on his face. "You think he likes me?"

"Of course." The pleasure that my father showed throughout their meeting told me that he liked my boyfriend a lot. When Fang Si Jun left, my father even walked him to the stairs, which he did only for a few close friends. Normally, he stopped at the door. "Yes, you can rest assured." I grinned at him.

"Great!" He took my hand and said to me importantly, "Today, our relationship has reached a new milestone. From now on, we can date openly in public."

"Why?" I asked. To avoid gossip, we had kept our relationship secret at work.

"I've been to your home and got your father's approval..." He looked at me, as if saying, _Don't you understand?_

I returned home happily, expecting to have my father call me to his side and tell me that he approved of our relationship.

I walked into the living room and saw my parents sitting face to face, my father in his chair and my mother on the couch. Her eyes were looking at the empty plates on the coffee table, whereas his were on her.

"It has to be this way." It was my father's voice. Seeing me, he quickly stood up and asked, "Has he gone home?"

I nodded with a shy smile.

"Shu Fen, can we have dinner around six?" he leaned down and asked my mother.

"Sure." Mother raised her eyes, smiling at him. "I'll go to cook right now." She stood up immediately.

Father straightened his back, pointed at the couch, and said to me, "Please sit down." His eyes looked at me tenderly.

My heart was beating fast. I could almost guess what he'd say. I sat down on the couch, across from him, and lowered my eyes in anticipation. In the corner of my eye, I caught him watching me with an odd deliberation. I blushed.

"You told me," he began, his voice sounding like music, "that you love him very much, and he loves you too."

"Yes." My voice was as quiet as a mosquito.

"Do you really know each other?" His tone had somehow changed, became serious.

"Yes," I answered quietly.

"I don't think so." Even though he didn't raise his voice, it was like a hammer, hitting me so hard that I raised my eyes in shock. "You don't really know each other—at least you don't know him," he said with emphasis. My hands suddenly turned cold.

"Do you know his character?" he asked. "Do you understand his thoughts?"

I stared at him in horror because I didn't understand what had happened that turned him against Fang Si Jun.

His eyes seemed to ask me, _Can you answer these questions_?

"Dad, what's wrong?" I asked pitifully. I was so flustered I didn't know what to say. I honestly didn't expect the talk would have such a bizarre opening.

"You're my daughter." His expression was mixed—devotion and concern. "And I want you to be happy. Even though in my eyes, you're still a child, you're twenty-two, at the age of dating and seeking love. I'd be thrilled if you find real love. I'd open my arms as well as my heart to embrace him. But if I discover that the man you love doesn't really love you, or the love between you doesn't have a solid foundation, it is my duty to tell you. I am not an authoritarian; I don't want you to obey me. But as your father, I have to tell you what I know. Indeed, he is a handsome and smart young man who can easily win over a girl's love. But his cuteness is only in appearance, and his intelligence is for pleasing others. From our conversation, I understand that his philosophy of life is to protect himself. He is very good at analyzing the situation, but he lacks the ideals of life; his philosophy of protecting himself will make him sacrifice others at crucial moments. He may love you, but it is on the prerequisite that you'd never mess with his future. If you become his burden, he'll do what he has to do 'in order to avoid the disaster.'"

My goodness! Now I understood what had been bothering my father. "Dad," I began; I couldn't help arguing. "He was saying that about someone else..."

"Of course. Do you think he'd tell you that is what he really thinks in front of us?" Father said with a sigh. "Do you remember what we argued about at your uncle's house the other day? Your uncle was forced to give up his career ten years ago, and he started seeking a way to preserve his own lifestyle. He became passive and inactive. I'm not a fan of his attitude. But what can I do? He's a weather-beaten old man, and he suffered enough."

"He's had his own misfortune too!" I hurriedly interjected. "His father was labeled as a counterrevolutionary, and he became a black child, and he was almost involved in an incident that could've landed him in jail."

"Oh?" Father was curious. "What was going on?" he asked.

"Some of his friends went on to go against Zhang Chunqiao. They were detained and sent to the frontiers as forced laborers. If he hadn't sent in a disclosure, he could've been implicated too." I couldn't wait to defend him and told my father everything.

"Really?" Father was surprised. "You know Uncle Zhong," he said, looking into my eyes. "He and your uncle were both labeled as counterrevolutionaries. In the most difficult time, however, they refused to cooperate with the Red Rebels to save themselves. They formed their friendship while being locked up in the cowsheds. Principles and honesty are the two most valuable qualities in men. Does your boyfriend have such qualities?"

"Dad, you don't know him! How can you judge him by a few words that he said?" I was so irate that I burst out angrily, talking to my father with a blunt attitude for the first time in my life.

He was quite taken aback, staring at me in disbelief. When he spoke again, his voice became old and bitter: "Yes, maybe I don't know him." He looked up at a gouache on the opposite wall. It was the city of Rome in the nineteenth century. "Because we are separated by an era?" he muttered to himself.

"No, the change of times shouldn't make people less noble," he said suddenly. "You have to think rationally and without sentiment, my child. Do you seriously think that you can be his life partner, knowing what he thinks and preaches?"

"Yes, I can." I was so infuriated that I shouted with tears running down my cheeks: "Dad, I love him!" I buried my face on the arm of the couch and cried.

"Jing Zi!" Mother hurriedly came in from the kitchen. "Can't you express yourself more diplomatically?"

As soon as I heard her voice, I cried even louder and sadder, my tears running down like a river.

My mother sat down next to me and sighed. "Well, you do need to listen to your father."

Those weren't the soothing words that I wanted to hear but a mallet that stopped my tears. I raised my eyes and said tearfully, "Have you already discussed it? But you don't really understand him; you're judging him by a few words that he said..."

"OK, let's all calm down." She took my arm and pulled me up from the couch. "We'll talk about it later."

The dinner was the most unpleasant one in my memory. I had never seen my father so quiet and upset. I didn't dare to look up but mechanically put bites of rice into my mouth.

He finally sighed and picked up some meat and vegetables from the plates and put them into my bowl.

Tears couldn't stop flowing as I tried to eat my meal.

"Don't cry; we'll talk about it after dinner." Father's voice was soft and loving. I almost wanted to run into his arms and cry on his shoulder, but I bit my lips and held back.

We ate silently; even the sound of resting chopsticks became exceptionally loud.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Both my father and I weren't in the mood to get up, so Mother put down her bowl. I heard the sound of her twisting the handle of the front door.

"Excuse me, is Chief Du home?" The voice was coming from a stranger.

"Who is it?" Father jumped out of his chair instantly.

"Chief," the newcomer said; he had already reached the kitchen door.

"Ah, Xiao Zhu!" Father was delighted to see him. "Come in! Let me introduce my wife, Li Shu Fen, and our daughter, Du Chun Ming."

"How do you do?"

"This is Zhu Tan," Father said, introducing him to my mother, "an engineer from the bureau, and my collaborator on Project 114."

I looked up at him. He was in his late twenties, tall and pale, with a straight nose. His eyes were small and slightly concave, making them look deep and dark. When he looked at you, you felt that he could see through your heart. But his eyesight seemed rather sluggish; he stared aimlessly as he was being introduced.

I knew instantly that his arrival meant that we, my father and I, wouldn't have a further conversation on the subject of my boyfriend. As soon as he got involved with the project, my father wouldn't be interested in any other matters. I looked at Zhu Tan with contempt.

He caught my look and turned to my father. "I'm so sorry... You probably haven't eaten," he stuttered, swaying a little, making me despise him even more.

"No, we're done; she's just a slow eater," Father said while patting him on the shoulder, treating him like an old friend. "Let's go to my study. What's the new idea?"

"I'm thinking about using some form of Chinese characters. Phone names are different from the others, such as typography—they don't require copying, usually appear in the form of phrases, and some names are inevitably repeated..." Having heard my father's question, his expression changed immediately; his eyes were no longer dull but flashing brightly, and the words just flew out of his mouth. Father took his arm and led him to the study. "It's quite impossible to distinguish by names alone, so I think we should use some simple characters to try to reduce the repetition to the minimum..." The door was closed behind their backs.

I felt like I was being rejected by the sound of the closed door. I couldn't complain. His arrival was like the will of God. I could no longer talk to my father, and therefore there was no possibility of changing his view.

I left the dining table miserably. I had been so hopeful, but my hope had become a bubble that got pierced. Oh, Father, how could you not know my heart? You might have your reasons, but couldn't you just listen to me without prejudice? Maybe your own experience taught you to be cautious, but your past and my present were two different eras. The past had made you meet a woman who was selfish, but you shouldn't conclude that I'd meet the same type in my life.

I walked into my room with tears streaming down my cheeks. I dropped on my bed, grabbing my pillow and crying my sorrow into it.

"Chun, I love you!" His lovely face in front of me, his extended hands touching me. How could I ever tell him that my father disliked him? I saw his eyes become anxious and upset. He had leaned over and said: "Chun, we have to swear to love each other forever."

"I swear."

"Swear we'll never separate or grow apart."

"I swear."

"Dearest, I'll love you forever and ever!"

*

"Chun Ming!"

I opened my eyes in confusion. Where was I? Where was he?

"My child!" Mother shook me gently.

I saw my mother and saw the anxiety in her eyes. I threw myself at her and cried, "Oh, Mom..."

"Please don't cry," she said softly, stroking my shoulder and my hair. "Your father loves you so much that he can't tolerate anyone you love having shortcomings, even though your boyfriend does tend to exaggerate a bit. Come now, it might still be saved."

There was a glimmer of light; like a drowning man, I was desperate to reach out and grab it. "How?"

She took my face in her hands and gently wiped away my tears. "Try to reason with your father, he might change his mind."

I nodded gratefully. "I'll try; I have to try."

"Love is blind," Mother muttered to herself as I put my face against hers.

For those who were in desperate circumstances, a glimmer of hope could carry them a long way. I gradually calmed down as I listened to my mother. I believed that the power of love could conquer even the most stubborn, and I hoped I could touch my father's heart with love. As I looked up at my mother, I formed an idea in my mind. "Mom, if Dad's free, can we talk to him tonight?" I was afraid if I let it drag on for too long, it'd harden my father's opinion. I had to change it when I still could.

"But he's with Zhu Tan." Mother pointed to the wall on my left that connected to my father's study.

"He won't stay long," I said confidently. Strangers never stayed long on their first visit.

We waited in my room silently. Mother brought in a sweater that was almost finished to knit. Sitting under the lamp, I randomly picked up a book to read. Time passed by slowly, and the man with my father in the study didn't seem to want to leave. Listening to the muttering sound that came occasionally, I was as anxious as a cat sitting on a hot tin roof.

I began to feel drowsy. The words in the book that I was reading became blurry.

"Go to sleep," Mother tried to persuade me. "You're tired."

"I'm not." I opened my eyes and shook my head stubbornly.

The man was so abominable, I couldn't help but curse Zhu Tan. What a nerve, disturbing other's life without any consideration!

I looked at my watch repeatedly: ten o'clock, eleven o'clock...

I yawned, my mother yawned, and I closed my eyes.

I was awakened by the sound of the opening door. I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness. I was sitting on a chair with a blanket.

I hurriedly stood up, opened the door, and saw my father and Zhu Tan come out of the study one after another. Under the ceiling lights, my father's face looked very pale.

"The method is feasible; you can start testing..." Father's voice was gentle and low.

"Will do." Zhu Tan looked very serious.

I was flustered because I realized the paleness on my father's face was a harbinger before the onset of his illness. I rushed toward him.

He walked Zhu Tan to the door. As soon as he turned around, I burst out: "Dad, you're sick!"

"I'm not," he said and smiled at me. "I feel totally fine."

Soon after he had entered the living room, however, he sat on the couch. His breathing became labored, and his face lost its remaining color. My mother and I jumped up almost at the same time.

"Get the tablets!" Mother's voice was trembling. We helped him to lie down on the couch.

"Dad! You shouldn't receive guests at such an unholy hour!" Zhu Tan, you were so ignorant! You hindered the talk between a father and his daughter and dragged my father into the hell of illness. I hated you!

"You're too careless..." Mother sighed and put the nitroglycerin tablets under his tongue.

After a few minutes, his breathing gradually became normal. He opened his eyes and said with some difficulty, "This machine, once successfully developed, will bring great convenience to people, saving tons of manpower and hundreds of thousands of renminbi every year."

"That's why you should pay more attention to your health. If you live longer, you can coach and help them longer." Mother knew him the best. Even when she persuaded him to change his ways, she'd always represent it as being to his benefit.

He didn't respond but complained that he felt his chest tighten. I immediately connected him to the oxygen tank.

In recent months, his episodes had become more and more frequent and serious. The time from the onset lasted more than an hour. My mother and I, sitting by his side, anxiously watched over him, worrying about what would come next.

In the process of getting medicine and pouring water for him, I noticed the two boxes of imported medicine left by Fang Si Jun sitting on a chest of drawers. He had said that they were good at treating coronary heart disease. I walked over, picked up a box, and gave it to my father.

"No, I'm not using it." He pushed my hand away, and the medicine fell on the floor. I withdrew hastily and saw my mother watching me. She gestured for me to sit down. I walked silently to her side. His breathing was soft, and he seemed to be safely sinking into a deep sleep.

"Go to bed." Mother caressed my face and said, "You have to go to work tomorrow."

I shook my head silently. I was willing to watch over my father.

"I'm off tomorrow," she said, standing up and pulling me along with her hands. "Come—I'll walk you to your room."

I walked into my room with my mother without saying another word. She turned on the lights and laid the quilt for me, then quietly retired, leaving me alone in an empty room.

How could I sleep? The sleepiness had left me an hour ago. I sat alone on the edge of the bed, thinking about my father and my boyfriend, measuring them in my mind. One was my parent who loved me dearly. In his eyes, I could see the unconditional love, and I had never done anything against his will.

But the other was my lover, who loved me deeply. I could see the love and passion in his eyes whenever he looked at me, and I had vowed to love him forever; how could I abandon him?

Oh, Father! I love you, and I was willing to repay all you had done for me with my life, but I have fallen in love with someone you don't approve of... Oh, Father, how much I wanted our love to have your blessing; how I wished that you could love him too!

You once said: "If he can be your life partner, I wish him well." You didn't know how happy I was when I heard it! Who thought that you'd disapprove of him after you had met him!

If the stars in the sky could make you change your mind, Father, I'd ask him to get the stars; if the sea pearls on the ocean floor could make you change your mind, Father, I'd ask him to go to the bottom of the sea. Oh, Father, what could I do to eliminate your prejudice against him? What could I do to make you like him?

I looked up at the twinkling night sky. Except the emptiness, I saw nothing. I closed my eyes, but instead of finding peace, I found sadness. The more I thought about it, the more determined I became: I had to love him, and I wanted to love him, no matter what!

"Do you really think so?" I heard the calling of my father; his eyes were watching me.

"I love you, Chun—"

"He loves you so much..."

_Love_ , such a maddening word! Once I worshipped you, but now I cursed you! You ruthlessly disturbed my heart, his heart, and the heart of my father. You once generously gave me so much, but now you tried to take it all back!

How unfair! How could I ever be rid of this madness? I raised my hands toward the sky and closed my eyes. The lights were still on, but I fell asleep, exhausted.

# 7

The alarm clock mercilessly awakened me in the morning. I rubbed my eyes with a lump in my heart. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him look at me.

"Chun Ming, are you up?" Mother's voice reached me from outside, followed by the sound of her footsteps.

I sighed, propped myself up on my pillow, and responded vaguely. I dreamed last night that he knew what my father had said about him. He was so hurt that he stared ahead of him without saying a word. I woke up so upset that my tears spilled over. I leaned on my pillow and let the tears run.

For more than a week, I hadn't had a chance to talk to my father because he no longer read his paper in the morning and rarely left his study at night. Since Zhu Tan came to visit him almost every day, I was deprived of my right to appeal.

I had tried, but I didn't stand a chance. My mother saw how anxious I was and advised me to be patient, telling me the project my father and Zhu Tan were working on had entered the critical stage of trial testing.

I knew that his work was more important than my personal affairs, but it was too painful to sit around and wait. I couldn't talk to Fang Si Jun because I hoped that I could convince my father one day—I didn't want him to suffer because of me.

I had been trying to avoid meeting him; I was afraid that he'd guess what was going on if I let him see me and talk to me. Sorrow and worry made me dream of him constantly. Sometimes I dreamed that he was crushed because he knew, and sometimes I dreamed that he begged me to talk to my father. The other night, he told me desperately that losing my love was like losing life itself. I was sure he would've been devastated if he had known the truth!

"What happened to the kid? Isn't she going to work?" It was my father's voice. I was so worried that he might come in that I quickly wiped away the tears with the back of my hand. His footsteps stopped at the door. He gently knocked and said, "Chun Ming, it is six o'clock already!" His voice was so soft and loving that my heart hurt. I suppressed my feelings and answered him in a fuzzy voice as if I had just woken up.

My father left, and I began to dress. From time to time, I'd put my head in front of the mirror and look at my face. Both my parents were detail oriented, and I didn't want them to know that I had cried. I waited deliberately, watching the red tide in my eyes retreat, then slowly opened the door and walked to the bathroom.

"Chun Ming, hurry up so you can eat," my mother called to me from the kitchen.

I shook my head and said to myself, _How can I eat_?

"Don't you want your breakfast?" asked my mother when I picked up my handbag, preparing to leave.

"I'm not hungry," I said, then jerked around and ran toward the door.

*

The weather in early spring was cold. The northwest wind shook everything in its path and screamed across the city. The passengers waiting for the bus shrank their necks, tightened their scarves, and pulled the brims of their hats down to the eyebrows, trying to keep warm under the assault of the wind.

The cold of the spring was chillier because the wind from the northwest, on the verge of extinction, was so desperate it was revengeful. It swept the streets and fields, attacking the trees and people. I pulled against the door with my gloved hands and pushed myself into the bus.

The early morning was the peak time for the city public transportation. A huge number of people headed to the station from all directions, squeezing into buses or streetcars that were already full in order not to be late for work. The loud commands of the conductor couldn't keep the passengers in line, and the door wouldn't close without being pushed from outside. When the wheels were finally moving, passengers inside had to launch another battle. Some tried to squeeze out in order to get off at the next stop, some fought to find a place to put down the other foot, and some just wanted to stand upright without falling on others.

The bus moved slowly, and passengers struggled mightily. When I finally put my feet back onto the sidewalk, I was so exhausted that I dragged myself toward the factory. I was afraid of entering it, even more so the drawing room, where he often visited due to the needs of his work. Every time I saw him, I had to gather a lot of self-restraint so that I wouldn't be flustered.

I walked slowly, with my head down, when my arm was slammed by someone who then started to laugh as if I had done something funny.

"Chun Yan!" I was pleasantly surprised when I found out who it was.

"What's wrong with you, walking as slow as an old woman?" she said and laughed loudly, making people around us turn to look at us, amused.

"I was so exhausted after squeezing in and out of the bus." I blushed. "You don't know how difficult it was."

"Yeah, the bus! Why don't they send out more buses during the peak hours? It's crazy that they are allowed to pack in so many people! Those overstuffed buses move like they are half-dead—dragging, pulling, and procrastinating—no wonder people are late for work!" She lifted her long black eyebrows dismally.

Chun Yan was my best friend at work. We used to be in the same department. Because she was older than me, and her name was Chun Yan, people in the factory called her Big Chun and called me Little Chun. Chun Yan looked like a boy, tall and muscular. She had a wide face, thick black hair, and round eyes. On the sides of her big mouth, which often laughed, there was a pair of deep dimples. It was fascinating to hear her laugh because it sounded like a bell ringing in different tones. Although she was only two years older, she was more capable and very protective of me, so around her, I looked and felt much younger.

I took her arm; my sorrow had been swept away by her laughter.

But she shook off my hand. "Don't try to suck up to me. You know you're in trouble, so you're trying to look like an innocent kitten!" She burst out laughing again when she saw the inexplicable look on my face.

"What's the matter?" I looked at her, confused.

"Don't try to pretend that you don't know!" She laughed so hard that she cried, holding her stomach. "I won't ask you now because I want you to think about it," she said with a stern face. "We'll go home together after work. If you confess first, I'll forgive you. Otherwise, you'll be in real trouble."

"You're bad!" I suddenly realized what it was all about.

"Hey, I'm bad or you're bad?" Chun Yan's laughter became more joyful. "You did it without consulting me!"

Quite a few workers walking alongside us were laughing. I blushed, pulling her arm while saying, "Stop it, Chun Yan. I'm so upset right now."

"Why?" She looked at me with concern as well as curiosity. "What's going on?" she asked.

I was just about to tell her but stopped, grasping the fact that we were surrounded by people we didn't really know. I whispered, "I'll meet you after work; we'll talk about it on our way home."

"OK." She glanced at me and smiled. We walked quietly for a few minutes before she pulled me aside. "By the way," she said, "did you hear that the government is trying to trace some political rumors?"

"What rumors?" I raised my eyes, puzzled.

"I don't know the specifics, but I heard it's not a trivial matter. Someone in the central committee has ordered the investigation."

"What kind of rumors?" I persisted.

"How do I know? I only heard it yesterday. You'll see—there'll be another big movement coming. One after another—when will it end?" Chun Yan wrinkled up her nose disdainfully.

"Hush, you can't say things like that."

"I'm just telling you. If I couldn't even complain to you, I'd die."

We broke up at the stairway leading toward the drawing room. She smiled and told me not to be late. I promised and watched her turn to the hallway that led to the paint shop.

I carefully depicted the pattern at work as my mind wandered. I was very cautious, afraid that I'd leave some trace on the drawings if I didn't pay attention. However, caution aside, I still couldn't help but leave marks on my drawing. Under the flower bulbs, there should be some tiny leaves, but I accidentally drew them bigger than desired. Some were so out of proportion that I had to tear it up. Fortunately, we didn't have quotas then, and I wouldn't be in trouble even if I didn't produce enough for a day.

I was quite sure Chun Yan wanted to hear a happy story, but knowing its obstacles, I was struggling to decide what I should tell. I didn't want to tell lies, and I couldn't pretend I was happy while there was a tear in my heart.

I didn't eat anything in the morning. At noon, I barely finished a bowl of fried rice. Love used to make me ecstatic, but it made me gloomy and sad now. I had been suffering so much that I actually looked forward to having someone share my sorrow. If Lin Nan were in Shanghai, I would've talked to her, but she was thousands of miles away. In fact, I was so glad that I had a friend like Chun Yan that I decided to unburden myself and tell her everything. I hoped that she might be able to help me to find a way out of my trouble.

I closed the door and rushed toward our meeting place when it was time to leave. I had so much to talk about that I could hardly wait.

Chun Yan was always punctual. I saw her standing at the factory door as soon as I turned a corner, but at the same time, I saw him, standing next to Chun Yan and talking to her! My heartbeat went up a notch, and I was near panic. What should I do? Should I go back or forward?

"Chun Ming!" Chun Yan saw me and raised her hand. "Told you not to be late!" she complained with a laugh.

He turned and looked at me with an affectionate smile. I tried to smile back but couldn't. I dropped my eyes to conceal my nervousness.

They were both looking at me. One probably thought that I was embarrassed because she had found out my secret without me telling her, so her laughter became more joyful; the other probably thought my uneasiness was the fact that I saw him talking to my friend, so the look in his eyes became more affectionate.

I stopped in front of them but couldn't stop my blushing.

"I've already talked to Chun Yan, who agreed to meet you tomorrow." Looking relaxed and content, his face actually glowed.

I eyed Chun Yan, begging her not to agree. What I needed the most wasn't meeting him but talking to her!

Chun Yan pulled me aside. "This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," she said, trying to lower her voice but instead raising it. Her laughter made my face even hotter. "Congratulations!" she whispered into my ear and walked away, leaving me standing there, staring at her back.

"Let's go," he said to me, taking and holding one of my hands. It was the first time that our hands were linked in front of coworkers. I tried to pull my hand out, but he wouldn't let me. "Don't be shy." His smile grew bigger. "I've already told Lao Yu. He supports our relationship." He took my arm and walked me out of the factory proudly.

"How have you been?" He looked at me as we walked briskly. "I haven't seen you for several days." His voice was so sweet that I was instantly smitten. "I went to bed almost at midnight last night. As for why, I'll tell you later." He winked at me mysteriously. "Maybe because I've been thinking of you; I always see you as soon as I close my eyes..."

Oh, Father! Why can't you believe that we love each other and that our love is sincere? I wish you could see him right now and listen to what he says.

"Chun, what's the matter?" He looked at me searchingly.

"Nothing." I tried to conceal my sadness.

"No, you're upset. Otherwise, why don't you smile?" he said stubbornly.

How could I smile when I was hurt? But in order to hide the root cause of my grief, I smiled reluctantly. "I am smiling."

"No, your smile should be the most beautiful in the world, but this isn't." He shook his head, looking anxious. "Did your father..."

"Oh no..."

"Then tell me, what's the matter?"

How could I tell him? "Why do you want me to tell you everything?" I pretended to be annoyed.

"Because I love you," he refuted. "I've given you everything, including my life. Why don't you trust me?"

I sighed. "I was upset because," I said slowly while raking up my mind to find an excuse that I thought he would believe, "I heard that the government is trying to trace some rumors, and I'm afraid my cousin and Lin Nan might be in trouble."

His eyes widened in surprise. "How do you know?"

"Do you?" Seeing that he was actually nervous, fear crept into my mind.

He nodded. "Lao Yu told me," he said. "They're trying to catch the operator behind the rumor mill that spreads political rumors around the country, and they believe the guy might be hidden inside the central government."

"Do you know what the rumors are?" I asked.

"You know most of them," he said. "Such as the queen of the red capital, the proposed adjustment to the literary policy, and the gang of Shanghai, and so forth—the same as what your cousin and Lin Nan had told you."

My face became very pale. "Are you pulling my leg?" I looked at him, hoping he was just kidding.

"Why should I lie? This is what Yu Shan Zhang told me. He also said it's a state secret, so I shouldn't tell anyone about it."

I was stunned. I had wanted to find an excuse to cover up my sadness. I had no idea that what Chun Yan said was true. What would happen to my cousin and Lin Nan if they had been spreading rumors? Were they going to face investigation?

"I warned you about it, remember?" said Fang Si Jun. "You said it's the truth, but they said it's a rumor. Politics is like a tiger—it can't be tamed by people like you and me. If we don't run away from it, sooner or later, we'll be swallowed by it."

I was very impressed that he had foreseen the consequences when nobody else did. Even though I didn't believe him when he first warned me, I had to now because reality was backing him up.

"Fortunately, your cousin and Lin Nan don't live in Shanghai. Otherwise, it could affect your political future. If they get into trouble, you'd be implicated by association."

"You didn't tell anyone what I told you, did you?" I was so scared that I broke out in a sweat.

"I'm not an idiot." He smiled charmingly. "Why should I push my beloved into a fire pit? Don't forget we're two peas in a pod. When something happens to you, it's as if it happens to me. Do you understand?"

I nodded, but a dark cloud quickly shrouded my face. "What would happen to them?"

"Them?"

"I meant my cousin and Lin Nan," I said. "Will they be punished?"

He shook his head. "Didn't I want you to warn them, and you told me that you did? As long as they stop talking to outsiders about their political views, they should be fine."

I was very glad that I did tell Jian Hua at the train station that they should stop talking in front of others. Although the end result wasn't as ideal as I had hoped, at least I had done what I could.

I looked into his eyes and said gratefully, "Thank you, I really appreciate your help."

He looked very pleased. "But I should thank you," he said graciously, "because you give me love."

"But..."

He smiled and covered my mouth with one of his hands and pulled me closer with another. "In order to prove your love, you'll accompany me to eat at a restaurant tonight."

"Tonight? I didn't tell my parents..."

"Didn't you just say that you're grateful?" He looked at me pleadingly. "If you are, can't you just grant me one small request?"

I said nothing because I was willing. "Where do you want to go?"

"We're already on Huaihai Road. Why don't we go to Shanghai Western Restaurant?"

We had indeed reached Huaihai Road, one of the busiest commercial thoroughfares in the city, because I saw the sign Huaihai Market clearly embedded in the wall of a building ahead of us and a sea of pedestrians and bicycles that moved at a snail's pace.

"Chun, I wrote a poem last night," he said; his voice sounded like singing.

"A poem?"

"Yes. I told you before that I wanted to write you a poem. I spent the whole night last night writing it." I looked up at him, seeing a happy glow in his eyes.

"What did you write about?" I was curious.

He smiled, taking a piece of paper from his pocket and giving it to me.

I glanced at him as I opened it.

He turned a bit pink. "Take it home to read it," he urged me.

"Why?"

"Because..." he stuttered. "Go home to read it."

Seeing that he was a bit embarrassed, I decided to tease him. "I want to read it now," I said with a mischievous grin.

"Why don't you read it in the restaurant?" He tried to grab it.

I put it in my pocket. "OK," I said with a laugh. "I'll read it at the restaurant."

Shanghai Western Restaurant was located in the middle section of Huaihai Road. It wasn't big but had a good reputation. Downstairs was a pastry store, and upstairs served formal meals. During the Cultural Revolution, Western cuisine had mostly been wiped out as an aspect of capitalism, but this restaurant survived. It retained quite a few popular desserts, such as ice cream cake, lemon pie, chocolate cake, fruit jelly, and tiramisu. Depending on the political climate, they were displayed in the store windows or hidden inside.

When we stepped into the restaurant, we saw that a long queue had formed in front of the cash register near the door. It had become the rule of the past ten years: diners had to pay their bills first before they could sit down and eat.

He quickly stood in line and asked me to grab a table upstairs. The dining room upstairs served dinner only. If diners wanted a piece of dessert after a meal, they had to go downstairs. The tight food supply had made restaurants in the city extremely popular. Despite the fact that we were relatively early, there was only one table near the stairs available; the rest of the dining room was full.

A waiter came by as soon as I sat down, carrying a handful of chopsticks. Because the Western way of eating, using knives and forks, was considered as glorifying capitalism, everyone had to use chopsticks now, regardless of the cuisine.

"How many?" he asked without looking at me.

"Two," I replied.

He left two pairs of chopsticks and two soup spoons, then left.

As soon as he was out of my sight, I took the piece of paper from my pocket and opened it.

*

Her forehead is white and her cheeks' pure dye

Like twilight rosy still with the evening sun.

_Bright black eyes, thin lips_ — _sweet lips, that make me sigh,_

Ever to have seen such; for her was one

Fit for the model of a statuary.

We are both young,

Longing for happiness is a common sign.

She seem'd to me, the kind of being sent,

Of whom these few years I had nightly dream'd

A something to be loved, a creature meant

To be my happiness, and whom I deem'd

To render happy; all who joy would win

Must share it—happiness was born a twin

*

How beautifully written! I sighed, and the blush stained my cheeks and my forehead as I read it the second time.

"Well?"

I looked back and saw him holding a paper ticket for the dishes he had ordered. He leaned over and asked me, "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"I love it!" I was so moved that I knew what my destination would be: I loved him! If my father agreed, I'd love him; if my father didn't agree, I...I...I'd still love him!

# 8

Soon it was the monsoon season; it rained off and on almost every day for a month. The change in weather was bad for my father and for his state of mind. At first, he just looked unhappy, and then he stopped talking. Zhu Tan still came to visit. Only when he was present, my father would smile a bit. As soon as Zhu Tan left, his face would go back to match the rainy sky, gray and dark.

I had tried in vain to solve the mystery of his sudden mood change. I even stood outside his study once, eavesdropping, but except for some inexplicable terminology, such as "D3 big" and "D5 east," I heard nothing. My father's sunny disposition had always appeared alongside his work. He was happy as long as he was working. It had never happened before that he'd worked day in and day out joylessly and sullenly.

Sometimes, bad weather could cause discomfort and mood changes, but I was more and more certain that this change of behavior was extraordinary. I tried to analyze the psychology of it, and I didn't forget that my love affair could've contributed to it, but I knew it wasn't true because he had been busy. When my father was busy, he wouldn't be bothered by personal issues. Then I thought Zhu Tan might know something that I didn't know because Father was very friendly with him. I decided to confront Zhu Tan when my mother wasn't around. She had to attend meetings twice a week, so she'd be home late at night on those two days.

One night, as soon as I saw him approach our building from my bedroom window, I went to the door to wait. I stopped him before he could ring the bell.

"Please come to my room," I whispered to him.

"What's the matter?" He stared at me with a pair of deep eyes. He must've been very surprised because I had never greeted him before, let alone talked to him.

I pressed a finger on my mouth, making a gesture to stop him from speaking again. I was afraid that my father would come out of the study as soon as he heard his voice.

He obediently followed me and walked into my room, passing Father's study. I asked him to sit in front of my desk and closed the door. How should I start? I was a bit flustered, but he was very calm, looking at me without showing much surprise.

Standing in front of someone I used to hold grudge against, I felt rather uneasy. I had thought about how to start the conversation, but when I had to do it, I had trouble getting the words out. The silence made both of us uncomfortable. I saw a flush creep up his pale face as he became restless.

"I want to... ask you," I said hastily. "You come to see my father almost every day... What have you been doing?"

His eyes widened, but he gave no reply.

There was no return; however, I had to charge ahead. "What I want to know is, what are you doing with my father? I heard something like 'BH for university,' 'DX for department store.'"

"Ah, you're talking about the method of the input."

I nodded. "Is my father doing it all this month?"

"You don't know?" He was quite taken aback. "The key to the project, an automatic directory system, is how to handle the input of Chinese characters, as the data structure and search method of the computer depend entirely on processing of these characters." It seemed very strange to him that I, the chief's daughter, didn't even know the basics.

I shook my head, embarrassed. "My father only gave me a brief introduction," I explained. "I've no idea what the project is about."

"But you know the '114' help desk?"

I nodded. "You dial 114 to reach the operator if you need a phone number to call someone."

"Yes, that's why our project is named Project 114." Perhaps what he said was what he had been working on—his expression had totally changed. His eyes flashed and his face was animated when he continued: "You know the phone numbers are dynamic records, and there're many changes during installations and removals every day. Even though the phone book is updated once a year, there're still wrong and missing numbers. To ensure the smoothness of the communications between all walks of life, the bureau has invested a lot of money and resources into the '114' help desk."

I listened attentively.

"When you walk into the operating room, you can see the operators working meticulously and duteously." He leaned over and put his hands on the desk, as if he was sitting in the operating room of the help desk. "It's a big room with rows of operators. Having carefully listened to users' inquiries, some operators consult the carousel files, some use the phone book, and some rely on their memories; they usually find the number within seconds. However, the number of telephone circuits provided by each device on the console is limited; when someone calls in, the corresponding relay circuit indicator will blink, and the operator has to answer. Under normal circumstances, the indicator light on each console flashes nonstop, which means the volume of people calling in is so high that all the circuits are occupied. That's why the calls to the phone directory are difficult to get through. In order to serve people better, operators work in three shifts around the clock, finding ways to reduce the wait time and speed up as much as possible by memorizing phone numbers and references. Even so, they can't keep up with the requests. After the Fourth National People's Congress setting the goal of achieving modernizations, our bureau proposed to invest in an automation system."

He explained further about how they started working on the automatic system by forming a team of experts. He looked so different from the night when he first came to visit. In fact, not only could he speak well, but he was very knowledgeable about what was going on in his field. I was captured by his vivid explanation and descriptions.

"The automatic system uses an integrated circuit electronic computer as the main, which was designed by your father."

Listening to him, my sense of restraint had been completely eliminated, and I was ready to ask the real question. "So, Zhu Tan..."

My sudden vocal calling surprised him. He immediately closed his mouth and looked at me apprehensively.

I was so anxious I just burst out: "It's about my father..."

His muscles tightened, but his deep eyes indicated that he was listening. I continued, "He's been in a bad mood recently. In the past, he was happy when he was working. Even if it was a difficult task, we could still hear him laughing from time to time. But he's become very unhappy since he started working on the automatic system. Only when you're here does he talk and smile."

While talking, I couldn't help feeling sad, and my voice started trembling. "My mom and I are worried because he has coronary heart disease and is in very poor health..." Tears slowly dripped down my cheeks, and I had to bite my lips to prevent myself from breaking down crying.

He didn't make any move, but his face turned ghastly pale. "Chief!" he muttered. "I didn't know..."

"Do you know what happened? I really want to understand..."

"He...he..." He stared at me with widened eyes. "Because...oh... How should I put it?"

"Please tell me!" I begged.

He raised his head and said fiercely, "Because the bureau wants to send Chief back! The project is about to succeed, but...they don't want it to happen."

"Why? Don't they want to finish the project?" I was stunned.

"No." He slammed his right hand on his knee.

"Why?" It was so incredible that I was shocked beyond means.

"Since the meeting in March to fight the policy reversal by the rightists, scientific research has been put on the back burner." He did not answer me directly, probably thinking that I should've known.

But I didn't know. "Why?" I asked.

"Because modernizations are the policy of the rightists and will lead to capitalism."

The door was gently pushed open at this moment. Our voices might've alarmed my father, who walked in with a smile. "Xiao Zhu, why are you here?"

"Chief..." Zhu Tan quickly stood up.

"What are you talking about?" Father looked at me with great interest.

"She wanted me to tell her about the project we're working on."

"Oh?" Father seemed to be pleased as he looked at me and asked, "Is the introduction finished?"

"It's over. I was going to see you, but you beat me to it," Zhu Tan said, smiling at me, and soon followed my father out of the door.

*

I finally understood what was going on with my father, a workaholic who loved his work as much as he loved life itself. In order to get the work done, he had been sacrificing his health and happiness under undue pressure. I worried about him because the political current could soon sweep everything away. What would be the result of his stubbornness and persistence then?

I wasn't sure what had happened, but Zhu Tan left rather early. After Father had sent him away, he came to my room. This was the first time he came in to talk since he had taken over the project.

"What're you reading?" he asked as he stood by my side and looked at me.

I handed him the book in my hand, which I had casually taken out in a boring reverie.

He took it from me, flipping through it, and then pulled out a chair and sat next to me. "Chun Ming, I thought long and hard last night while in bed. I feel that I've made a grave mistake in the past few years."

"Mistake?" I looked at him, confused.

"I realized that I've been fulfilling my responsibilities as an engineer, but I haven't fulfilled my obligations as your father. I let you waste several years of your time," he said with a sigh. The wrinkles on his face, deep and twisted, clearly revealed his emotions.

"Dad!" What was this? He had been teaching me a great deal since my childhood, and he cared about me always. How could he say that he hadn't fulfilled his obligations as my father?

"I didn't give up my work even in the most difficult circumstances, but I gave up the supervision of your study. This may be the only thing I'll regret when I die." To emphasize, he had put his hand on my shoulder. He was very serious, but his eyes were kind. He looked at me and said affectionately, "Your dad is getting old; even if my heart allows me to live for another few years, the end of my life is on the horizon. I haven't achieved much, but I've worked hard and contributed to my country all my life. For myself, I have nothing to regret. But for you..." He stopped and closed his eyes as emotion overwhelmed him. But when he looked at me again, I saw the determination. "You're the daughter of the chief of engineering; you should be more capable than your old man, not less, nor being useless. Saying _useless_ may be too severe, but you should understand what I mean. I don't want my daughter to be a useless person. The world has entered the era of electronic computing. Our country sooner or later has to catch up; a standstill can only be temporary because history always moves forward. Of course, modernization won't come to us by itself. You're twenty-two. After twenty years, you'll still be middle-aged. Therefore, the backbone of the ultimate goal of achieving modernizations should be you and your generation. You represent the future of our country, and you are our hope. But over the years, you've wasted too much time. You know too little, and your knowledge is too limited. At your current level, you wouldn't even know how to use the device if it had been invented, let alone being engaged in innovation and creation. Think about it, my child: if everyone in your generation is like you, what hope do we have of achieving modernization?"

My head sank like a stone. I felt so ashamed that I could hardly lift my eyes to look at my father, who had to be sad because his daughter didn't even know the basic concepts of mathematics, chemistry, and physics—what a joke!

But I had never been bothered by my lack of knowledge—how could I? Even though I only had a sixth-grade education, I never felt bad about it because most people of my age were the same. The start of the Cultural Revolution had robbed us of a decade of schooling—we didn't get an education after elementary school.

"It can't continue as it is, at least when I'm still alive," he said seriously. "You have to start learning again, start from scratch, from the foundation. I'll be your teacher, I'll take up my responsibility as your father, and I want to help you to take back the lost time. Chun Ming, my child, can you do it?"

"Yes." I fell on my father's shoulder and cried.

"Starting tomorrow," he said excitedly while stroking my hair, "we'll be teacher and student in addition to father and daughter."

I nodded.

"You know, Zhu Tan has acquired the equivalent of a college level of knowledge with self-study. He was in high school when the Cultural Revolution started, so I know it is achievable as long as you put your mind to it." Father grabbed my hands and said with emphasis, "Remember, my child: knowledge will give you wisdom; learning makes progress. Over time, you'll understand."

It suddenly came to my mind that I should ask Fang Si Jun to study as well! If we studied together, my father would certainly like him and let go of his prejudice. I understood now why he liked Zhu Tan so much.

*

Thursday afternoon when I was home, off from work, Zhu Tan showed up unexpectedly. I opened the door, and he told me it was his day off, too, so he came to get the reading list from my father. I didn't know my father had also acted like his teacher, assigning books periodically for him to read.

"Xiao Zhu." Father heard us talking and came out of his study. "I'm free this afternoon," he said. "I'll accompany you to the bookstore, get the books you need, and pick up a few textbooks for Chun Ming."

"Chief, you don't have to go. I can get the books myself with your list."

"I should go; those books are very important for your future advancement."

"You've been so busy that you haven't been able to rest..."

"Nonsense," Father interrupted. "I'm feeling pretty good—haven't been sick for quite a while."

I looked at him with a heavy heart. Oh, Father, how dedicated you were to work and to us! Even a few books, you wanted to get them for us personally, regardless of how fatigued you were and how little free time you had! I took his hand and said, "No, Dad, you aren't going! I'll go with him. He must know what textbooks I need."

"Yes," Zhu Tan agreed earnestly. "If you want a particular book, just write down the name—we'll find it."

"Well, it might work," Father said, looking at me thoughtfully. "She hasn't been to the bookstore for used books on Fuzhou Road; it might be worthwhile if you could show her around."

"Will do." Zhu Tan smiled and nodded to me. It seemed that he really thought that I was interested, even though I had no interest whatsoever in the bookstore or Fuzhou Road. I was only doing it for my father so that he could take a break.

*

Before I had time to say anything, he suggested that we walk over rather than taking a bus. He said he didn't like to take public transportation because it was always crowded. I agreed; although I didn't walk often, I thought I'd be able to reach Fuzhou Road, about two miles away.

We walked side by side along the way. At first, he didn't want to chitchat with me, only answering the questions I put in front of him. But his answers were always clear and to the point. When I told him that I was studying painting with my uncle, he said that he liked to draw comics when he was a child but gave up after he fell in love with sciences.

Because it was rather awkward not to talk while walking together, I kept asking away and soon started a conversation. When I asked him about the input system he was working on, he replied at length with a bunch of jargon—such as _system name_ , _separator numbers_ , _subsidiary name_ , and so on. He said that the system name was the most complicated and that they had to use an assembly method with sounds and shapes. "Sound" takes the first letter of a Chinese character, such as "BH" for a department store or "DX" for a university. "Shape" has fifteen strokes, forty-five radicals, and ten start-ups, he explained.

Afterward, he wanted me to find him a few store names with the same initials as examples. I found several, and he gave me detailed explanations one by one. Even though I didn't understand some of his explanations, I had to admire his rigorous attitude toward his work. "How much effort you have to put in!" I exclaimed in awe.

He laughed. "Nothing in science is effortless," he said.

Soon we turned into the lively Tibet Road. "Are you tired?" He turned to look at me.

I shook my head that I wasn't. Indeed, as we walked and talked, the long distance seemed to be shortened. I was actually surprised at how fast we had reached Tibet Road. "What about you?"

"I'm used to it."

"Do you always walk?" I was curious.

He nodded. "I never take a bus or a tram if I can help it."

"Why?"

"I like to walk; there're at least three advantages to it." He smiled and said, "First, there is no need to squeeze into a bus that is already packed full. The public transportation in the city is absolutely unbearable. Second, I can exercise; I don't have time to participate in sports, so walking is my exercise. Third, I can think."

I laughed. I heard more than once that some nerd ran into a telephone pole while trying to solve a problem, thinking how ridiculous it would be if it were him.

"What are you laughing at?" He looked at me, confused.

I couldn't help but jokingly ask, "Aren't you afraid of colliding with the telephone poles while walking and thinking?"

"No." He was a bit embarrassed. "Only once, I ran into a person..." I started giggling as soon as he said it. He gave me a look and charged ahead of me. I could tell he blushed because the color had spread to the back of his ears.

One section of Tibet Road was a commercial center, packed with people all day long, so it was very difficult to walk fast. "I hate the crowds," I muttered, trying desperately to follow his pace.

He smiled, quickly returning to his usual cheerful mood. "Sometimes I have trouble understanding why there's so many people on the streets. What are they doing? What brings them a smile even when they have to navigate the crowds? Then I laugh at myself. Why should I ask such silly questions? How can I impose my own thinking on others? People are very different. Some love to shop, and some like to wander; some live to make their lives better, and some live to make others' lives better."

"But I'm afraid I don't really know what I live for," I said awkwardly.

"Why?" he stammered. "I don't mean..."

I said self-consciously, "I thought very little about life before my father sat me down. It was rather an eye-opener, making me realize what a thoughtless person I had become. I'm trying to change now, at least—I want to have a goal in life."

"It's quite important to have a goal in life." He was visibly excited. "It guides me through my life and helps me to look for the big picture when I run into trouble."

Having a goal in life wasn't always alien to me. In my teenage years, I used to dream about my future. In the long years afterward, however, reality had replaced my illusory dreams, and the future was lost. I went to work, looking for love and personal comfort without feeling any guilt or uneasiness.

My father's criticism caused me to realize how unmotivated I had become. I asked him shyly, "What is your goal?"

"I want to be like your father, a builder who is dedicated to his work," he said without any hesitation.

I was speechless as I looked up at him. I couldn't believe that he could evaluate my father so fairly when he had only known him for a few months. It seemed that he knew my father better than I did.

Perhaps because of how far and fast I had walked, I felt hot and sweaty. The breath of spring was creeping around us as the buds of the willows dotted the branches, and the young leaves of phoenix sprouted up in groups. Most of the people on the street had taken off their winter jackets. The young women were showing off their brightly colored sweaters, yellow, green, cyan, red, and blue, but the outfits of young men were mostly gray and blue. Zhu Tan wore a gray jacket and a pair of navy-blue pants. His unbuttoned jacket revealed a light gray sweater.

"What is your goal?" he asked me as he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

"I don't have one," I replied shamefully. "I don't know what I want to do yet because what I like now is quite useless."

"What do you like?" He was curious.

"Reading," I said, "poems, novels..." I regretted that I had wasted so much time that I had nothing to show.

"How can you say that reading is useless? I don't read a lot, but I learn a lot from reading. Have you ever read _How the Steel Was Tempered_? The protagonist of the book, in my opinion, is the embodiment of strength and courage. If he could work diligently when he was blind and disabled, I can certainly overcome fatigue and difficulty."

I felt my face burning. I had read a lot of books, but I never looked for inspiration like he did.

"I don't have time to read now," he continued. "But if I can, I'll continue to read. Good books can provide us inspiration as well as education."

I nodded. I had originally just wanted to hear him talk about the project that my father was working on, but instead, I was learning quite a bit from him.

It didn't take much time to reach Fuzhou Road from Tibet Road. It was said that Fuzhou Road had more booksellers before 1949 than anywhere in Shanghai. This was no longer the case because during the Cultural Revolution, published books became forbidden fruit, so most of the bookstores had been closed and the street deserted.

The only bookstore still in business, in addition to nationalized bookseller Xinhua Bookstores, was a reseller selling used books. It was located in the middle of the road, impressively large, as the storefront was wider than five facades combined. Before the Cultural Revolution, it was simply called "Old Book Store." Because the word _old_ had become a taboo, it was changed to "Shanghai Bookstore" to differentiate it from Xinhua Bookstores.

The largest book reseller in the city had been greatly reduced in size these days. The only operative floor was the ground level, where rows of wooden bookshelves were scattered around. A salesperson stood behind the counter, looking bored.

It was rather difficult to find quality books because publication had been tightly controlled and censored. However, there were plenty of old, used textbooks available.

I stood in front of the bookshelves, dazzled. The ocean of knowledge was so vast that I didn't know where to start. Fortunately, Zhu Tan was an expert. He quickly found a set of textbooks for me, as well as some professional reference books for himself, according to my father's list.

"Three yuan and sixty pennies." The salesperson told us the total price when we were ready to check out.

So cheap! My eyes widened in surprise.

Zhu Tan wasn't impressed. He told me they weren't considered cheap because nobody wanted them, and the reseller bought them at the price of the waste papers.

I couldn't help turning my head and looking around the interior once more. It was almost empty, except for a few customers, who must be people like us, coming in on their day off, trying to find something they could read. I watched the salesperson bundle up the books, then left with Zhu Tan.

*

It was late in the afternoon. As soon as we ran up the stairs with the books, I heard my father calling me anxiously from his study: "Chun Ming, please come here!"

"What's up, Dad?" I threw the books on a bench in the hallway and ran to him.

"Your uncle just called," he told me, frowning. "He said that he wanted to talk to me about something urgent, but I also got a phone call from my office; they want to see me right away."

"Go to your office, then, and I'll go to see Uncle and find out what is going on."

"Tell him I'm sorry," he said as he hurriedly left with Zhu Tan. "I'll try to talk to him tomorrow."

I quickly cleaned up the mess, moving the books from the hallway to my room, and left a note for my mother, then locked the door and hurried away.

# 9

I ran to my uncle's house from the bus station, calling him as soon as I stepped into his study.

"Is it...you?" My uncle raised his head, glancing at me strangely. He stood at the desk, his left hand pressed on the rice paper and his right hand in midair, holding a brush made of wolf's hair. It had been pushed down so hard and so many times it looked like a broom, but he was still dragging and sweeping the paper with it.

He was acting so peculiar that I didn't dare to ask what was going on. After a long while, I said timidly, "Dad got your message. He was called into his office, so he couldn't come. He said he'd contact you tomorrow."

He sighed but didn't say anything. The pressing sound of the brush against the paper continued.

I was pretty sure something had gone terribly wrong, but what was it? Could it be my aunt, whom I hadn't seen since I had entered the house? I tiptoed to my uncle. "Where is Auntie?"

Uncle let go of his brush. Putting both his hands on the desk, he said to me, "It's on the coffee table in the living room. Go and read it."

I threw him a puzzled look, then started toward the living room. There was a letter on the coffee table, and I realized it was from my cousin.

*

Dear Mom and Dad:

I've received all your letters.

Dad asked me why I didn't reply for so long. It was because Lin Nan had disappeared in Tiananmen Square after arriving in Beijing. You're probably aware of the incident, but what actually happened there isn't what was reported by the media. I have letters from Lin Nan to prove it.

On April 9, after receiving two consecutive letters from her, I got a phone call from her parents telling me that she had disappeared without a trace. While I had heard the crackdown from the radio, I couldn't believe that she'd been one of the victims. It was soon confirmed, however, as I was called into the field office the next day for political quarantine because, as the fiancé of a "counterrevolutionary," I was considered a sympathizer of her ideology. Having been locked up for two weeks, I was finally released yesterday.

Dear Mom and Dad, I grew up under your loving care and guidance. Since I can remember, I was told repeatedly why Dad had chosen to return when he could have lived comfortably abroad. Unfortunately, the fact that he had lived abroad became a crime during the Cultural Revolution, and the right becomes the wrong. After the death of our premier, whoever mourns him in public becomes a "counterrevolutionary."

Dad, I hope you'll understand that the way you've been treated is one of the reasons that I want to fight for change.

Mom, your parting words are still echoing in my ear. Please be assured that I'll try my best to stay healthy and strong.

I have a lot of like-minded friends who have been helping me. Living in such a big family, you can rest assured that I'll be fine.

P.S. Please tell my uncle that Lin Nan had sent the wreath on their behalf while in Tiananmen.

*

Tears fell off my face and dropped on the letter when I was reading. I felt so much pain, as if my heart had a tear. Dear Lin Nan, how could you become a "counterrevolutionary"? What had you done except offer mourning wreaths to the Premier? Was it a crime? Was it anticommunism, antiparty behavior? The media told us that the mobs in Tiananmen Square were anticommunism criminals who had burned cars and stores, but I couldn't connect those accusations to you, the gentlest and the kindest person I'd ever met. I couldn't believe it was possible that you had been involved in the violence.

I remembered my father said to you: "If possible, please send a wreath for our family..."

"Will do." The expression on your face was so sincere.

I remembered that I warned you to be careful before you left, but you smiled faintly and said: "Of course, there are huge obstacles in front of us, but for the future of our country, we shouldn't only care about personal gains and losses."

You believed in upholding the truth, but the media said you were a criminal. Who was right and who was wrong? Reason told me that I should believe the media because it was the voice of the central government, but emotionally, I wanted to believe you!

Oh, Lin Nan! I still remembered that you had waved at me, shouting, "See you next year!" I could almost see that your eyes were wet with tears while saying the ultimate goodbye.

I knew that you were the daughter of a veteran cadre who had gone into a lot of battles for the country. You had a deep feeling for the chairman and the party since you were a child. How could you possibly be a counterrevolutionary? It was simply impossible!

Uncle approached me and held me in his arms. "Don't cry, my child, please don't cry..." But I saw tears in his eyes. I held him tightly, and we found my aunt sobbing in the bedroom and held her. The three of us held each other and cried while my aunt murmured, "My poor child..."

I couldn't remember how I got back home that night; I was so upset and confused that everything became a blur.

If everything in my life had been wrapped in contentment and happiness before, Lin Nan's death was the beginning of the opposite side of the extreme. In the days that followed, my life would become a crater of melancholy and darkness.

*

Back home, the door of my father's study was wide open. He was standing by the desk with his head hanging low.

"Dad, what's wrong?" I was so alarmed that I ran over, taking one of his hands.

He shook, as if suddenly wakened from a bad dream.

"Dad!" I was terrified. What happened? He couldn't have been to my uncle's, could he?

He turned to look at me. "I'm unemployed," he said bitterly.

He had been ordered to stop working and was not allowed to intervene in the project any longer.

Once again, he had been removed from office and deprived of the opportunity and the right to work, pushing him into a mental meltdown. The place that needed him the most, he wasn't allowed to go, but the place that didn't need him, he had to stay. The hands that had designed so many automatic devices were hanging because he wasn't allowed to use them. It was a heavy blow to the old man who regarded work as his life!

His spirit was broken, and his health rapidly declined. He stayed at home all day, doing the only work that he was allowed to do, homeschooling me.

A week later, Zhu Tan brought the embarrassing news: there was a breakdown during resettlement, and nobody could fix it because nobody knew what the problem was. When he heard the news, he jumped out of his chair and said commandingly, "I'll have to go and look at it."

We tried to persuade him not to, but his stubbornness was simply too much for us to handle. He gathered up the blueprints and the papers and said to us inconspicuously, "I have to be there when the equipment is being placed."

He took responsibility and went to the site. He cared about his work so much that he forgot to look at the political current and the fact that working in a rapidly changing political environment could become synonymous with criminality.

He had no idea how much my mother and I had been worried about him since. Not only that we worried about his health, but also the blows that would come soon to crash him.

We ushered in International Labor Day on May 1 with despondency and unhappiness. Because it was a national holiday, Fang Si Jun wanted to take me to Yu Garden because the inner garden had become accessible after an extensive renovation.

I wasn't in the mood to go, so I made up an excuse and declined it. My father was being criticized because he had ignored the order and insisted on helping with the installation of the automatic system, which instantly became a crime. His most recent label was "the loyal cadre from the right," and he was treated as harshly and inhumanly as if he was a felon.

When I knew what had happened to him, I was so upset that I lost the ability to cry. A shock mixed with extreme pain repeatedly pierced my heart like a dagger. Although I knew he'd run into trouble sooner or later, I couldn't believe it'd come so brutally fast!

I at first blamed my father. Why couldn't he just be obedient like the others? But it didn't last long because I knew that he didn't do anything wrong. His only fault was to take his responsibility too seriously.

I might not know Lin Nan because I had only spent a few days with her, but I knew my father. I lived with him for twenty-two years; I knew his emotions, his thoughts, and his whole being. What was the "loyal cadre from the right"? Was it a crime that he had been working all his life? Was it a crime when he took responsibility as the chief engineer? How could anyone explain this nonsense?

I couldn't doubt my father because he was the person I knew best, but could I doubt the government? I couldn't! How could the government be wrong? It could only be the fault of the executors at the lower level. For that reason, I hated the leaders of his company who accused and blasphemed him. I was so angry that I wanted to reason with them. I didn't do so only because my mother stopped me. She was afraid that I'd have the same fate as Lin Nan if I dared to argue.

"But Mom," I asked her in tears, "why can't we express ourselves if they did something wrong? Are we willing to let Dad suffer under their thumbs?"

Mother could only answer me with tears. What could she say?

*

May 6 was our first day off from work after the holiday. When Fang Si Jun again invited me to Yu Garden, I couldn't decline anymore.

The air in early May was warm and refreshing; the phoenix trees were covered with tender green leaves, and the weeping willows were floating in the breeze. The inner garden had a small and exquisite rockery, decorated with a new Qing Xue Tang and Guan Tao Lou and dotted with exotic flowers and trees. He liked the rockery but loved the dragon wall more, where a hundred-foot-long dragon sat atop a brick wall with its head up. Its eyes were painted bright blue, and the scales on its back layered neatly.

In the spring, the shopping mall outside the garden had expanded, adding quite a few seasonal stands. The owners of the stands tried to recruit passersby by loudly advertising how great their goods were. Shoppers surrounded them in twos and threes, some because their children wanted something unique, and some because they were attracted to the new items that just came on the markets. They chatted happily while they picked and chose what they wanted.

I envied those who were happy and carefree. I saw a young father carrying a little girl who had a paper snake that her father just bought from one of the stands. She raised her eyes and smiled happily at him. Seeing their faces full of love, I couldn't help but think of my father.

*

Last night, he had become ill again, and the dose of nitroglycerin tablets barely managed to control his condition. At first, I had brought him the medicine Fang Si Jun had brought, but he once again pushed it away. In the early morning, he finally fell asleep. I told my mother I could cancel my outing because I didn't want to leave my father alone at home.

Mother glanced at my father, who was sleeping peacefully, and said, "No, I am going to take a vacation day."

"Mom, but I don't want to go. I prefer staying home to be with you."

"You've already made the plan," she stroked my hand and said softly. "Go to have some fun; just come home early."

*

As I was reminded of my father, I lost all my interest in the garden and the mall.

"Chun, look at this fluffy dog! So cute! Should I buy it? I will if you like it," he said while pulling me toward the stand that sold stuffed animals.

When he spoke, I felt a strange fuzziness in my hand. I jumped, and a golden fluffy dog fell to the ground.

The salesman and he exclaimed dismally almost at the same time. Fortunately, it had been protected by a layer of plastic wrap, so the puppy was as good as new.

"Look at you," he complained. "Why didn't you hold it when I gave it to you?" He looked at me and took one of my hands. "Now hold it; don't drop it again." He put the stuffed dog in my palm.

The dog was really beautiful with its puppy eyes and curly golden fur. If I was in a better mood, I'd love it, but I didn't have any interest in anything at the moment.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

I nodded, then shook my head, placing the dog back on the stand.

He stared at me in surprise, then pulled me away. "What's wrong, Chun? You aren't your normal self."

I looked up at him helplessly.

"Is it because of Lin Nan? She's dead already. Why can't you let it be? You've done your part; if she didn't listen, why bother to grieve? It is sad that she should meet her death this way, but it's really her own fault. If you can't stop pitying her, why not try to take some pity on me? I've been trying very hard to make you happy, but nothing seems to work. Not only are you not happy, but you're upset. Something must be the matter. Tell me, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," I said pitifully. "I just feel so sad."

"You've changed a lot recently," he said while looking at me thoughtfully. "It seems there's always something on your mind. I haven't seen your smile, the radiant, innocent smile, for quite a while now. What is wrong? I'm really worried about you!"

I shook my head silently. There were so many things on my mind that l didn't know what to say. I sighed. "Let's go back home. My dad got sick again last night; my mom is the only one there." I stopped and added, "In a few days, I should be able to tell you everything."

"OK," he said, pulling down his eyelids helplessly. "I'll walk you back."

He held my hand and walked back home with me. I hardly talked because I didn't have the heart to chitchat. But he didn't say much either, except telling me that I had to be careful about my father's health and asking me to convey his concern to my father.

He still didn't know that my father didn't like him. If he knew that my father wasn't even willing to use the medicine he brought, his heart would break.

We said goodbye outside the building. He looked into my eyes for a long time before saying, "I shall see you tomorrow."

*

I watched him until he disappeared at the corner of the street, then dragged myself upstairs. Halfway through, I remembered my father and started racing up the stairs.

"Dad!" I shouted while pushing the door open. I was anxious because I felt guilty to go out when he was sick. "Are you feeling better?" I asked when my hand was still holding the doorknob of my parents' bedroom.

No one answered; no one in the room! The bed was neatly made, and everything was in order. This was my mother's habit; no matter how busy she was, she had to put everything in order. I rushed to the living room and my father's study to see if they had left me a note while wondering if they left for work or for the hospital. If my father's condition had gotten worse, my mother could've taken him to the hospital.

But everything was as usual, and they didn't leave me any message. I stood in the study, thinking. Would he go to his office? In the past few days, he had to go in every day, writing self-criticisms and confessions. I looked up at the clock; it was a quarter past eleven. He could also have gone to the hospital in order to obtain permission for sick leave.

Instead of waiting for them to return, I decided to cook lunch for them. My mother normally came home for lunch because she had a one-hour lunch break, and the school was just around the corner. If I made it, she didn't have to cook when she came home.

She didn't go shopping that morning because my father got sick last night. Fortunately, we had some eggs and dried goods, sent by one of my mother's cousins in a suburb, that I could piece together for a delicious meal. I took some black fungus, dried shrimp, and seaweed out of their containers.

Without meat, I couldn't make the pan-fried pork and black fungus that was my father's favorite, but I could make egg custard: adding water and starch to the eggs, then frying them in a frying pan. The end result looked like a cauliflower; then I sprinkled it with minced black fungus, scallions, and dried shrimps. I also steamed some rice and made a soup with seaweed.

The rice was done, and the dish and soup were on the dining table. It was already noon, but my parents still hadn't returned. My waiting soon became apprehension. My mother should've been back in usual circumstances. But if they were at the hospital, they might have to wait if there had been more patients than usual. I looked at my watch, it was a quarter past twelve. I took a few lids to cover the dishes.

Soon, I became so restless that I walked up and down the hallway like a frustrated cat. The clock ticked slowly, and I decided that I had to find out what was going on. But where should I go? Whom should I ask? I wondered if I should call my mother's school. If she was there, she'd tell me where my father was. If she wasn't there, it'd prove to me that they were at the hospital.

Just as I was ready to go down to make a phone call, the doorbell rang.

Father! They were back! I was so excited that I ran to the door, but I stopped as I reached the door. Why didn't they bring the key? I put my hand hesitantly on the doorknob.

The doorbell rang again, followed by the voice of an elderly woman, "Is anyone home?"

I recognized the voice was one of the volunteers at the phone booth downstairs.

"Oh, you are home!" The anxious voice of the old woman aggravated my inner panic. "Your mom called, asking you to go to the Ruijin Hospital immediately; your dad is in the emergency room."

My whole body turned cold.

My father was in the emergency room!

He normally refused to go to the hospital, saying it would've used the same medicine anyway, so why bother. Because my mother knew the procedure and we had everything he needed at home, she wouldn't have sent him if she could handle it.

It could only mean that his illness had reached the breaking point, and he needed to be revived by the doctors! I closed the door and left home in a panic.

# 10

_Dad, where are you_? I was standing at the front door of the hospital, feeling lost. My father was in it, but I was hesitant to go in.

What catastrophe waited for me inside? Looking at the patients who went in and out, ghastly pale and ailing, my heart shivered involuntarily.

"Where are you going?" a man operating a rickshaw on the side of the street asked me enthusiastically, thinking I was going to need transportation.

I shook my head.

"Are you sick?" he looked at me and asked.

"No." My tears burst out, and I said pitifully, "It's my father..."

Following the direction provided by the man, I soon reached a brick building with a milky-white glass door. Father! I pushed the door open and rushed in.

I glanced at the room I had been directed to, which was small and had a bed in the middle. I was eager to find my parents, but what I saw made me stop in my tracks. There was my mother, sitting close to the bed, sobbing. I hadn't seen her for only a few hours, but it seemed more like several years, as she looked so old and fragile that I hardly recognized her.

My gaze turned to the bed, wondering if it was indeed my father, lying under tubes and a white cover.

I walked slowly toward his bed, as if afraid of waking him up. Two doctors were standing at the end of his bed, and various drops were dripping into his veins through several tubes hanging on a wooden frame. An oxygen cylinder stood by his side, and half of his face was covered by a breathing mask.

"Mom!" I threw myself into my mother's arms.

She held me and hugged me. "Oh, my child," she murmured. Tears were running down her cheeks and falling on my shoulder.

"What happened to Dad?" I asked, pulling myself out of her embrace and turning to my father. His face was as white as the sheet, and his eyes were closed. I stared at him and cried, "Dad, Dad! Please wake up! I'm here; your daughter's here!"

My eyes were blinded by the tears; I vaguely heard the doctors whispering between themselves: "Had a shot..."

"Will he pass tonight?"

"Probably not..."

"No!" I screamed, pulling my father's hand in a fit.

"Be strong, child." The doctor with gray hair came to me and tore me away from my father.

With a dull crashing sound, my mother fainted and dropped to the floor. I rushed over and picked her up. "Mom, Mom!"

She opened her eyes, but the pupils were so dull, there wasn't any life in them. "What's the matter? Mom!"

She stared at me for a long, long time before I could see her eyes move. I held her tightly in my arms, and we both leaned against my father's bed and cried.

*

Oh, Father! You'd been criticized and punished in the past few weeks; they wanted you to abandon your faith, but you refused. You'd been suffering, but you continued to teach me. Looking at your gloomy face, how I missed your smile, the smile you once showered me with so generously.

When you fell ill last night, it was I who fed you the heart medicine; when I left this morning, I saw you sleeping soundly. Oh, Father! You couldn't imagine how regretful I was to leave you when you were sick. If I had been there, maybe you'd still be home recovering, rather than fighting for survival in an emergency room!

You were lying in the bed, didn't open your eyes no matter how desperately I had tried to wake you up. I couldn't believe you were in a coma; I wanted to think that you were just resting, and you'd wake up later to teach me lessons.

I remembered you told me the night before: "We'll start to learn the logarithm tomorrow." You stood at my door, looking back at me gravely. I looked up at you, longing for you to smile, but you left without changing your expression. I thought it was because you were thinking about how to teach me a new topic, making me understand the theorems of the logarithm.

Last night, you took my hand before the onset of illness and asked me: "Are you tired?"

I answered you: "No, I'm not tired."

You nodded, and for some reason, you were more animated than usual when you said: "We'll start our lesson after dinner!" But before I could finish eating, you fell ill.

*

His breath was getting shortened and labored, his body started shaking, and his nostrils were trembling. My eyes widened in horror. Suddenly, I saw his eyelid move.

Thrilled and frightened at the same time, I leaned forward and called him. Hope and despair alternated in quick succession, and my throat became so tight that I could hardly make an audible sound, but I continued. I couldn't stop because I believed my voice would awaken him, and I hoped he'd hear me and open his eyes.

Mother was placing her face on Father's pillow while grabbing his skinny hand.

His breathing was gradually slowing down and then suddenly accelerating. The sputum in his throat rolled loudly following each of his breaths, causing my heart to burst into painful convulsions. I wanted to help him, but I didn't know how. The older doctor came over and suctioned his mouth.

My hand gripped the white sheet, and my eyes concentrated on his face. I didn't move, as I was afraid it'd escape me if he opened his eyes or changed his expression.

Slowly, his eyes opened.

I loved to look at his eyes to catch every emotion that was reflected in them—kindness, love, and affection, along with sadness, pain, and disappointment. By looking at them, I understood his concern and expectations. I often looked into his eyes when I tried to figure out what he wanted to say but didn't. However, I had never been staring at them as hard as I was now, so intensely that I couldn't tolerate the blink of my own eyes, afraid that I'd miss the moment when I could look into his eyes again.

They revealed a line that widened at a snail's pace. I held my breath, watching the line expand. I saw a bit of dark pupils, then half of the eyeballs. They were moving, they were turning, and they saw me! I knew he must've seen me because his eyes became focused. I cried with excitement, "Dad! Dad!"

Mother had been crying. Her handkerchief was soaking wet, but she was still holding it, trying to wipe away the tears that could never stop.

Father was staring at me; he had recognized me!

I held one of his hands, and his fingers were stroking mine, ever so feebly and shakily, but I felt it.

When I was a kid, I loved to put my hand in his because I felt safe when he was holding me. His hands were big and soft. I liked the feel when he gently stroked my hair and my back.

Holding his hand, I put my chin on his pillow and whispered, "Dad, you'll be fine. You just need to rest. The doctor said..." I couldn't go on. I tried very hard not to burst into tears because it'd alarm him.

His breathing was labored. He raised his eyes and moved his head impatiently.

"Jing Zi, do you want something?" As soon as my mother noticed it, she rushed to his side and raised her voice.

Father tried to sway his head. I looked at him, and he looked at me. Suddenly, I understood. I had read his mind from his eyes. I turned to my mother and shouted excitedly, "Mom, Dad wants to talk! Doctor, my father..." Before I could finish, the younger doctor had stepped forward, lifting the oxygen mask from his face.

Father gasped, and a smile appeared on his lips.

This was the first time he smiled in weeks—I thought I should be happy, but instead, I was miserable because it reminded me how he had been deprived of the chance to laugh and smile. Over the past several weeks, they had let him live in grief and pain, and only when he was dying had a smile returned to his lips.

I called him, staring at his smiling face, trying to take it all in.

He grabbed my hand, but his head slowly shifted over to face my mother, who was sobbing against his pillow.

He looked at her, and his lips were moving: "Don't cry, my dear. Don't...cry." His eyes became so tender and loving. He always had such infinite affection in his eyes when he talked to my mother.

"Oh, Jing Zi—" Mother gasped, trying desperately to control her feelings. She wiped her tear-stained face with her tear-soaked handkerchief and put her cheek against his.

Father smiled. "Shu Fen, don't forget..."

Mother sobbed so hard that she shook.

"Our child...fortunately...has grown up... You have to guide her...she looks like me... when you see her...just like seeing me," Father said in a low but audible voice. He raised his hand to stroke my mother's hair.

"You'll be fine; you won't leave us!" Mother interrupted him.

"Do you remember, twenty-five years ago..." His voice was becoming weaker and weaker. "Now I have to leave you..."

"Please don't..." Mother burst out crying again.

"Don't cry, my dear. We have a daughter..." He looked back at me. "Chun Ming, my child, promise Dad that you'll always listen to your mother."

I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't answer him.

"Chun Ming," he called me again.

"Dad!" I looked at him, but his eyes closed. "Dad!" I screamed.

His eyes opened slightly. "Listen to your mother," he said in a weak, almost whispering voice, and his breathing was getting more labored. "Keep learning...be a useful...person..." He sighed. His eyes rested on my face, motionless, as if asking: _Understand?_

"I do." I held back my tears and nodded. I was afraid that he couldn't hear me, so I leaned over and said in his ear: "I'll continue my study and be a useful person."

"You might have to suffer...after I die," he said softly but somberly, "but you must be careful...Fang..." He looked at me expectantly.

Oh, Father, I understood what you wanted of me. I didn't expect that you'd be so persistent. At this moment, what else could I do? Your eyes were focused on me, and you were waiting for my answer! I bit my lips and nodded.

He closed his eyes.

"Dad! Oh, Dad!" I cried hysterically.

He opened his eyes again. "Zhu Tan," he mouthed, "tell me when the project is complete..." His voice was like a whisper, and I saw his mouth squirm... Finally, it stopped moving.

He closed his eyes one last time as a smile appeared. He looked so serene. It was the last smile that he'd left for me.

His body twitched slightly, and his head went limp to the side. It followed by a commotion as doctors and nurses rushed forward, but my father never opened his eyes again.

"Dad!" I threw myself on his body, shaking him desperately.

"Jing Zi!" The bitterness and sadness in my mother's scream startled me. I opened my eyes, staring blankly at his face, which was whiter than a piece of paper.

I couldn't believe that he had stopped breathing. I couldn't imagine that he had left us, that I had lost him! It couldn't be true! Because I could still hear his hearty laughter; I could still feel him caress me, let me sit on his lap, teach me to sing, and tell me stories as if it was yesterday. He even told me: "We'll start to learn the logarithm tomorrow."

Was I dreaming? How could I have such a terrible dream? I looked at my father, seeking the answer frantically. He must've been sleeping because he was too tired; he had been working on the project with Zhu Tan and teaching me mathematics; he was taking a break; he'd wake up soon...

However, the confusion didn't last long. I was wide awake when I saw them cover his face with a white cloth.

"No!" I screamed. Oh, Father! Couldn't I see your face and hear your voice once more? I threw myself on his body, shaking him while crying, "Dad! Please wake up!"

The doctors had left silently; the pushcart for the corpse appeared. They were about to take my father away! I looked at the pushcart in horror, clinging to his body that was still warm. "Dad, Dad! You can't go! Please wake up, Dad..."

Two nurses came to me and pulled me away. I watched the workman pick up my father, whose arms were hanging down like a puppet that had lost its strings, and put him on the pushcart.

I struggled, trying all I could to break free from the nurses' gripping hands. I didn't know where my strength came from, but I was able to break free, controlled by the single-minded desire that I couldn't let them take my father away. The moment I took away the white cloth from his face, however, I was seized by several pairs of hands. They grabbed my arms and put the white cloth back on his face.

"Let me go!" I shouted. "I want my Dad! Let me take another look at him! Let me take another look..." I struggled blindly and lost consciousness soon after.

When I came to, I didn't know where I was until I saw the bed that was empty. My father! This was the bed he had slept in, and he had left us! It happened so suddenly that I couldn't remember how it happened. One minute I had a living and loving father, and the next there was only an empty bed!

Mother was in a chair staring vacantly ahead, holding a piece of paper with the most terrifying words printed on it: Death Notice.

Death! It took my father away! I turned to my mother and cried, "Mom, I only have you now..."

"My child..." She held me in her arms, kissing me; her tears were mixing with mine.

"Mom," I sobbed, trying to wipe away the tears with my hands. "I'll remember what Dad told me; I'll always listen to you..."

"My dear child, they killed him; they killed your father!" Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down, overflowing like constant streams of a river.

# 11

The apartment felt so cold without my father's presence. In the bedroom, Mother leaned against the wall, staring at their wedding photo that hung there. When my father was young, he looked so handsome; his eyes were smiling and his youthful face glowed.

I looked at him in tears. I couldn't believe that he had left us.

When I left home in the morning, his condition was quite stable; he was sleeping peacefully in his bed. When I returned home at night, however, he had passed away.

What had happened? I hugged my mother and asked her.

She was choked with tears when she told me: About an hour after I had left, my father woke up. He struggled to get up and told my mother that he had to go to work.

"You can't go! You haven't recovered yet." Mother held his shoulders and helped him to lie down.

"I have to go," he said, shaking his head. "If I don't go, they'll come for me." He tried to get up again.

"Why? Don't they allow you to take a day off for illness?" We didn't have any vacation days or personal time except for national holidays, but we could take time off for illness per doctor's order.

"No," Father explained, "they've arranged a meeting to criticize me today. I can argue for my case if I go..." His forehead oozed out cold sweat, and his breathing was getting more distressed.

"Jing Zi!" Mother cried. "You can't go! You have to lie down!" She covered him with a quilt.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

Mother went to the phone booth and made two calls, one to her school asking for a day off and one to Father's company telling them he was ill.

Half an hour later, loud footsteps stopped at our door. My mother had expected them, so she opened the door without waiting for them to knock.

"Wait!" She stood at the door, stopping the first person who tried to come in. "Haven't I already called?" she said severely. "My husband had a heart attack; he can't go to work today!"

"What?" A middle-aged man in overalls lifted his eyebrows incredulously. "He looked totally fine two days ago, standing on the stage without bending for three hours. Yesterday we let him sit for a day, writing his confession, and now he's sick?"

"Is he mentally sick or physically sick?" A young man, eyes as big as Ping-Pong balls, asked sarcastically.

"We're having a company-wide meeting today, and your husband is scheduled to confess his crime. There's no way he can stay at home," a young woman, with one hand on her hip and another pointed at my mother, said murderously.

"He's ill! He had a heart attack, and he can't go!" Mother wasn't going to back down.

"This is about your attitude toward our political movement!" the man in the overalls said seriously. "Physical illness isn't dangerous, but the sickness of the mind is the most dangerous. In my opinion, he should get up and try to attend the meeting without delay."

"People tend to get sick as soon as they're scheduled to confess their crimes. It's not a new trick," the woman said nastily. Her finger almost touched my mother's face. "Your husband is a loyal lapdog of Deng Xiaoping; you need to stand up to denounce him, not protect him!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I know his physical condition. I told you—he is seriously ill, and he can't attend your meeting!"

During the stagnating faceoff came my father's trembling voice: "Shu Fen! Let them in! Let them carry me to the meeting!"

They squeezed in the door of the bedroom but didn't go farther. Maybe it was my father's pale face and labored breathing, but they flinched. After a few minutes, the middle-aged man in overalls said to my mother: "Even though his illness is likely mental, in the spirit of goodwill, we'll let him stay home today. But I have to point out that he has to report back as soon as he recovers."

Father's illness was greatly exacerbated by this outrageous stimulus. Mother gave him an extra dose of nitroglycerin tablets, but it was useless. His breathing became more troubled, and he eventually passed out.

"Remember," Mother said softly but firmly, "your father is a man of integrity who died for his ideals..."

Yes, he did what he preached, and he died for his ideals and the truth.

"We'll have to stop crying." She took my face in her hands, looking straight into my eyes. "We'll have to be strong for your father's sake."

I knew how painful it must be for her because she lost the man she loved the most, but in spite of it, she wanted to comfort me and encourage me. I felt so ashamed. As her daughter, I should be the one to comfort her, not the other way around. My heart was broken, but I had to stop crying for her sake.

"I won't cry anymore, Mom, I promise!" I rubbed my red eyes with my hand. But it wasn't an easy task, as the tears leaking out of my eyes wet my hands...

*

The doorbell rang. I jumped up from the couch. Who was it? Who could it be? I looked at my mother nervously.

"Most likely it's those from your father's company, but I'm ready!" she said in a contemptuously cold voice. She stood up and said to me in a commanding tone, "Chun Ming, let them in!"

Her voice gave me such courage that I marched to the door and opened it.

"Chun Ming!"

My legs were shaking so violently that my whole body was falling.

Zhu Tan held me up. "I'm so sorry," he said with tears in his eyes. "I'm too late."

I couldn't help but cry, "He was thinking about you before he died."

"I'm sorry... I went to work this morning and got the news that your father had passed away."

"They knew?"

"Yes, the hospital informed them..."

I walked him into the living room. Mother was sitting on the couch. She saw Zhu Tan and stood up.

"My condolences." His voice was shaking; I thought his whole being was shaking too.

Mother extended her hand, and he stepped forward and grabbed it.

"Jing Zi is gone," Mother said quietly, as if talking to herself. "He left us..."

"His death carries a price; those who persecuted him will have to pay!" Zhu Tan said with anger in his voice. I looked up and saw a fire burning in his deep eyes.

Mother sighed. "Thank you, I hope the future is worth what he'd been fighting for."

Zhu Tan held her hand. "You have to be strong," he said to her, looking at her affectionately. "Chun Ming and I are your hope, and Chief's goal will be achieved sooner or later." His voice was so sincere, and he looked so determined that I felt he had suddenly grown taller and bigger.

He inquired in detail about my father's death, before and after. When I described to him what my father had said on his deathbed, tears suddenly blinded my eyes and blocked my windpipe; I couldn't even finish the sentence.

He stood motionlessly like a marble statue. Tears filled his eyes, made them shine brilliantly. He suddenly turned to me, grabbing my hands, and said, "We must work harder, study harder!"

"Yes, we must!" I said, clenching his hands.

He saw the death notice on the coffee table and said to my mother, "If you trust me, I can help you to arrange the funeral and other necessities."

"Oh, thank you!" Mother was so moved that she stood up and hugged him.

She had to go to my father's company to handle the aftermath. Zhu Tan said that he'd go to the police station to cancel my father's residency and to the crematorium to register, and he said he'd notify our relatives and friends. In order to deal with unforeseen matters, they asked me to stay at home. After they had left, I called my company asking for leave for bereavement and to tell Fang Si Jun that my father had passed away. He wasn't in his office, unfortunately, so I asked Chun Yan to tell him.

"You have to be careful...Fang..." Father, did you know how much pain I felt when you said this? Despite the fact that I had promised you, I couldn't carry through. How could I, when I had already lost you? Please forgive me!

I couldn't help crying when I went into his study, looking at his desk and chair. There were traces of him everywhere. When I opened the desk drawer, I saw my notebook with the homework that he had corrected the night before.

"You have to start learning again, start from scratch...taking back the time you've lost."

I shed tears of remorse. In the past, I didn't fully cherish the learning opportunity that my father had created for me. I still couldn't guarantee that I'd meet his expectations now that I had lost him!

I took the notebook, holding it against my chest as if in the arms of my father.

*

The words of an ancient poet came to my mind: "Learning and life are equal and important. Without learning, life is almost the image of death." I saw an old man in a white robe point his forefinger toward the sky. My body floated like a feather, drifting out the window, to the sky, through countless high-rise buildings, and reached the Huangpu River.

There were large patches of clouds over the river. I was flying over the clouds toward a barren field. There were thousands of acres of grassy hills and round tops, like the green hoes, where I was sinking and sinking...

Where was I? The field around me was too cold and bare for the living. I looked around the endless green fields and saw a figure descend from the sky far away. My feet moved mechanically forward, and it was getting near and nearer. Ah! It was my father! I lifted my legs and started running. "Dad, Dad, how are you?" I hugged him and looked up at him like a child who saw her father for the first time in so many years. He hadn't changed a bit: his smile was still so amiable, and his eyes were still so loving and kind.

"My dear child, how are you? How is your mom?" He smiled and kissed me, letting me put my face against his chest and stroking my hair.

"Dad, we all miss you," I said. "Zhu Tan's with us, and he misses you too."

Father smiled. "He's a good man. Tell him that the project will succeed..."

I nodded sensibly. "Dad, I'll study very hard from now on. I'll try to finish high school within two years, hopefully one year. Do you think I can do it?"

"Yes, you can!" said Father happily. He looked at me and held my shoulders affectionately. I put my hands around his neck and hugged him. "My child," he said softly, "do you still remember what I told you?"

"Yes." I vaguely remembered what had passed between Father and me when we said goodbye the last time. "You wanted me to continue to study and be a useful person."

Smiling, he looked at me and asked: "What is a useful person—do you know?"

My eyes widened; I should've known, but somehow, I couldn't tell.

"That is to have goals in life, to admire the truth, to love one's country, to study hard. Chun Ming, do you understand all this?"

"Yes, I do." I nodded. "I want to be just like you."

He hugged me tightly. "My dear child, I think you understand now." He took my face in his hands and locked his eyes with mine. "Listen to your mother..." He lowered his eyes and said quietly, "Go to her; I have to leave now."

"No! Don't go!" I cried desperately. "Dad! Please don't leave me!"

He said nothing, and I could tell he was hesitant to leave.

"Dad, I want to go with you. Take me with you, please!"

He looked dejected. "My child," he said quietly, "I hate to leave you, but the place Dad has to go is an empty wilderness..."

"Then don't go! Let's go back home together."

He shook his head helplessly. "It can't be undone; we've been separated."

"But Dad!" I tried to grab his hands, but somehow, he floated out of my hands like smoke, lifting, raising, and I watched him drifting away with the clouds in the sky.

*

I opened my eyes and saw myself sitting in front of the desk with my face on the notebook and a tiny pool of tears left on the table. It was a dream!

It was almost noon, and the bright sun illuminated everything in the room. Recalling the dream, I burst into tears again. I didn't know how long I had cried before I sat at the desk, falling asleep on the notebook.

The sound of the door opening awoke me. I opened my eyes and heard someone talking.

Must be Mother and Zhu Tan! I jumped up and ran.

"No good..." It was Mother's voice. "I'd been sitting there talking to them for more than an hour, but they insisted that they couldn't give me the release form because he was a counterrevolutionary. The Longhua crematorium wouldn't accept him without the release form."

"Mom!" I was so outraged I raised my voice. "They won't even allow us to have a memorial service for Dad?"

She turned to me and pulled me into her arms.

"What's wrong with this world?" I continued. "What has my father done to deserve this?"

"I'll go to talk to them." Zhu Tan gritted his teeth and left.

Just as my mother and I had reached the living room, the doorbell rang. We stood facing each other. Did Zhu Tan forget something?

I went to the door after the bell rang for the second time.

"My poor child!" The voice sounded so much liked my father's that I almost jumped.

I squinted and then cried out, "Uncle!"

"My poor child!" He held me, clumsily stroked my head, and wiped my tears with his palm. Finally, he could no longer hold back his own tears, and the big drops fell from his eyes.

I held back my tears and took his hand. "Please come in."

Mother was standing at the door of the living room, as we approached, she looked at Uncle silently. In an instant, they both stepped forward, reaching out for each other's hand, and clasped tightly together.

"I'm sorry," my uncle said.

Mother hugged him. There was no need to say another word because they knew what the other was thinking. They just held on to each other and let the silence be their resolve.

When he sat down on the couch, he said, "When Zhu Tan arrived, I had just come back from Lao Zhong's house; he had a stroke..."

It turned out that Uncle Zhong had been accused as a member of the reactionary Confucian school, being publicly criticized at school-wide meetings. He had been suffering from high blood pressure, and under the attack, his blood pressure spiked, causing the stroke.

"My poor brother," said my uncle with a sigh. "Why he should die ahead of me, who is much older?" He pointed to the sky and raised his voice: "Why do you let the wicked do what they please but let good people suffer?"

Sitting on a chair next to him, I remembered the time when my father took me to my uncle's house, how he looked at me while on his deathbed, and how his company wouldn't even let us have a memorial service... The painful memories cut into my heart like a sword and made me break down crying.

"Tell me, child," my uncle said while holding my hand. "What did your father say before he died? Did he have any request?"

"Dad wanted me to be a useful person, to love our country, to study hard..."

"Love our country!" my uncle shouted angrily. "I can't believe these are your parting words! Twenty-five years ago, you left your friends and relatives who wanted you to stay for your country. Did you have any regrets? A trace of annoyance, maybe?" He was so excited his body started trembling. "Despite the fact that your country sent you to your grave, you still have no regrets!" he muttered hoarsely.

My mother and I were so taken aback by his outburst that we reflexively extended our hands to hold him, to calm him down, but he brushed our hands away. He pointed at our family photos on the wall and said, "My poor brother, I salute you!" He suddenly turned and placed both his hands on my shoulders. "Chun Ming, my child, are you going to listen to your father?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"In that case," he said, wiped away a tear and stood up, "we'll have to stop crying."

Everyone knows that the sorrow of losing a loved one cannot be compensated by words and greetings. In times of grief, people need courage and strength. Uncle asked me to look up. There were photos of my parents and me. Uncle pointed to me and said to my father: "You can rest assured that your last wish will be fulfilled. Your efforts won't be wasted. I'll take over your responsibility, do everything in my power to cultivate her, educate her, making her a useful person, a person you'd be proud of."

As he was saying it, the tears in my mother's eyes starting flowing. She stood up and grabbed my uncle's hands. "Thank you!" she said gratefully.

Under the gaze of my father, we embraced. My uncle soon wiped away his tears and asked, "Shu Fen, what are the plans for his funeral arrangement?"

"They..." Mother trembled. "They won't even let us have a memorial service!"

"That's ridiculous!" my uncle roared. He was so angry that a blue vein appeared on his forehead. "We'll find a way to do it ourselves!"

"Without a release form from his company, no crematorium in the city will lend us the auditorium for the service."

"I'll handle it." My uncle was shaking with anger. "I'll deal with them! My brother is dead. What else do they want to do to him?" He stood up and stormed out, pulling open the front door forcefully and loudly.

I ran after him, afraid that he'd hurt himself. But before I could reach him, he had already turned back.

He was followed by Zhu Tan. Even though I saw the ominous sign on his face, I still couldn't help asking, "Were you able to get the release form?"

He shook his head. When he saw my mother, who had followed me, he turned to her and said, "We'll do it ourselves. I went back and told everyone working on the project. They were saddened by the sudden death of Chief Du, and they got angry when they heard that you weren't allowed to give him a proper burial. They said if the company refused to honor him, they would. One of the workers has a brother working at the Longhua crematorium. He made a phone call, and his brother agreed to help us. We're just waiting for you to say when."

"Really?"

"Yes," Zhu Tan said unequivocally. "On that day, all the people working on the project will come to pay their respect. We want to show them how much admiration and love we have for our chief!"

"You're a good man!" Uncle was so moved he was almost tearful.

# 12

Father's memorial service was held in the Longhua crematorium. According to Zhu Tan, all the workers, technicians, and engineers who were participating in the project attended the service. Although several months ago they didn't even know my father, from the expressions on their faces, I realized that not only they knew him well, but they understood him.

But Fang Si Jun didn't come. I had called him the day before, and he had promised me that he'd come.

I had been looking forward to seeing him, and I was sure that his arrival would bring me much needed support and comfort, but I was disappointed.

There were flowers and wreaths in front of my father's portrait, and Zhu Tan delivered the eulogy, a realistic reflection of my father's career, character, and ethics. When he said that my father had worked diligently all his life, insisting on helping the team troubleshoot while he was gravely ill, many of them broke down sobbing. Nobody could understand why such an honest and devoted engineer could be so cruelly persecuted!

My mother and I tried to hold on to my father, only being pulled back by our relatives. Looking at him—it was more like he was sleeping than dead in the casket—we were distraught beyond belief.

I was so bereaved that I lost all my senses. When people offered me condolences, I was like a puppet, next to my mother, letting people hold and drop my hand without saying or hearing a word. Finally, my uncle lifted me and put me into the car that took us home.

Thanks to him and Zhu Tan, who had taken care of everything, we were able to put my father to rest. The ability of Zhu Tan, and the systematic way he had arranged the funeral, had won the praise of my uncle, who asked before leaving us if he could continue to come to visit. He replied solemnly, "Yes, I will."

He took the initiative to teach me mathematics and chemistry, along with physics being taught by my uncle and English by my mother. He came almost every other day after work. In addition to teaching me, he brought comfort to my mother, who had been suffering greatly after Father's passing.

In a short period of time, he had become the person we could rely on. He always had his own opinions but was never stubborn; he was quiet but very sensible. He could elucidate his opinions in a subtle way that you'd accept them naturally. My father once said that he was a good student who was willing to learn and worked hard; I said that he was a very patient teacher who was good at guiding people.

*

In stark contrast to him, my friends at work had retreated. I lost a lot of contacts in the factory. The girls who had been friendly with me no longer talked to me in public except darting a pitiful look my way. When they saw me approach, most of them would hurriedly walk away, avoiding running into me.

At first, I didn't understand what was going on. The day I returned to the factory after my father's memorial service, everything seemed different. I might feel a hand that suddenly touched me while alone, but in public, I stopped hearing casual but cordial greetings from my coworkers. Only Chun Yan dared to talk to me, for which I was deeply grateful. She comforted me, encouraged me, and told me the reason for the sudden change. Apparently, my father's company had notified my company that he had died a counterrevolutionary, and Yu Shan Zhang mentioned the fact during a factory-wide assembly. Therefore, my status at work had changed.

In fact, everything around me had changed. When Father left, he took everything—warmth, light, and happiness—with him, leaving me nothing but pain and sorrow and loneliness.

I hadn't seen Fang Si Jun for more than a week. I only heard that he had been very busy, working on the criticism column that aimed at the rightists.

In those dark and lonely days, how much I had wanted him to be there for me and comfort me! When I saw that the criticism column inside the factory had been renewed, I decided to pay him a visit. I went to his office to see him one afternoon when I finished my assignment early.

In four years, it was the first time I went to his office looking for him, albeit we often met in my workshop. I wondered what kind of expression he'd show on his face when he looked up and saw me. Surprised? Happy? Love and pain intertwined? My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw through the open window that he was alone in his office.

"Si Jun!" I called to him while knocking on the window. When he turned around, I smiled at him shyly.

"Ah, it's you!" There was a look of incredible horror on his face. He glanced at me and hurriedly opened the door and pulled me in. "Why are you here?" he asked with a groan while letting me sit down in his chair.

My heart turned suddenly cold. Why wasn't he happy to see me? A lot went through my mind at that moment—the time that he advised me not to write to my cousin after the misfortune of Lin Nan, the time that he said everyone should save himself... Was he going to apply all of it to me?

When I thought of the fact that he didn't try to reach me while I was home and didn't even show up at my father's memorial service, my heart ached painfully. Was he purposely hiding from me? Could it be that he didn't want to see me again? I was so upset that I burst out crying.

"Would you stop crying?" Rather than soothing me, he sounded annoyed. I cried wretchedly. I didn't cry for his indifference but cried for myself. I didn't know if he still loved me, but sadly, I still loved him.

He took out his handkerchief, trying to wipe away my tears, and whispered apologetically, "I know you're miserable these days, but I've been busy. I tried, but I couldn't visit you. I really want to talk to you, but this isn't the place. Can we meet tonight at the same place?"

I said nothing.

"Please go back to work," he said pleadingly. "We can't be seen together in my office!"

I stared at him, too shocked to speak. I came all the way to see him. Instead of comforting me, he begged me to leave. Had he already changed his mind? Could the love between us disappear so quickly?

He turned away to avoid my eyes. "Lao Yu is coming soon," he said with a forced smile. "He said he wanted to talk to me..."

I stood up and walked out without uttering a word. I heard him chasing a few steps and calling me, but I didn't look back. When I reached the workshop, I could no longer suppress my feelings of bitterness and grief. I fell onto my desk and burst into tears.

How cruel and unfair! Why did I have to suffer all those heavy blows, one after another? My loved ones had been taken away from me, now my love? I thought about his expression when he had seen me through the window. Had he already stopped loving me? Did he plan to abandon me? Or was it my suspicion?

No, it wasn't mere suspicion because I knew him. I could feel him without looking at him. He had changed. The way he looked at me had lost the luster of love. What he said to me had lost the ring of love. The eyes that looked at me had lost the warmth of love.

When I realized that I was at the workshop, the place I shouldn't cry out loud, I bit my lips and raised my teary eyes. The room was deadly quiet, and all my colleagues had left. As I wiped my tears away, I found a note on the table. I opened it slowly. It was from him! Did he come without even talking to me? Or did someone else deliver it for him? The familiar handwriting had scribbled a line on the paper: "Tonight at seven o'clock, the same place."

It was difficult to describe how I felt after I had read the note: sad, bitter, mixed with a bit of glee. Sad because I was in such a dire situation that I couldn't believe that he'd still love me. Bitter because he was such a cautious and timid person who lacked the backbone Zhu Tan had. A bit of glee because I thought the note showed that he might still care for me.

Having read and reread every word in his note, I could almost hear him: "Sorry, Chun, I was just afraid that Lao Yu would bump into us, which could bring you trouble, so I had to let you go..."

My father told me that I should be careful, but he wasn't that kind of person.

*

In the evening, I came to the garden early. There was still daylight before seven in the early summer, and the sky was dark blue tinted with pink. Looking at the palm trees and the green wooden bench in the bushes, there was an indescribable feeling of love filling up my heart. It was here that we had declared our unwavering love while sitting on the bench. Later, it became our favorite meeting place. Every leaf of the palm trees had warmed our hearts, and every inch of the green bench had nourished our love.

I stood under the palm trees, looking toward the street across attentively. The streetlights had already been turned on, and the distant sky had turned blueish gray. I glued my eyes on the intersection in front of me through the loose palm leaves so that I could see everyone walking my way.

I was so eager to see him that I constantly calculated the location he might be in at the moment. He must've left his house, which wasn't too far from here; if he had time, he didn't need to take a bus. It was ten minutes to seven, and I expected to see him anytime now because he was always early.

There was a man walking toward me. The height and the way he walked looked very similar. My heart jumped, and I quickly hid behind a tree. I wanted to sneak up on him and surprise him. But when I came out from behind the tree after a minute or two, the man had disappeared. It wasn't him!

I was getting restless—I had never waited for anyone for so long. The last few minutes felt as endless as waiting for the dawn to break after a long, dark night.

Someone slammed me on my shoulder, and I was shocked to see that I had reached the front gate of the garden.

"Have you been waiting for long?" he asked politely with a smile.

I turned cold. He was smiling, but the smile opened the gate of my early memory. The first time we met in the conference room, he had such a polite smile on his face when he introduced himself. I hadn't seen it for years, but it reappeared on his face.

Was I too sensitive? No! I had been dating him for so long that I could tell how he felt with every little expression on his face.

"Are you not feeling well?" he asked with concern. He stepped forward, with one hand touching my sleeve gently, as if he had never taken my arm or held my hands before.

"Tell me, why didn't you come?" I brushed off his hand and asked. "I called you before the memorial service." It was weird to hear my own voice, as I had never spoken to anyone in such an icy tone.

He was quite taken aback. "Look, I wasn't sure it was suitable," he said timidly.

"You were afraid..." I felt so despicable that I trembled. I said bluntly, "In that case, what else do we need to talk about?"

He looked flustered. I saw pain and embarrassment in his eyes, but he quickly recovered and said with a smile, "Well, I just wanted to hear what you're going to say, since you're the one who came to see me this afternoon."

His calm reply irritated me so much that I shouted back, "Sure, it was me who came to you first. Are you telling me you were forced to come here tonight? If so, you can leave now! I have nothing to say to you."

He stared at me silently for a long time. Although the streetlights were dim, I could clearly see his eyes, vacant and devoid of any emotion. We were like the opponents before a battle, looking at each other, measuring. Neither of us could've ever expected such an outcome before this moment.

He lowered his head, playing with a small stone on the ground with his toes. I felt numb; I didn't know what else to say or do.

He looked up at me. "Chun," he said, making my nickname sounded like a stone being spit out of his mouth. "You might already know, but it's impossible now"—he stopped without looking at me—"to keep our relationship going." He sighed with relief after he had spelled it out.

I looked at him steadily.

"After you left, Lao Yu came. He said that the company was going to promote me as the leader of the propaganda team, but in order to do so, I had to end my relationship with you... Well, you know, I refused; I didn't want to be a leader. But, but I..." He took a step forward and then shrank back. "I can't just ignore the consequences."

"No need to explain," I cried bitterly. "I understand!" Suddenly, I became so angry that I raised my voice and said, "I understand very well. After my father died, my status changed. I've become a stumbling block that you have to get rid of for your political future."

"I'm not interested in my political future," he stuttered.

"But to save yourself..."

"Chun, you have to understand..."

"I want to understand," I said with a sarcastic laugh. "Unfortunately, I understand it too late!" The laugh became a cry, and I threw myself on the trunk of the palm tree as I broke down.

Father, I regretted that I didn't listen to you! I fell in love with him naively, thinking that I had found my happiness and a lifelong companion. Who would think that he didn't really love me? I was a good prospect only if I was the daughter of a father who was successful, but not when I became problematic.

"I really don't want to do this," he said. "But..." He pulled my sleeve impulsively and murmured, "Please forgive me..."

I slowly turned back to face him. "I don't have the right to blame you," I said bitterly. "I just feel so sad that I didn't listen to my father. We've been together for four years, but I still don't know you."

He lowered his head and wiped away a tear.

Looking at him, I felt sorry because he was weak and pitiful. "I should've thought of it before," I said gently, not so much to him but to myself. "I should've brought the medicine with me so that I could return it to you..."

"Medicine?" He opened his eyes, looking at me blankly. "Oh no." His face turned purple as he remembered. "That was a gift."

"But he didn't want it," I said quietly. "He never used it."

He looked stunned.

"Please go," I said firmly and turned away from him.

He stood silently for a while before moving closer to me. "Will I see you again?" he asked, and I heard a crack in his voice.

I shook my head.

"Would you shake my hand for goodbye?"

"Why bother?"

"Not even for the sake of friendship between two colleagues?" he asked in a trembling voice.

My heart was broken. How much I wanted to tell him: I still love you! But I knew too well that the gap between him and me was not one that a sentence or even a thousand words could fill. I shook my head and said nothing.

He sighed and said dejectedly, "Goodbye, then."

I listened carefully to his movement, even hoping that he might decide to change his mind and stay, but the footsteps that drifted away didn't stop.

" _Chun, we have to swear to love each other forever."_

" _Swear we'll never separate, or grow apart."_

" _Dearest, I'll love you forever and ever!"_

What a nightmare! One minute I had everything; the next I had nothing. Sweet memories, sincere love—they were gone as fast as water pouring out of a cup. What was left for me? Nothing but sorrow.

I leaned against the tree, looking at the dark sky with a pair of dry eyes. I had cried for Lin Nan's misfortune. I had cried harder for my father's death. But when my love left me, I had no tears but numbness.

I had expected that I'd fall into the abyss of darkness because the death of my father had taken everything away from me. I was alone in the world, surrounded by darkness, only a street lamp dimly lit overhead, glaring at me.

Slowly, my feet moved away from the garden, accompanied by my father's voice: "Indeed, he is a handsome and smart young man who can easily win over a girl's love. But his cuteness is only in appearance, and his intelligence is for pleasing others. From our conversation, I understand that his philosophy of life is to protect himself. He is very good at analyzing the situation, but he lacks the ideals of life; his philosophy of protecting oneself will make him sacrifice others at the crucial moments. He may love you, but it is on the prerequisite that you should never mess with his future. If you become his burden, he will do what he has to do 'in order to avoid the disaster.'"

How accurate his prediction was! He almost foresaw what had happened in the garden.

Oh, Father, how regretful I am! I regret that I'm so naïve that I unwittily deceived you. Forgive me, Father; forgive my ignorance!

*

Mother was sitting in a chair, sewing a shirt for me. She looked up when I stepped into the living room from her sewing and asked, "Where have you been?"

"At my friend's." I quickly walked away. I didn't want her to see how sad I was, and I was even more reluctant to lie about the friend I had supposedly met.

"You got a letter from your cousin," she said before going back to her sewing. "I put it on your desk."

Ah! I ran into my room as fast as I could. After Lin Nan had disappeared in Tiananmen Square, I wrote Jian Hua two letters, but he never responded until now. My hands trembled when I opened the envelope.

*

My dear cousin,

My father informed me of Uncle's passing. I'm so sorry that I, far away in Heilongjiang, couldn't come to say goodbye in person. Please accept my deepest condolences in writing.

The day I received the news, I was in one of the meetings as so-called counterrevolutionaries being criticized and attacked. Whenever I looked at them, my uncle's face would appear in front of my eyes. I have so many tears that I can't shed!

_Our country is in an extraordinary period_ — _this is what Lin Nan wrote to me when she was in Beijing_ — _we have to be brave in order to meet our future._

In times of grief, what we need is strength and courage. Even though I grieve deeply, I am not going to let it handicap me.

There are dark clouds in the sky, but the night will always be replaced by the day, and the clouds can never cover the sun. This is not only the law of nature but also the dialectics of history.

P.S. I decided to marry Lin Nan, who died such a death that we couldn't even collect her body. Because of that, I must let the world know that I not only love her but also am proud of her as my wife.

*

My tears dripped steadily onto the stationery. Jian Hua and Lin Nan were married! Albeit she was just a memory and a photo, but their love was so solid that life and death weren't considered obstacles.

But when Fang Si Jun knew that I had lost my father, becoming someone undesirable by association, he retreated. He closed his shell and didn't even dare to reach out. What love, what a lover—all of it had to be kicked out to keep himself safe!

# 13

My smile disappeared from my face. When I went to work during the day, I did my part sullenly, without any enjoyment; at night, I sat at my desk, studying, with or without Zhu Tan, as I regarded learning as the best medicine to ease my pain. As long as my hands were on my desk, eyes on the English alphabet or Arabic numerals, I'd forget everything. As soon as I was calculating or analyzing, I'd be in a calmer and peaceful mind.

I became a homebody. Even during my days off, I stayed home, except going to my uncle's, because I was afraid to be disturbed if I walked past the familiar places where I'd be reminded of the happier days. I didn't want to face turbulence again when I finally recovered.

One day when I came home from my uncle's, I heard the knock on the door when I was taking out the textbooks from my backpack, ready to tackle the homework.

Who would visit me on my day off? As a school teacher, my mother had Sundays off. I had Thursdays off only because the factory ran twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, with three shifts a day. We were assigned different days to ensure there was always someone on the premises. Zhu Tan had Thursdays off, too, but if it was him, he wouldn't knock but ring the bell. I was puzzled when I went to the door.

"Chun Ming!"

"Chun Yan!" I was so surprised to see her!

She hugged me, not letting me go for a long time.

"Please come in." I pulled her in and closed the door behind us. "Chun Yan," I looked at her and said matter-of-factly, "you're the first one to visit me at home after my father's death."

"I should've visited you earlier," she said. "I've nothing to fear."

Her words reminded me once again that I was a person who had been cast aside by society because of my father. People needed to have courage in order to keep me as a friend.

"I don't want you to get into trouble because of me." I loved to have her as my friend, but I had to think about her political future. Everyone cherished his or her political future. Fang Si Jun even chose it over me.

"What're you talking about?" She gave me a look of dismay. "Even if your father had a problem, it wasn't your fault!"

How scary was their propaganda machine! Even she believed that my father "had a problem"!

"Why should you be labeled a counterrevolutionary and treated as such?" she continued. "I have eyes; I can tell who is good and who is bad!"

I was grateful for her kindness and understanding, and I was very happy that I had such a loyal friend. But I was also aware of my current situation, knowing that she'd be severely criticized if she wasn't careful.

She seemed to understand what was on my mind. She said with a sly smile, "Don't you worry, Chun Ming. I'm not afraid of them! My parents are factory workers, so I'm a red kid. It's my best shield of protection. They won't dare to attack me." Holding my hands, she looked at me seriously. "Forgive me if I offend you," she said, "but I am confused. How can someone like your father choose to run along with the rightists?"

I looked at her. I couldn't believe that she actually believed them. Then I thought about myself. I used to be as naive as she was; I always believed what I was told. If it wasn't for my father, I might still believe in what they preached. Because of him, however, I began to think and ask questions.

In the process, the bitterness I felt was gradually replaced by serenity. I no longer blamed myself; I was no longer crying at home. I had found inspiration in Jian Hua and Zhu Tan, and I became more resilient and stronger. The grievances had become motivation, the insults had become the driving force, and I began to study seriously, making it my spiritual sustenance as I looked forward to the future.

But the pain reemerged because of what she said, and my face turned pale.

"What's the matter?" Her eyes widened when she noticed the change. "Are you sick?"

I shook my head.

Oh, Father! Not only did they kill you, but they dragged your name and character through the mud!

"Chun Ming, don't feel bad! You can't choose your father, but you can choose your future," she said, trying to comfort me.

"Yes, I can't choose my father, but guess what," I interrupted her angrily. "If I could choose, I'd choose him again!" _My dear father, I'm so proud to be your daughter_! I looked at Chun Yan defiantly and let my tears run freely.

Chun Yan was so stunned that she stared at me in confusion. I wiped away my tears and said to her rebelliously, "My father isn't a criminal; he's done nothing wrong!"

She bowed her head in embarrassment. "Chun Ming," she peeked at me and said cautiously. "Don't be angry with me. We've never talked about it, and I've no idea; it's just what people said."

Looking at her, I knew she was sincerely sorry. I couldn't help but tell her: "It's not your fault..."

"Could you tell me?" she asked. "What exactly happened to your father?"

I started to recall his life, even the smallest details that lived vividly in my memory as I returned to my childhood, to the past, and to look into his loving eyes...

I told her everything. I didn't have to argue or persuade because what my father did in his life was the best appraisal. Chun Yan listened and listened, and she had tears in her eyes when I finished.

"Chun Ming, I understand now." She leaned against me and hugged me. "You've suffered..."

"It wasn't me who suffered, but my father. His ideals were shattered, and he died brokenhearted!" I cried.

"Please don't cry! Your tears make me tear up too," she said, wiping away her tears with her shirt sleeve.

I stopped crying.

She didn't know that I had become a different person; I had learned how to suppress my feelings according to my surroundings. I had learned to be tough, and I became mentally stronger. She probably thought that my silence was due to grief and agony. She was so anxious that she said quickly, "Don't be sad; I believe you. Even though some of us don't talk to you in public, we're all very sympathetic to your plight. Xiao Zhu told me that she took your hand in the hallway the other day, and Xiao Wei said that she greeted you when she saw you. You know, those small gestures show how much people care about you!"

Yes, whenever I saw someone look at me sympathetically, whenever I touched a soft hand, whenever I heard a friendly greeting, my heart would feel the warmth that the little gestures brought because they told me that I still had friends who cared about me.

"You don't even know how upset Fang Si Jun is. He doesn't smile anymore. He's been hiding in his office because of you. You're so lucky to have him as your boyfriend."

Her words stirred up so much pain that I burst out crying.

But she didn't know what made me cry. She gently stroked my shoulder and said, "At the beginning, I thought he might change his heart because I heard that Lao Yu had talked to him. But apparently—"

"Chun Yan, please," I interrupted her. "He did change his heart!"

"What?"

"He already left me! If he doesn't smile, it's because of the fear that I might drag him down!"

"What?"

Yes, his ruthlessness had broken my heart, and his injustice had brought me misery. I could never forget that it was Fang Si Jun who took my last hope and pushed me into the gorge of pain.

"What a coward!" Chun Yan was so mad her voice became hoarse. She seemed to be getting angrier than I was. "I can't believe it! Sweet-talking when he wanted you and throwing stones when you're down. He isn't a man but a spineless worm!"

I shook my head. "What could he do, really?"

"Do you sympathize with him?" she asked incredulously, her eyes widening. "He used to be your lover! We're only your coworkers, but we wouldn't do what he's done to you!"

No, I didn't sympathize with him. But I remembered the sadness that he showed the other night. He did feel sad for me and for himself.

"Chun Ming." Chun Yan put her hands on my shoulder and looked me straight in my eyes. "You have to forget about him! You have to be strong. He isn't someone worth your love! I'm going to find you a man ten times better than he is."

I broke out in a smile when I still had tears in my eyes. "Don't talk nonsense."

"I'm telling you the truth. I can find you a man who's ten times better-looking than he is!"

"Chun Yan!"

"Good looks are useless unless he has a good heart to match," she continued without heeding my protest. "A good heart is the real beauty."

At that moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up and frowned. "Who could it be?" She didn't like to get interrupted.

"I'll take a look." I took a step forward but stopped when I realized my eyes were red.

Because I was hesitant, Chun Yan went past me. "Go into your room," she said. "Let me open the door."

I went to my room and looked in the mirror. My eyes were not only red but swollen like peaches. I tried to dry my eyes while wondering who would come at this hour. It had to be Zhu Tan because he had Thursdays off as I did.

"She's sick?" I heard his voice and his footsteps.

"Who are you? What's your business?" Chun Yan's voice and footsteps followed, trying to stop him.

He didn't reply, and his footsteps were getting closer.

"No, you wait!" Chun Yan's body hit the door and blocked him.

"Chun Yan!" I hastily reached for the door. When it opened, all three of us stood face to face. Chun Yan looked at me and then him, and I was so embarrassed I felt my cheeks flush.

His gaze stayed on my face only for a second before he said awkwardly, "Oh, sorry, I'll leave you."

"Oh, no, you stay; I'll go." Chun Yan pushed the door wider and let him in. "I've been sitting here for a while now." She glanced at me, gesturing me to see her out with her eyes and a tipping of her head.

I accompanied her to the door.

"Who is that?" she asked me when she reached the stairs.

"The one who worked with my father on the project that I told you about."

"Ah, it's him!" she said, remembering. "Isn't he also teaching you math?"

I nodded. Somehow it made me blush.

"He's a good man," Chun Yan said with a nod. "He was so anxious when I told him you were ill." She said with a laugh. "What do you think?" she whispered into my ear. "I think he's better than Fang Si Jun."

"Chun Yan, I'll be angry if you continue to talk nonsense."

"Well, it isn't nonsense at all," she said seriously. "I can tell that he has a good heart because he took the initiative to help you when you are in such a dire situation. He didn't run away like your ex-boyfriend did. If you're angry because I'm telling the truth, you have a problem."

I was quite annoyed, but I couldn't argue with her because what she said was true.

"Well, go to him!" She gave me a push and smiled naughtily. "No need to see me off," she said, and her unsuppressed laughter followed her down the stairs as she left.

*

I stood outside for a long while to let my face cool down before walking back in.

He was sitting at my desk, looking at the math problems that I had finished in the notebook. I walked over awkwardly—I didn't know what to say. Chun Yan's laughter was ringing in my ears, and I could almost see her peeking at us through the open door in my mind's eye.

He looked up and smiled at me. "Did you finish all the exercises in one day?"

"I did half last night and the rest this morning," I replied. "Are they correct?"

"Most of them are, but I haven't finished checking yet. Please sit down." He pointed to the chair next to him.

I sat down and watched him read through the problems. Suddenly, he turned to me. "Are you sick?" he asked, looking into my eyes.

"No."

He kept looking at me, waiting for my explanation as to why my eyes had been red and swollen.

"She's my good friend at work," I said as my eyes turned red again. "We were talking about my dad..."

He dropped his eyes. "If your father knew that you're studying so hard," he said after a while, "he'd be very pleased."

I nodded as tears flooded my eyes.

He looked at me. "You shouldn't cry," he said with deep affection. "You have to think about your mother. She'll be sad if you aren't happy."

We quickly finished our lesson. When the sky turned into a mess with blue, red, orange, and a hint of purple, he got up and said goodbye to me.

I stood up obediently, walking silently behind him to the door. At the door, he stopped and turned to me. "Almost forgot," he said. "I brought you a book."

"What book?"

He smiled mysteriously and took out a book from his bag. "Hope you like it," he said while putting it into my hand.

" _Don Juan_!" I said, excited. "Where did you get it?" I had tried multiple times but hadn't been able to secure it. Because foreign books were forbidden to sell or lend in public, it was extremely hard to find certain books that I wanted to read.

"I heard you talk about it once." He looked quite pleased. "So I borrowed it for you when I saw it at my friend's home the other day."

I weighed the book in my hand for a few seconds. "Will reading novels affect my learning?" I asked.

"No. Reading itself is also a kind of learning. If you like reading so much, you should take time to do it."

"But it's useless..."

"Why? Do you remember that I told you how I was inspired by the book _How the Steel Was Tempered_? We need not only science and technology in life but also arts, literature, and entertainment." He pointed at the book that I was holding with a smile. "I hope you'll enjoy it. If you ever think about trying your hand at writing, please let me know, and I'll be your loyal reader."

"Don't make fun of me," I said, embarrassed. "I can't write a book!"

"You'll never know if you don't try." He shrugged and turned to leave.

"Are you coming tomorrow?" I asked eagerly.

He was taken aback for a few seconds, then nodded. "OK, around seven."

He left. I watched him disappear before turning back, feeling somewhat lost.

# 14

The next day was Friday; Mother had a routine evening meeting at school. Because Zhu Tan was scheduled to arrive at seven, I decided to read _Don Juan_ after dinner. Ever since listening to Fang Si Jun's narrative, I had been looking forward to reading it.

I liked Byron's poems because of his unparalleled imagination. I was attracted by his beautiful writing and ingenuity from the very beginning. As the pages turned, I seemed to have wandered into the distant country, the home of the protagonist. I was scared by the disasters at sea and happy for his encounter with Haidée on the beach. Suddenly, a few lines in the book attracted my attention. I was glued to the page and read it more than once:

Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye

Like twilight rosy still with the set sun;

Short upper lips—sweet lips! That make us sigh

Ever to have seen such; for her was one

Fit for the model of a statuary

So similar, was it possible? At first, I thought I was imagining things. My memory might've played a trick on me. Despite the fact that we had separated, he was someone I had loved. I'd hate to think that he could've done what I thought he had done because I remembered vividly how he smiled proudly when he said, "I spent the whole night last night writing it."

I shuddered when I took the poem that he had given me from the drawer of my desk. Instead of trying to clarify my doubts out of curiosity, I actually meant to reevaluate his character.

Four years was a long period of time to date someone; in spite of the separation, some good memories still lingered, and the poem was one of them. When I destroyed all his notes a week before, I saved the poem, leaving it in one of my notebooks, which I placed at the bottom of a drawer. I had some misgivings, to be sure, because it seemed ridiculous that I should have nostalgia for his writing when he had behaved so badly. But I couldn't bring myself to destroy it because it was so beautifully written. Furthermore, it was written for me.

I opened the piece of paper, and the familiar handwriting reflected in my eyes. Blood rushed to my face as the words in the book and on the paper interspersed with each other and jumped in front of me. They were actually laughing at me, ridiculing me! I covered my eyes and buried my face in my arms.

Could it be just a coincidence? Maybe he was thinking of the same adjectives while in the process of composing? Even though he was a stranger to me now, I still didn't want to put plagiarism next to his name. After all, this was the poem he had written when he still loved me!

I decided to investigate further. If there were only a few matching words or a similar line, I couldn't accuse him of plagiarizing. Even the poems of the ancients had mutual enlightenment and occasional borrowing, let alone him.

I carefully turned the pages, one after another, scanning the verses in fear, like a person with an addiction—afraid of bleeding while insisting on digging at the wound.

Under my scrutiny, the philosophical verses became dull, and the narratives became boring. I had no incentive to appreciate the beautiful poems and excellent descriptions but merely flipped the pages to look for similarity. The pages rustled between my fingers, and I saw the following:

. . . _Juan seem'd_

To her, as 'twere, the kind of being sent,

Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd,

A something to be loved, a creature meant

To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd

To render happy; all who joy would win

Must share it—happiness was born a twin

As the wind from the south blew in, the curtains twitched ever so slightly. Even though it was early summer, I felt so cold as if sitting in the snow. This was the poem that he said he had spent a night writing for me! My self-esteem had been greatly hurt. If I still had feelings for him before, there was only disgust left.

*

The clock on the wall chimed, and I jumped. It was seven, and Zhu Tan was coming. I couldn't let him see the poem! I stood up, grabbed the paper that had cheated me, and tore it into pieces. I rest my arm on the edge of the window, and a breeze took the debris, like butterflies, slowly drifting out of the window.

I left my room, passing the hallway and reaching the door. Somehow, he didn't show up as scheduled.

I walked back and forth along the hallway, irritated. The clock told me more than ten minutes had passed. Could he be sick? He once told me that he went to bed past midnight every day because he had to study and tutor me after work. It was possible that he got sick after sustaining such a busy schedule for so long. But he seemed quite healthy yesterday...

In the past, he'd call if he couldn't come. He hadn't been late once since I'd known him.

What happened? Did he have an accident? From his home to mine, it took more than half an hour to walk. Although it was relatively safe at night, it was possible to run into a hooligan who might do harm.

Just because he had never been late, I couldn't help worrying about him. I could no longer read _Don Juan_ because every word in it was like a sharp spike that could hurt me. I stuffed the book into the drawer and walked restlessly in my room.

The street outside my window was getting dark. After seven o'clock, most of the shops were closed, and the store lights were turned off. I stared at the street down below, trying to find him through the leaves of the lush sycamore tree. But except for the trolleys and bicycles passing under my eyes, I saw nobody.

I didn't know how long I had been waiting—I eventually forgot the time and forgot to watch the clock. However, just as I was ready to give up, I heard the doorbell.

As soon as the door opened, the first thing I saw was his smile. "Sorry for the waiting."

His manners and demeanor wiped out my worries instantly, and I said, a bit embarrassed, "I thought you got sick."

"Did you?" His eyes showed a soft gaze that I looked at with some curiosity because his eyes didn't tend to reveal any of his feelings. He caught my stare and immediately turned his face to the side.

I stepped aside to let him in. When he passed under the lamp, I noticed the color of his face. It looked paler than usual. I couldn't help but ask, "Are you just getting off work?"

"Well, I was stuck in a meeting," he replied reluctantly with a frown.

He must be very tired. He had been working long hours and then had to rush over to tutor me. "You don't have to stay if you're tired," I said sincerely. "I can study by myself."

He didn't seem to understand at first. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, then broke out laughing. "Why? You don't know how much it relaxes me. Tutoring is the best rest that I can hope for."

After carefully checking my homework, he began to teach me the new lesson. I sat in a chair with the math book in front of me, and he sat next to me, holding a pencil. He showed me the examples and explained to me the tricks to solve the problem.

I was concentrating on the book and the moving pencil while listening to him presenting the solution according to the mathematical formula. Suddenly, I noticed his hand. It was trembling. I thought it was strange because his spoken words were so clear and his analysis so logical that there wasn't any reason for the tremor. Because my entire attention had been drawn to the numerals and letters, I didn't bother to think further.

But his voice was getting lower and more forced. When I saw him sliding down in the chair, I jumped up. "Are you OK?" I was so panicked that my voice quivered.

"I'm OK," he said quietly as he started shaking.

I was off like a rabbit, sprinting to his side. I supported him with my right hand while using my left hand to touch his forehead. It was so hot that the sweat broke out on my forehead. Alarmed, I said, "You're sick; you're very sick!"

I wanted to go to my mother's room to get medicine, but I was afraid he'd fall if he lost my support.

"Can you get me a cold towel?" he asked in a whisper.

"I'll have to put you down on the bed first," I said to him. It was the best solution I could think of.

He struggled to stand up. I placed one hand on the table to steady myself while using the other to support him. I was able to put him on my bed and lay him down. Then I rushed to get him a cold towel, took the anti-inflammatory tablets and antipyretics from my mother's medicine box, and came back, placing the towel on his forehead, giving him the pills, and watching him slowly close his eyes.

I took a chair and sat next to him. Looking at his face, so pale it was tinted with blue, I couldn't help but feel guilty. He had been working so hard, teaching me while sick, but instead of being grateful, I was actually annoyed when he was late. What a spoiled brat! I decided that I had to tell him how sorry I was and that he shouldn't come again before he fully recovered from his illness. He must rest.

He opened his eyes slightly.

"Do you feel better?" I reached out to touch his forehead. It wasn't as hot as before. The medicine worked.

He looked at me; his eyes had lost their usual brilliance. I felt so bad that I grabbed his hand and said with tears in my eyes, "You shouldn't have come! I'd never forgive myself if you fainted on the way here!"

He smiled and said softly, "You're such a child."

I was so embarrassed that I quickly turned away to wipe my tears. When I looked back, however, he had already gotten up from the bed.

"Zhu Tan, lie down!" I tried to push him down.

"I'm not sick; let's continue." He brushed my hands away gently.

"No!" I was angry. "I can't let you get up! Do you know that you have a fever?"

He looked straight at me, trying to protest, but held back. He then tried a conversational tone: "We'll continue because it's good for my illness. Can you do that for me?"

I stared at him; I wasn't sure what he meant.

"Come on—let's spend another half an hour." He came down from the bed.

"No!" I cried. "You still have a fever. I'm not going to let you teach! I don't want you to teach!"

When he saw me turning my back to him, he walked behind me and bent down to speak into my ear. "Are you mad? You're such a child, so easily getting angry..."

"Who's angry?" I blurted out.

"If you aren't angry, why don't you listen to me? Come on, let's continue."

I looked up and saw the opportunity. "If you want me to continue, you'll have to tell me what is going on." There was something in his behavior that made me think that something was amiss. He seemed to need the tutoring job to soothe him. But why?

"Why do you want to know? It's not worth talking about." He looked a bit annoyed.

"If you don't tell me," I said, pouting, "I won't continue."

He sighed, raised his eyes, and gave me a look that contained so many meanings: reproach, irritation, and resignation... I was overwhelmed because I didn't know what I had done to arouse such mixed feelings in him.

Did I accidentally touch the sad spot that he didn't want me to know about? I was so alarmed that I regretted deeply if I had offended him.

"I really don't want to talk about it." When he started, his voice was actually calm. I looked at him with widened eyes. "But if I don't, you'd be very angry." He sighed and tried to smile, but the smile was a nervous twist of his facial muscles instead of a feeling of joy.

He shifted his eyes from me to the floor as he told me: "It's been ten days now. Every meeting we had, I was the target. They accused me as a rightist who wants to replace socialism with capitalism because I didn't want to quit the project. I have self-respect. I know I haven't done anything wrong. But the mental torture is just too much for me to bear. I've become depressed, angry, and sad. They want me to give up my work; they want me to criticize myself in front of my colleagues. They said that my arrangement for your father's memorial service showed my dissatisfaction with the party..."

Oh, my poor father, what has the world become when it's a crime to arrange a memorial service for you?

"These days, I fall into despair so often that I have to ask," he continued painfully. "Why are such things allowed to happen? People who speak truth become the subject of attacks while people who lie become the heroes..."

I swallowed my tears and took his hand.

"Of course, there's no answer," he said with a heavy sigh.

I said nothing because I had nothing to say.

He looked at me and continued resolutely, "We might be in it for the long term, you know, so we must stick to our guts. I believe fallacy can't represent the truth forever, and the light will eventually drive away the darkness."

"I'm waiting for the day when I can see the cloudless sky," I said dreamily.

# 15

I thought of him more often now, and I'd wait anxiously for his arrivals. When we were together, we often looked at each other with smiles that warmed my heart. My feelings for him had undergone an irreversible change. I had been trying to treat him as I used to, but it wasn't possible. Whenever he was with me, my heart would beat faster. I still saw him as my teacher, but I started to look for something more substantial.

He had changed too. He'd blush and drop his eyes when he noticed that I was looking at him. He was still quiet but could no longer remain mum.

Were we falling in love? I had asked myself. But as soon as the question was raised, I'd mobilize to find all sorts of excuses to kill it. No, we weren't in love, and we couldn't be in love.

I knew I loved him, but I told myself that it was the love for an older brother. I always felt comfortable in front of him until recently. In my current situation, anyone associated with me would be affected by me. He was smart and hardworking, if the girl he loved was anyone but me, he could have a bright future, but if it was me, I could push him into the abyss of suffering.

Having soberly estimated the consequences of our relationship, I decided I should suppress my feelings in order to protect him.

It was very difficult because I had grown accustomed to his company. When I was sad, only he could comfort me because I could no longer complain to my mother, who had been suffering since my father had passed away. When I lost my self-confidence, only he could reassure me because I didn't have anyone I could trust. He was the pillar of my mental strength, and he became indispensable in my life.

Couldn't I love him just a little? Would my love bring him pain? He had a wonderful family, a father and a mother who loved him and placed all their hopes on him. Could I let their beloved fall into the inextricable mud pit because of me?

In an unfortunate love affair, some would abandon everything because of love, some would abandon love for personal interest, and I was willing to give up my love to protect him. I could love him, but I couldn't let him love me. Even if the spark of his first love had already ignited, let it extinguish.

Having thought it through, I felt much better. I'd put on a face of indifference when I faced him even though I loved him dearly. I'd keep my eyes straight on the books even though I wanted to look at him all the time.

He was surprised at first, and I could tell that he was dying to ask me, but he resisted the urge. When I saw how disappointed he was, I couldn't help but want to hug him and comfort him, but I learned to control myself.

He soon understood what was on my mind and accepted it as what it was. In the absence of a love contract, the relationship between us was actually improved. We relied on each other, learned from each other, and looked forward to the future together.

Influenced by him, I became more thoughtful and quieter. The day when I came home from my uncle's and ran into Fang Si Jun and his new girlfriend, I didn't even blink.

It was in front of the bedding display window of the department store near my home. The high-pitched voice of a young woman made me turn my head: "Look, isn't the bed sheet, with the peacock on the red background, beautiful?"

"Absolutely!" her companion answered.

How familiar the voice!

"Si Jun, do you think I should get one?" The woman smiled at him, holding his hand.

"Why not? I can tell it is the best at first glance." The voice was still the same, affectionate and sweet.

When he was dragged by his girlfriend and turned, we stood face to face.

"Ah!" He stagnated and turned pale; he wasn't sure if he should greet me or not. In order not to make him embarrassed, I walked past him as if I didn't know him at all.

"What happened?" The woman gave me a look and asked sourly, "Do you know her?"

"Oh no, I just twisted my ankle. It's been sprained once before..."

"What am I going to do? Can you walk?" the woman screamed.

"If you can hold my hand, we can walk in together, slowly."

I smiled, feeling rather calm and content because I knew that he had become nobody in my heart. Seeing him with his new love, not only did I not feel jealous, but I actually felt relieved. I had forgotten all the troubles of my past as I became my own person.

Goodbye! I happily bid farewell to him, to the past, and sincerely hoped that the lovers should never be forced to part company.

They disappeared at the door of the store along with a flow of people. I turned back and embarked on a completely different path. The sun in July was like a fire, and my heart was burning like a fire—but it was the fire of youth and will, the fire of life...2

 Liszt was once known as the "king of the piano," not Chopin.

2 The Cultural Revolution ended on October 6, as the "Gang of Four" were arrested.
