He believed that Qizi was still alive.
2
One summer, when Mengliu was in his mid-forties, temperatures reached a high of fifty degrees Celsius. The sun scorched the pale-skinned, and the streets were covered with dead insects looking like popped corn.
The streets of Beiping were wide and mighty, the river similarly open and indifferent. Anyone standing in the centre might feel a slight space-time disorientation. Round Square was like a living room kept squeaky clean under its meticulous master’s care. The flat ground had a yellowish lustre, created by the trampling of feet. Low-rise buildings stood guard at a distance around the square, surrounding it like a reef.
In those days, setting out from the square and walking east on Beiping Street, when you came to the museum on the left, there was Liuli Street, one of the more authentic old lanes. Both sides were lined with vintage stores full of aged items, windows filled with blue and white porcelain, busts, old swords, rusty daggers, bronze ware…In an enchanting moment, you could feel the ghosts and spirits floating in the streets, whispering their secrets. Sometimes you might come across someone wearing an aged, jaded expression mingled with the arrogance of youth, and looking rather lost. Their bodies were covered with a certain demonic light that did not invite close contact.
Liuli Street was originally the site of a famous old Catholic church, which had been destroyed during the Tower Incident. It was said that one of the faithful had hanged himself inside. The legend was that he had suffered from deep depression. Because it had not been set aside for protection as a heritage building, the church was soon uprooted and demolished. A tall commercial building was constructed on the site of the church, and the whole area converted into a pedestrian mall. In these modern times, the glory of the old street can only be seen in the archives.
Walking to the end of Liuli Street, you enter an area surrounded by relief sculptures fashioned in a mythic style. Beyond a stand of old trees, an imposing stone plaque displays an inscription reading ‘National Youth Administration for Elite Wisdom’ in the tadpole-shaped squiggles of the Beiping language. The administration building’s gate, constructed of Spanish granite in a classical style, stands next to two old pines that have been stripped bare by the scampering squirrels. The Spanish-style building is covered with grey roof tiles that extend out over long arcades. It is full of an air of mystery and a sense of history. The nature walks and the variety of entertainment facilities make the area feel like a resort. More widely known than the administration building is the attached amphitheatre surrounded by a wall decorated with frescoes on religious themes. There is a corridor on either side of the wall around the amphitheatre, extending to the grass. People call it the double-tracked wall. Originally the birthplace of an important school of thought, it has since become commercialised, filled with so many posters advertising random products that the wall has virtually disappeared. This seems to suggest that people no longer feel the need for such places, that all sorts of ideas and philosophies have simply become part of the daily lives of today’s citizens.
The Wisdom Bureau, as the National Youth Administration for Elite Wisdom was popularly known before the Tower Incident, had over 50,000 employees, arranged in departments with many branches and sub-branches. The nation’s intelligentsia numbered over 10,000, with a large number of elite members. The Bureau was extensive, with sub-departments for literature, physics, philosophy, music, medicine, and dozens of other professional branches. This intellectual institution might look idle from the outside, but the atmosphere inside resembled that of a battlefield.
At that time Mengliu, having just been assigned to the Literature Department, rented an old house with a few other people his age. The landlord, a skinny old man who wore a skullcap year-round, was fond of young people. He respected learning, and as long as you were a member of the Wisdom Bureau, he would offer cheap rental. In the volatile environment of the time, when resources were scarce, people held high expectations for the young elites. At the end of the day, everyone was willing to take care of these young people and to protect them.
The house was very old with green walls and timber latticed windows. Quiet and low-key, it had once served as quarters for government dignitaries. It offered the advantages of being clean, quiet, and conveniently located. Mengliu’s flat, situated on the west side of the building, was playfully dubbed the West Wing. With an area of about twenty square metres, it was not very spacious. It was just large enough for eating, sleeping, and studying in, with a small space for a sitting area. Of course, Mengliu had no need for the latter.
The potted rose bush on the windowsill was part of the original furnishings. It had never bloomed. At one time during the Tower Incident, when it was especially droopy, one of his female visitors provoked it into a show of life. It budded and eventually dropped, and only bloomed a few times after that.
The acacia tree in the yard was centuries old and covered with a dark, rough bark. Its branches climbed over the grey tiled roof. In summer its leaves turned yellow, and produced a lot of worms. They dangled there, bodies a bright transparent green, like pieces of amber or smooth jade. They climbed along the fine silk they spat out of themselves, swaying in the wind. A black train of faeces ran along the ground, releasing a pungent odour. Having travelled through the digestive system of the worms, the faeces smelled fresh and thick. Their fragrance was mesmerising.
Mengliu did not like to shave, and he often sat writing poetry all night long with his hair dishevelled. He was at an age when the mere sight of a girl aroused him. He banded together with two other vibrant young poets, Hei Chun and Bai Qiu, whose names meant ‘Black Spring’ and ‘White Autumn’, and the trio became known as ‘The Three Musketeers’.
When he had nothing else to do, Mengliu sat under the acacia tree playing the chuixun.
One day Mengliu awoke feeling that there was something strange in the air. The central heating seemed to have gone off. It was surprisingly cold. He glanced out of the window, and saw birds in the acacia tree, all of them tight-lipped and looking about vigilantly.
With a yelp, he got out of bed and dressed, listening to the news coming from the radio next door.
‘…Reports have come in this morning of excitement around Round Square, where a tower made of excrement was found in the early hours, drawing massive crowds to see the spectacle… For now, it has not been determined whether the excrement came from an earthly creature. The police rushed to the scene to protect the tower and maintain order…Experts are on their way to Round Square…If the small group of hostile elements in the capital take this opportunity to make trouble, they will be detained and severely punished!’
The announcer’s words were clipped, as if he had a mouth full of bullets. His tone was threatening, especially when he got to the phrase ‘they will be detained and severely punished!’ It was like he had fired into the air, spitting all the bullets out. There was a burst of static, followed by the sound of explosions coming over the radio.
Mengliu had a bad feeling. He washed hastily, using his hand to wipe the traces of water from his moustache, and hurried out the door.