To tell you the truth, the notebook had created this kind of person for me — he was like a god, he had created everything; he was also the devil, the destroyer of all things, including my own mind. Standing in front of this man, I felt devoted, awed and terrified; through and through I felt the need to prostrate myself in front of him. Three months passed and I had not stood upon his shoulders — I just couldn’t do it: I couldn’t stand up! All I could do was to stand meekly by his side, like a long-lost child that had finally found its mother’s embrace and was loath to leave her again; like a single raindrop finally falling to the ground and burrowing itself deep inside.
As you can imagine, if this was all I could do, then the best I could hope for would be the same as Rong Jinzhen: I too would be stuck at the ninety-ninth step; that final step would remain forever in the darkness. Perhaps time would eventually have permitted Rong Jinzhen to make that last step but not me, because as I just said, I was but a child walking alongside him — since he had fallen, I too would fall. It was then that I discovered that this notebook that had been given to me was filled with nothing but sorrow. It had allowed me to reach the cusp of victory, allowed me to spy it in the distance, but it kept that same victory forever beyond my grasp. How sad, how pitiful! I felt overwhelmed with horror at my plight, I felt utterly helpless.
However, just at that moment, Rong Jinzhen returned from the hospital.
It’s true, he was discharged: but not because he had recuperated, rather. . how shall I put it? It was just that there was no hope in him being cured so remaining in the hospital was meaningless — thus he returned.
I’d like to say it was the will of heaven, but I never spoke with Rong Jinzhen again. When everything happened, I was in hospital and by the time I was released, Rong Jinzhen had already been moved to the provincial capital to receive treatment there. Paying him a visit would have been most inconvenient and what is more, as soon as I was discharged, I was given BLACK to deal with. There was simply no time to see him. Besides which, after all, I had his notebook. The first time I laid eyes on him was after he had been released from hospital, after he had already gone mad. But we never spoke.
That was the will of heaven.
I should say that if I had gone to see him a month earlier, perhaps what happened later would not have taken place. Why do I say this? I have two reasons: first, while Rong Jinzhen was in hospital, I was absorbed in reading his notebook. In my mind’s eye, Rong Jinzhen was metamorphosing into an ever greater, ever larger, ever more intrepid character: a veritable giant; secondly, while reading through the notebook and turning things over in my mind, the difficulties in deciphering BLACK were diminishing, tapering down to a fine point. A basis of sorts was being laid down that would serve as the foundation for everything that happened afterwards.
One afternoon I heard that Rong Jinzhen would be coming back. Upon learning this, I set off to see him, but I was a bit too early, he had not yet arrived home and so I waited in the courtyard in front of his apartment. Shortly afterwards, I saw a jeep slide into the courtyard and come to a stop. Two people leapt out, an administrator from our division by the name of Huang, and Rong Jinzhen’s wife, Di Li. I went over to greet them. They looked me over, taking note of my slovenly appearance, and then turned back towards the jeep to assist Rong Jinzhen in getting out. It seemed as though he was unwilling to leave the car, as if he were something fragile, something easily broken; he could not just get out of the jeep, he had to alight carefully and slowly, ever so cautiously.
After a moment, he finally managed to get out of the vehicle. But the man I saw was not Rong Jinzhen — he bore no resemblance to the man I knew. This man was hunched over, his whole body trembling; his head seemed as though it had only been recently attached to his body — it was awkwardly placed, and seemed to be teetering off balance. His eyes were wide open, globular, filled with some unknown terror, and yet there was no glimmer of light in them; his mouth hung open like some gaping rift or breach, as though it couldn’t be closed, and from time to time a line of drool slipped out. .
Could this be Rong Jinzhen?
My heart felt as though something were squeezing it, pressing down upon it; my mind became confused, disordered. It seemed as though his notebook had drawn the strength from me, had made me afraid; and now seeing Rong Jinzhen, this shell of a man, it was the same. I stood there dumbfounded, not daring to greet him, as if this Rong Jinzhen had somehow scalded me, burnt my flesh. As his wife half-carried him away, Rong Jinzhen, like some terrible thought, disappeared from in front of me. But there was no way the memory of what I had seen would ever leave me.
Once I returned to my office, I tumbled upon the sofa; my feet were heavy and devoid of energy, my mind was blank. I felt nothing, I was a corpse propped up on a couch. It goes without saying that the shock I had received was too much; in no way less than the shock I received upon reading the notebook. Slowly, gradually, my spirits began to return, but the image of Rong Jinzhen when he alighted from the jeep still danced before my eyes. It was like a rare and horrible idea rudely and unreasonably playing about in my head: I couldn’t expel it, I couldn’t express it — I couldn’t fail but to acknowledge it. This was how I became hemmed in by the image of a deranged Rong Jinzhen. The image tortured me and the more I thought about it, the more I felt pity for him — how wretched he had become, how utterly terrifying. I asked myself: who had brought him to this pass? Who had destroyed him? Then I thought about what had happened, thought about the calamity, about the person responsible for it, the mastermind –
That bloody thief!
In all honesty, no one could have guessed that this would happen, that such a talented individual, such a formidable and frightening man (the image that came to me from reading his notebook), such an elevated and profound man, humanity’s crème de la crème, a hero in the field of cryptography, could ultimately be brought so low by a common street thief; could be so utterly destroyed by a mere petty criminal. I couldn’t help but feel shocked and horrified by the absurdity of it all.
All emotions possess the ability to surprise, causing you to reflect upon things. Sometimes this reflection takes place in one’s unconscious and so it is quite possible that it will have no effect; you might not even be immediately aware of it. In life, we often suddenly and unexpectedly come to think of things, have ideas take shape in our minds; and we are left to marvel at them, wondering whether or not they were given to us by some divine providence. But in truth, these thoughts are already within us, they are simply buried deeply in our unconscious minds; they have only now come to the fore, like a fish that out of the blue breaches the surface of the water.