The residents of Liven all emerged from their homes. Men and women, young and old, the blind, crippled, deaf, and mute, together with those missing arms or legs, were all summoned by the tolling of the bell. One-Legged Monkey emerged with the canvas apron still tied around his waist and a wood plane in his hand. Jumei was inside cooking, her hands covered in flour. Tonghua, Yuhua, and Mothlet were busy doing something or other, but they all came over and joined the other villagers. The entire village stood like a dark mass beneath the honey locust tree.
“What is she doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why is she ringing the bell now?”
“You’re only supposed to ring it in the event of an emergency.”
In the hubbub, Grandma Mao Zhi gazed at One-Legged Monkey, who was standing in front of the crowd. She handed him the letter she was holding, saying, “Read this to the other villagers — in a loud voice!” One-Legged Monkey asked what exactly it was he’d be reading, and Grandma Mao Zhi replied that once he read it he would know. One-Legged Monkey took the letter, unfolded it, and then gasped in astonishment. He stared in shock for a moment, then, like Grandma Mao Zhi’s, his face erupted in delight. He hobbled over to the stone riser beneath the tree, jumped up onto it, cleared his throat, waved his arms, and then cried out as though he were an important personage, “Quiet please, quiet please. Fuck your grandmother, the documentation for Liven’s withdrawal from society has arrived. Now I am going to read this motherfucking document aloud to everyone!. . This will be a presentation!”
Under the honey locust tree, everything became absolutely silent — so silent that it seemed as though no one was even there.
Standing on the stone riser, One-Legged Monkey read aloud in a shrill voice this document that had been sent down by Shuanghuai’s county committee and county government:
To the Party committees from every department, office, and township:
In accordance with Liven’s repeated requests that it be permitted to “withdraw from society”—which is to say, to voluntarily leave the administrative jurisdiction of Shuanghuai county and Boshuzi township — the county committee and county government have carefully studied this matter and reached the following conclusion:
1) As of today, the village of Liven, located in the depths of the Balou mountains, will no longer fall under the administrative jurisdiction of Shuanghuai county and Boshuzi township. Shuanghuai and Boshuzi will no longer have any authority over Liven, and conversely Liven will no longer have any obligations toward Shuanghuai and Boshuzi;
2) Within a month of the day when this document is issued, Boshuzi township must collect and destroy all of the residency permits and identity cards that had previously been issued to the residents of Liven, and if it is discovered that anyone in Liven is still using the township’s residency permit and identity cards, they will be treated as illegal counterfeits;
3) From now on, all of the administrative maps printed by Shuanghuai must have their borders revised such that they no longer contain the section of the Balou mountains where Liven is located, and the county’s administrative maps must never again include the village of Liven;
4) Beginning today, Liven’s freedoms and rights — including the right to citizenship, the right to property, the right to housing, the right to disaster relief, the right to medical treatment, and so forth — will no longer have any relation to Shuanghuai or Boshuzi. On the other hand, Shuanghuai and Boshuzi must not interfere with Liven’s informal contacts with the county, township, or any of their associated regions.
At the end of the document, there were just the signature and the stamps of Shuanghuai’s county committee and county government, together with the date on which the document was issued.
When One-Legged Monkey finished reading, he folded up the document and placed it back in the envelope. At this point, the sun was directly above the tree, and its heat flowed over the village like boiling water. Several turtledoves and flocks of sparrows alighted on the branches of the honey locust tree, and their chirps poured from the sky like rain, pounding down on everyone’s head and body. Even after the villagers had heard and understood the announcement, they kept standing and sitting there, staring intently at Monkey’s hands, as though he had not finished reading, as though he had not read the most understandable part and consequently there were still many parts that were not yet clear. Everyone looked calm, as though Liven’s withdrawal from society had been expected and was nothing to get excited about. It was also as if this earth-shattering news of Liven’s withdrawal from society could not be announced just like that, with a sheet of paper and two stamps. The withdrawal seemed somewhat unreal, and the people almost didn’t allow themselves to believe it. Each of them just stared in a daze, like someone who has only half woken up from a deep sleep.
At this point, One-Legged Monkey hopped down from the stone riser. Then, something occurred to him, and he asked loudly, “But now, if we want to establish our own performance troupe, to whom will we go for a letter of introduction?” He added, “If we don’t have a formal letter of introduction, will we still be able to earn as much money from our performances as before?”
This question was directed to Grandma Mao Zhi, but just as One-Legged Monkey was asking it he turned around and saw that she was leaning against the tree on her bamboo stool, completely motionless, as though she were fast asleep. Her burial clothes sparkled as though they were still brand-new, with the sunlight shining on them just as the spotlight had done when she was performing. She just sat there on her stool, leaning against the honey locust tree, her head cocked to the side. Her glowing face had a calm smile and a livened appearance, like a child in the middle of a pleasant dream. One-Legged Monkey repeated his question, and again he didn’t receive a response, and he was about to ask a third time when the question got caught in his throat.
He exclaimed with alarm, “Granny Mao Zhi, Granny Mao Zhi.. .”
Jumei added her own cries, “Grandma. . Grandma. .”
Huaihua and her three nin sisters jostled their way into the crowd and cried out together, “Grandma, Grandma, what’s wrong? Why can’t you say anything?”
The crowd then erupted, as the entire hillside began crying and shouting at Grandma Mao Zhi.
Despite all the shouts and shaking, Grandma Mao Zhi didn’t respond.
She had departed.
She passed away peacefully, with a smile on her lips. When she died, that look of satisfied livening on her face was as warm and bountiful as the sun.
She was seventy-one years old, and hers should have been a joyful funeral. It was inevitable that there would be cries of mourning, but privately people remarked that she had earned her death and that the peaceful look on her face when she died was something very few people could hope for.
They buried her three days later. There was no need to hurriedly prepare her burial clothes, and she had even prepared her own coffin. As a result, everything proceeded calmly. On the day that they picked up her coffin and walked toward the graveyard, located several li from the depths of the Balou mountains, something happened that the villagers would never have expected. Huaihua was pregnant, and therefore couldn’t escort her grandmother to her grave. This was an age-old rule. Jumei and her daughters Tonghua, Yuhua, and Mothlet, meanwhile, were women and girls, and since Mao Zhi had no male descendants, the women had to recruit some men and boys before the funeral procession set out. The villagers — be they young or old, blind or crippled — were all younger than Mao Zhi, and they all felt a certain sense of filial obligation toward her, and felt that it was correct and sensible to escort her to her grave.