If my wife didn't have to work in the fields every day, he thought to himself, I bet her skin would be softer and whiter than yours.
If my wife had your clothes and face creams, she'd probably be prettier than you.
If my wife had grown up in the city, she'd speak just as nicely as you.
Sometimes my wife smells just like you or, if she doesn't, it's only because she doesn't have time to bathe as often as you do. Think your soft skin, pink cheeks, big eyes, white teeth, tiny waist, firm breasts, long legs and round buttocks would be enough to turn my head? A revolutionary soldier? And how did a capitalist-bourgeois slut land a war hero like the Division Commander anyway?
When Wu Dawang stood up, except for his sense of perplexed regret about the Commander's choice of mate, he was much lighter of heart. He felt that his simple, honest soldierly virtues had, for the moment, vanquished his would-be seductress. He was filled with pride: pride at his extraordinary ability to scorn the Division beauty, at his own incorruptible integrity. But just as he was about to retire, proudly, to his dormitory, up popped his Political Instructor out of nowhere.
You certainly know how to make yourself scarce, don't you? I've been looking everywhere for you.'
He studied the Political Instructor's face by the light of the moon.
Was there something you wanted, Sir?'
The Instructor snorted.
`I expected better of you, Wu Dawang, I really did. I never dreamed that you — you, of all people! would cause me this kind of trouble. I've) ust had the Division Commander's wife on the phone, and she was less than happy. She told me you had no idea that to serve the Division Commander and his wife was to Serve the People. She said she wanted you replaced first thing tomorrow with someone new, someone who knew something about political theory. Come on, spit it out, what did you do to her? You're a Sergeant, a Party member, you've got awards and honourable mentions coming out ofyour ears, there's no one I trust more in the company. How on earth did you manage to forget to Serve the People? Spit it out,' he repeated, `what was it? Cat got your tongue?
The Revolution is not a dinner party,' the Instructor continued. `It's no walk in the park. It's about blood, sweat and sacrifice. Two thirds of the world's population still live in misery and oppression. Under Chiang Kai-shek, the people of Taiwan are suffering from unspeakable poverty, hunger, cold and disease. The People's Liberation Army that means you and that means me-there's still work for us, plenty of it. The US imperialists are everywhere, our borders are crawling with a million Soviet revisionists. As soldiers, every one of us needs to stand tall and fix his eyes on distant horizons, to think of China and of the world, to keep our feet on the ground and fulfil our duties, to work as hard as we can for the liberation of mankind. But what do I find here? You can't even look after Liu Lian while the Division Commander's away. If you don't look after Liu Lian properly, the Commander won't be able to concentrate on his meetings in Beijing. If the Commander can't concentrate, it'll affect the entire Division's battle training; if an entire Division isn't ready for battle, it affects the army as a whole; and if World War III does break out- then you'll see j ust how big an influence someone like you and something like this can have. And if it comes to that, a hundred deaths by firing squad will be too good foryou. And for me and the Division Commander as well.
`That was the big picture,' the Political Insructor went on. `Here's the detail. How can you be so stupid, Wu Dawang? I thought you wanted your family transferred to the city, I thought you wanted promotion. A few words from the Division Commander could solve all your problems. And who's going to get these magic words out of him? His wife, the person he sleeps next to. Liu Lian.
`Go to bed,' he finished. `I'm not going to ask again what it was, exactly, you did. I've agreed to send someone new over tomorrow, as requested. But I've decided to give you a chance to put things right. So I'm going to send you back to the Commander's house for one more day. I'll let Liu Lian know it was my decision, so if she's looking for someone to blame I'm her man. But beyond that, it's all down to you. It's in your hands now. An outstanding soldier is not content only to take light from the beacon of Revolution, but should also enhance its eternal brilliance by his own efforts.'
Verbosity-and in military thinking especiallywas the Political Instructor's particular talent. As his superior held forth unstoppably, Wu Dawang began to feel a furious hatred for Liu Lian. Several times he came close to revealing her degenerate, capitalist attempts at seduction, but each time the words sprang to his lips he swallowed them back down, for reasons that were unclear to him. Wu Dawang's discretion, his willingness to accept humiliation in order to protect a woman's reputation, was of course very much to his credit as a soldier, and as a man of honour. But lurking deep within this generous nobility of spirit, could there also have been a tiny, selfish desire to savour this delicious secret alone? Since the curtain had only just gone up on this grand romantic drama, did he perhaps feel it would be wrong to spoil the plot for his audience before the performance had properly begun? Remembering, as his Instructor droned on, how the Division Commander had trampled on that ill-fated head, Wu Dawang placed his foot on a sturdy clump of grass. While the Political Instructor was interrogating him as to what, precisely, he had done to offend Liu Lian, he twisted his foot from side to side, as one would stub out a cigarette, imagining he was grinding her face into the ground: her mouth, her red lips and white teeth, her forehead and her high, straight nose. As the Political Instructor warmed to his theme, Wu Dawang moved on down her body until, at the thought of her marvellous breasts, his belligerent foot faltered and shrank from the impressive hollow it had made-defeated by a bosom.
The moon had now reached the southwest. Unnoticed by Wu Dawang, the drinkers had dispersed back to their respective companies and the barracks were quiet. The breeze was still lapping about, rustling across the drill ground. He examined the hole he'd made, its edges scattered with displacedyellow- brown earth and crushed plant stalks. The strong, sharp smell of raw soil flavoured the cool night air. Guiltily contemplating, by the light of the moon, the mess he had made, he nudged the loose soil back with his boot.
'Go to bed,' the Political Instructor repeated, `it's getting late. But remember what I said: you won't get a third chance. If the Division Commander's wife has really taken against you, you're done for.'
`Thank you, Sir,' Wu Dawang finally responded. if I wasn't in uniform, I'd kneel down and kowtow to you right here.'
'What kind of talk is that for a revolutionary,' the Political Instructor chided him, giving him a light clip around the ear before heading back to his dormitory.
Wu Dawang followed on behind; back to bed.
IV
AS ANY GOOD READER OF fiction will know, the progress of a story is dependent not only on the personalities of its main characters, but also on the experiences that have brought them to where they are today to their narrative present. And it was now that Wu Dawang's own personal history exerted a truly decisive influence. One light flutter of the butterfly's wings sent the globe of fate spinning in an entirely new direction.
As Wu Dawang lay sleeplessly on his bed, reflecting on the twists and turns his life had taken, he eventually fixed on the question of his marriage. Six years ago, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, he had been a simple farmer in Wujiagou, a village nestling among the mountains of Funiu in western Henan. Every day, he would start work when the sun rose and stop when it sank. Just as a weed starved of sunlight or a wild sapling deprived of rain struggles for survival, he lived in ignorance of the most basic and instinctive of life's comforts and pleasures. His father had been taken ill and died years ago, leaving a widow and her only son to eke out a miserable existence in the poor, remote, drought-stricken mountain village they called home.