“For the next in line, walk down any street or lane in the city to look at the shop signs, and you will know the name Gong Jingyuan. During the Republican era, the shop-sign calligrapher everyone wanted was Yu Youren. But even at his peak, Yu was not as popular as Gong Jingyuan. Like Wang Ximian, he has to drive the women away, but he isn’t burdened with Wang’s infatuations. He has a good time with whoever comes along and quickly forgets her when it’s over, which is why so many women call themselves Gong Jingyuan’s lover, all of them women whose names he is unable to recall. Obtaining a piece of his calligraphy presents a problem, for when he gives one away he does not add his seal, thus making it virtually worthless. Adding the seal is his wife’s business, and it is cash only. Fifteen hundred for one on paper, three thousand for a shop sign. She holds the purse strings. He doesn’t even carry pocket change. The problem is, he’s addicted to mahjong and can lose as much as a thousand yuan in a night. He covers his losses with calligraphy. He has been arrested three times for gambling, and each time the police let him out after he wrote calligraphy for them. There isn’t a respectable hotel in the city that does not have one of his works on display, and none of them charges him for room or board. The managers treat him like the Buddha himself. The first question asked of a chef seeking admission into the city’s Culinary Society is, ‘Have you ever prepared a meal for Gong Jingyuan?’ If the answer is yes, you have passed the first test. But if the answer is no, you are found deficient.
“The third person is Ruan Zhifei, head of the Western Philharmonic orchestra. He started out as a Shaanxi opera performer whose father had taught him such tricks of the trade as fire breathing, hair tossing, and tusk playing. But when the local opera began to lose its appeal, playing to dwindling audiences, he quit and organized a local song-and-dance ensemble with all of his opera performers. Singing tunes that others steered clear of and sporting costumes that rivals dared not wear, they toured the country for five years, playing to packed houses wherever they went; the money fell like snowflakes. But in recent years, as the popularity of song-and-dance performances has waned, the members of the troupe have drifted away in two groups, one moving to the countryside, the other opening dance halls in the city. Even at the unheard-of cost of thirty yuan to get in, those places are mobbed every night.
“All three of these individuals deal with the social xianren, but only when it suits their purpose. They rely primarily on the internal connivance of bureaucrats and the external support of foreigners.
“The fourth individual, on the other hand, lives a quiet, unassuming life. Although his wife runs the Taibai Bookstore near the Forest of Steles Museum, he neither has nor cares much about money, and is content to stay home and write about things that interest him. But the world moves in strange ways, and the less you want something, the more it attaches itself to you. Where those four are concerned, he is at the top of the heap and is the most accomplished; his fame is the most far-reaching. And he comes from your hometown — Tongguan.”
Zhou Min was mesmerized by Meng’s exhaustive narration, but when he heard that the man was from his hometown, he said, “You wouldn’t be talking about Zhuang Zhidie, would you?”
“Yes, I would,” Meng replied. “Which is why I said, ‘There is plenty of talent in Tongguan, and the people there are unique in many ways.’ When I saw how devoted you are to the desire to become a writer, I immediately thought of Zhuang Zhidie, the pride of Tongguan. You must know him.”
“The name, of course. He once returned to Tongguan for a public lecture, but I learned about it too late. Tongguan is home to hordes of young people who love literature, thanks to his influence. I’ve seen him in pictures, but never in person.”
“Of the Famous Four, Zhuang is the one I admire the most, and the one I am closest to,” Meng said. “I’m sure I could help you find work in an editorial office, but I could run my legs off and not accomplish as much as a single word from him, for he is one of Xijing’s leading writers. He drops by regularly for tea or something a bit stronger, so why not come over, say some Wednesday or Saturday afternoon, and you might run into him. I’ll ask his opinion on which paper or magazine would be best.”
Over the weeks that followed, Zhou Min visited Meng on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, neatly dressed, his hair slicked down with gel. But while the house was always filled with writers, editors, painters, and actors, Zhuang Zhidie was a no-show. Having no luck getting hired on at an editorial office, Zhou was forced to stay on as a laborer at the Clear Void Nunnery to keep the wolf from the door, and he was losing hope.
One day Huiming asked him to deliver a message to Meng Yunfang, so he went for an afternoon of tea and talk, naturally bringing up Zhuang Zhidie. That was when he learned that Zhuang had been out of town for some time, news that Meng had received only that morning from Hong Jiang at the Taibai Bookstore. He was disappointed in Zhuang, whose reputation had continued to spread over the past year, but whose mood had worsened and whose temper had taken a bizarre turn. All that time away, and not a word to Meng Yunfang! Zhou Min sighed. But Meng handed Zhou a note and asked if he would be willing to look up someone in the Department of Culture. If he could get in to see that individual, there was a chance that he could land a position at the Xijing Gazette.
Zhou Min read the note and discovered that Meng had written to someone called Jing Xueyin, signing it Zhuang Zhidie. Meng’s only response to Zhou Min’s questions of whether Jing was a man or a woman and what he or she did was an enigmatic grin.
Not knowing what to expect, Zhou Min took the note to the Department of Culture. As evening fell, he returned to see Meng, who was in his study, dressed only in boxer shorts, sitting at his writing desk. He acknowledged the knock at the door but did not get up to open it, so his impatient visitor called out, “Meng Laoshi, it’s me, Zhou Min.” When Zhou heard footsteps, he waited until the lock turned, then rushed in and shocked Meng by falling to his knees in front of him.