Meng tried to give his wife the high sign, but she missed it. “They also said he got a new pair of eyes from a dog. Can you really do that?”
Zhao and Zhou were so stunned, the hands holding glasses stopped in midair. Meng looked at Zhuang, who belched several times before wordlessly raising his glass and tossing down the contents.
“Are you sure you can handle that, Zhidie?” Meng asked. Zhuang refilled his glass.
“Are you worried he’ll drink too much of your liquor?” Xia asked him. “We have plenty of beds. If he’s drunk, he can spend the night here.”
“Well, drink up, then. Come on, let’s drink. Yes, Ruan Zhifei did get kidnapped, and I went to the hospital to see him. He deserved it, though. He likes to show off his wealth, sponsoring one thing after another, so it’s only natural that someone would try to get something out of him. Come on, Zhidie, I’m letting myself go today. Let’s get good and drunk. Bottoms up.”
By now red-eyed, Zhuang stood up and said, “I’m going home.” He walked out, surprising everyone, though no one dared say anything to get him to stay longer. They merely watched as he staggered out the door. Meng emptied his glass as tears rolled from his eyes.
. . .
Zhuang passed out the moment he walked in the door. When he woke up the next morning, he had a terrible headache. Over the next few days, he ate nothing but instant noodles and pain pills. He didn’t go to Meng’s house to drink for several days, so Meng went with his son’s master to help Zhuang recuperate with qigong. Meng could see that the anti-burglary door was open, but Zhuang would not open the wooden door no matter how hard he banged on it. So Meng walked down to the gatehouse and asked Mrs. Wei to make an announcement over the PA system: “You have a visitor, Zhuang Zhidie. Come down to see your visitor, Zhuang Zhidie.” That got no response. Meng then went out to call him from a pay phone. Zhuang picked up the phone and answered with a complaint: “Why are you bothering me? Are you working for the grim reaper?”
“You can’t stay home forever. I know you’re feeling down, so I asked Meng Jin’s master to help you feel better with qigong.”
“Why do I need qigong therapy? I’m not sick. I’m feeling perfectly fine.”
“All right, then. If you don’t want qigong treatment, at least take care of yourself. Don’t worry about Ruan Zhifei. I’ve been to see him with Jingwu and the others, on your behalf, so you don’t have to go. He’s doing fine, recovering well after the transplant. I do want to remind you of something, though. You’re having a terrible year, with all sorts of trouble, so after giving it some thought, I did a study of the Qimen Dunjia Astrology, and it dawned on me that there’s a problem with the way your furniture is arranged. The bad fengshui has ruined everything. You mustn’t use a room in the northwestern corner as a bedroom. You should have been sleeping in the northeast. And the living room sofa should not face the front door. Put it by the eastern wall. Have you got all that?”
Zhuang was so annoyed he hung up. Hearing nothing but a loud slam followed by a busy signal, Meng could only smile unhappily as he invited Meng Jin’s master to a dinner of steamed beef and rice before sending the man back to his hotel. He then went to the dance hall to see Liu Yue, hoping she would tell Niu Yueqing what had been happening with Zhuang. If the two women could go see Zhuang, it might make him feel better; if not, he might really fall ill and destroy himself.
Liu Yue went to Shuangren fu, but the place was deserted. A bulldozer was razing Shunzi’s house, the one next door, and she knew that Niu Yueqing and her mother had moved. Standing alone under the peach tree, she was lost in thought for a long time before dejectedly heading over to the apartment at the Literary Federation compound. After opening the door to let her in, Zhuang went on about what had happened to Tang Wan’er after she had been taken home. Liu Yue decided not to say too much to him; she cooked something for him and hurried off after making sure he ate it. Over the next two weeks, she came over every day. Later, when she got too busy at the dance hall, she arranged for a woman who ran a noodle stand to deliver food to Zhuang twice a day. When the woman showed signs of reluctance, Liu Yue took out a handful of U.S. dollars and said: “I’ll pay you with these. Will that work for you?”
One day, after dining with the American at a newly opened Western restaurant on Drum Tower Street, Liu Yue thought she would take him to meet Zhuang Zhidie. But as they were walking down the street, she changed her mind and told the man to go back to the school while she went to see Zhuang alone. At his door, she saw someone crouching by the wall, fast asleep. It was Zhou Min. She shook him awake. “Were you out rustling cattle last night, Zhou Min? Why are you sleeping here?”
When Zhou Min opened his eyes and saw her face, he wiped the slobber from the corners of his mouth and said, “I looked all over for Zhuang Laoshi, but couldn’t find him, and I thought he might be at home. I knocked, but he won’t open the door, so I decided to wait outside. Sooner or later he’ll have to come out, won’t he? I didn’t realize I was so exhausted. What time is it?”
“Four o’clock.”
“I slept for two hours?”
Liu Yue knocked on the door, then switched to banging. “Open up, Zhuang Laoshi,” she shouted. “I hear you coughing inside. It’s me, Liu Yue. Do you refuse to see even me?”
Finally they heard footsteps inside, and the door opened to reveal a sallow-faced Zhuang in the doorway. “So you’re here, too, Zhou Min.”
“I slept out here for two hours.”
“What’s happened to make you do that?”
“I would never disturb you if it weren’t urgent. I went to see Sima Gong yesterday, and he told me the Superior Court has sent down its final judgment. They’ve overturned the Intermediate Court’s decision and changed the verdict to slander against Jing Xueyin. I heard that one of Jing’s sisters-in-law set up a honey trap and colluded with the person who reviewed the case, while we didn’t take immediate action to see the chief judge at the Superior Court. I told you to go see him, and I just learned that you didn’t. If we don’t act now, everything will be lost.”
“Is that so?” Zhuang said as he boiled some water for tea. “Let them change the verdict. I don’t care. We lose if they say we lost, and we lose even if they say we won. Have some water.”
Declining the water, Zhou said anxiously, “So we’ll just sit around and let them do this to us? One of the rulings required the judgment to be publicized in the papers.”
Zhuang sat down; the scroll on the wall behind the sofa was gone, replaced by a cowhide. “So? Let them. You can go see the chief judge of the Superior Court if you want to, but count me out. I refuse to ask anyone for help again.”
“What’s the use of my going to see him, Zhuang Laoshi?” Zhou was about to cry. “Please go see him, I beg you. We’ve fought so hard for so long only to end up like this?”
“What can I say to you, Zhou Min? Would you let me off the hook and stop talking about this? I’m writing a novel. I’m a writer, and I need peace and quiet to write.”
“All right, then. I won’t beg you anymore, Zhuang Laoshi. Go write your book and be the celebrity you want to be. I’ve been ruined by your name, but I deserve it.” Zhou walked out and slammed the door behind him.
The Provincial Superior Court issued its final verdict seven days later, which was published in every newspaper in the city on the same day. For several nights, Zhou Min followed Jing Xueyin home after she left work in order to find out where she lived. Finally, on a rainy night, he hid at a street corner until Jing’s husband came out on his bike. Zhou pounced like a wolf, knocking him down. “Why won’t you pay back the money you owe my friend, Liu Sanguai?”
With his raincoat over his head, Jing’s husband replied, “You’ve got the wrong man, buddy. I’m not Liu Sanguai, and I don’t owe anyone any money.”