I told him I’d asked you to help me with his biography, and he was delighted. He said that only Mo Yan is qualified to write his life story. When I asked him why, he said, ‘Because Mo Yan and I are jackals from the same lair.’ To which I argued, ‘Mo Yan is one of the great young writers of his age. How can a dwarf like you be mentioned in the same breath?’ With a sneer, he said, ‘Calling him a jackal from the same lair is high praise from me. Do you know how many people would love to be considered a jackal from the same lair as me, but aren’t?’
Sir, I hope you won’t sink to his level. In these times, when everything’s all topsy-turvy, even the city’s ‘number one Liquorland beauty,’ the hostess of our local TV show, went to bed with him. That, as you can see, takes real skill. He has money, but lacks fame; you have fame, but no money. A perfect match. Sir, you don’t have to pretend to be above worldly matters, just do a little business with him. He said that if you’re willing to write his life story, he’ll make it worth your while. I urge you to accept the assignment, both to earn a pile of People’s Currency and to change your image of poverty and backwardness. Besides, Yu Yichi is a truly uncommon individual, and that has to pique your interest. Here’s an ugly freak not much more than a foot tall who has vowed to f- every beauty in Liquorland, and has damned near f-ed them all. Now that’s a mystery that has to get you thinking. With your literary genius and powerful writing style, The Life of Yu Yichi is bound to be a classic. He said that if you’re willing to come to Liquorland to write his life story, he’ll supply you with everything you need: You’ll stay in Liquorland’s finest hotel, drink Liquorland’s finest liquor, dine on our finest cuisine, smoke name-brand cigarettes, sip famous tea. He even said – on the QT, understand -that if there are other pleasures you seek, he’ll do whatever is necessary to make you happy. Sir, if you’re concerned that the interviews will be too taxing, I’ll be happy to do them for you. You won’t find a better offer than this if you walk around with a lantern. So please don’t hesitate another minute.
Sir, in order to further stir up your enthusiasm and convince you that Yu Yichi is your typical, lovable hooligan, I’ve written a story in the form of a chronicle, called ‘Yichi the Hero.’ I’d like your opinion of it. If you decide to come to Liquorland to write the biography, there’s no need to give the story to anyone else. You’ll be doing me a great favor, and I have nothing with which to repay your kindness. So we’ll just count this story as a modest token of my esteem for you.
Wishing you
Good writing,
Your disciple
Li Yidou
III
Dear Elder Brother Yidou
Your letter and the ‘chronicle-story’ ‘Yichi the Hero’ arrived safely.
Your last letter was uncompromisingly candid. I admire that, so you have nothing to fear. I couldn’t reply right away because I was out of town. Still no news regarding your stories, and I can only counsel patience.
Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together is only a culinary dish. As such it has no class attributes, and thus cannot possibly be attacked for having bourgeois liberalization tendencies. There’s no need to delete it from ‘Donkey Avenue,’ and certainly you needn’t remove it from the Yichi Tavern menu. If I visit Liquorland someday, I want to try this world-class gourmet treat, and how will I do that if it’s not on the menu? Besides, these objects have such high culinary value that it would be a shame not to eat them, and stupid to boot. And since they must be eaten, there’s probably no more civilized way to prepare them than as Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together. Finally, even if you tried to take it off the menu, Proprietor Yu wouldn’t permit it.
I’m getting more and more interested in this Yu Yichi character, and am willing in principle to work with him on his life story. He can set the fee. If he wants to give a lot, I’ll take it; if he wants to give a little, I’ll take that too; and if he doesn’t want to give anything, that’s OK with me. It’s not money that attracts me to the project, but his celebrated experiences. I have the vague impression that Yu Yichi is the very soul of Liquorland, that he embodies the spirit of his age – half angel, half devil. Revealing the spiritual world of this individual could very well constitute my greatest contribution to literature. You may forward my initial response to Mr Yu.
I’m not going to flatter you on ‘Yichi the Hero.’ You call it a short story, but to me it’s a hodgepodge, in every respect a mirror image of the scattered donkey parts in Yichi Tavern. In it you include a letter to me, excerpts from Strange Events in Liquorland, and the incoherent ramblings of Yu Yichi himself. It’s as unconstrained as a heavenly steed soaring through the skies, completely out of control. In years past I’ve been criticized as being out of control, but compared to you, I’m the embodiment of moderation. We live in an age of strict adherence to law and order, and that includes the writing of fiction. For that reason, I do not intend to send your manuscript to Citizens3 Literature – I’d be wasting my time. I’ll hold on to it for the time being and return it when I visit Liquorland. I will, as you suggested, refer to the material in the story. Thanks for the generous offer.
One more thing: Do you have a copy of Strange Events in Liquorland7. If so, please send it to me as soon as possible. You can make a photocopy if you’re afraid it might get lost somewhere along the way. I'll reimburse you for the copying costs.
Wishing you
Peace,
Mo Yan
IV
Yichi the Hero, by Li Yidou
Please have a seat, Doctor of Liquor Studies, so we can have a heart-to-heart talk, he said with slippery intimacy as he sat on his haunches on his leather-covered swivel chair. The look on his face and the tone of his voice were like clouds at sunset, dazzlingly bright and in constant flux. He looked like a fearful demon, one of those patently evil, heretical knights-errant in kung-fu novels; my nerves were frayed as I sat on the sofa opposite him. You little rascal, he mocked, just when did you and that stinking rascal Mo Yan team up together? Cackling like a mother hen feeding her chicks (although I was trying to explain myself, not actually cackling), I said, He is my mentor, ours is a literary relationship. To this day I haven’t met him face-to-face, one of the great regrets of my life. With a sinister heh heh heh, he said, Mo is not the real family name of that rascal Mo Yan, you know. His real family name is Guan, which makes him the seventy-eighth descendant of Guan Zhong, Prime Minister of the state of Qi during the Warring States period, or so he claims. In fact, that’s pure bullshit. A writer, you say? To listen to him, you’d think he was some sort of literary genius. Well, I know everything there is to know about him. Astonished, I blurted out, How could you know everything there is to know about my mentor? To which he replied, Do nothing if you want nothing to be known. That rascal’s been no good since he was a kid. At the age of six he burned down a production team’s storage shed, at nine he fell under the spell of a teacher named Meng, following her around everywhere she went, to her great annoyance. At eleven he stole and ate some tomatoes, and got a beating when he was caught. At thirteen, for stealing some turnips, he was forced to kneel at Chairman Mao’s statue and beg forgiveness in front of more than two hundred workers on a public project. The little rascal is good at memorizing things, and had a good time entertaining people with his wit, for which his father gave him such a whipping, his ass swelled up something awful. Don’t you dare sully the name of my revered master! I protested loudly. Sully his name? Everything I’ve told you I got from his own writing! he said with a snide laugh. And a rotten scoundrel is just the person to write my life story. It takes an evil genius like him to understand an evil hero like me. Write to him and have him come to Liquorland as soon as possible. He’ll get no shabby treatment from me, he said as he thumped his chest. Energized by the boastful pronouncement and loud thumping, he turned his expensive leather chair into a carousel. One minute I was looking into his face, the next at the back of his head. Face, back of the head, face, back of the head, a crafty, animated face and a nicely rounded gourd in the back, one crammed full of knowledge. As he whirled faster and faster, he began to levitate.