One day Weiwei came over alone and insisted on helping her mother with all sorts of chores, even hand washing the two articles of clothing Wang Qiyao had been soaking in the basin. Wang Qiyao knew that Weiwei had a favor to ask and was pretty certain it had to do with borrowing money. Weiwei was behaving the same way she used to when she wanted her mother to buy her new clothes. But this time she was even more solicitous than usual and a bit more hesitant about saying what she actually wanted. She had already left the nest, and going back to her mother for handouts now was a bit out of line. Wang Qiyao couldn’t help sighing as she wondered what would happen to Weiwei after Xiao Lin left — it was uncertain when the newlyweds could reunite and in the meantime she would have to live with her in-laws. Technically, they were her family now, but she really had very little in common with them and Wang Qiyao dared not speculate on what might be in store for her daughter. When Weiwei came back inside from hanging out the wet clothes, she saw some money lying on the table.
“Take it and buy Xiao Lin a new pair of shoes,” said Wang Qiyao. “Think of it as a gift from me.”
Weiwei didn’t touch the money. “We’ve already bought him shoes for every season. He doesn’t need any more.”
Wang Qiyao could tell that she wanted more. She added, “If not shoes, then something else. But that’s all I’ve got right now. Take it as my way of congratulating him.”
Weiwei still didn’t touch the money. She lowered her head. Wang Qiyao’s spirits sank; she walked away without saying anything. She had not expected Weiwei to break the silence by telling her that she had heard about someone who had gone to America with nothing but a gold locket. When he got to America he sold it; with the help of that money, he managed to get through those first few months and finally got on his feet. Wang Qiyao grew anxious as she listened to the story. What is she trying to say? And then she remembered the day she asked Xiao Lin to exchange a gold bar for her at the bank. Her heart skipped a beat and she turned red.
“Never in my life have I failed to do my duty by you. .” Her voice trembled.
Weiwei raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Who ever said you failed us? We’re just asking to borrow it. We’ll pay you back, I promise!”
Wang Qiyao was almost in tears. “Weiwei, you must have been blind to marry a man like that!”
Weiwei started to lose her temper. “Xiao Lin doesn’t know anything about this. I came here to discuss this with you on my own. Actually, I have a few rings, but they are only fourteen carat gold. They were only expensive because of the craftsmanship, but I wouldn’t get much if I tried to sell them. Buyers only care about the quality of the gold. How about this — I’ll leave these with you and you give me just one of your nicer ones?”
It was only then that Wang Qiyao realized that Weiwei was after the antique ring with inlaid stones that Director Li had given her back when they first met, the one that he had let her pick out at the famous Lucky Phoenix Jewelers. It would have been her wedding ring had they married. Instead it was a mere memento that at best commemorated a vanished world and the vicissitudes of a difficult life. She might as well give it to her! Wang Qiyao paused for a moment before unlocking her desk drawer.
As she handed the ring over to Weiwei, Wang Qiyao only said, “No good will ever come to you if you treat men too well.”
Weiwei ignored her, took the ring, and left.
Prior to his departure Xiao Lin hosted a farewell banquet at the Jinjiang Hotel. He booked four tables for his friends and relatives — it was an even grander occasion than their wedding reception. Wang Qiyao looked at the way Weiwei radiated happiness and wondered how she could possibly be happy when she was merely being used as a tool to help Xiao Lin go abroad. She sat amid the Lins and their friends and, though no one paid her much attention, she kept a smile on her face. Xiao Lin and Weiwei made the rounds, toasting all the tables; when they reached Wang Qiyao’s table, she felt like laughing. Instead, tears began to trickle down her cheeks, making everyone feel a bit awkward. Her tears eventually gave way to a strange depression that seemed to come from nowhere — she just felt the whole thing was pointless. The merriment around her appeared to be edged with grief, as if everyone was in mourning for unknown causes and the smiles on their faces were forced through tears.
The table where Xiao Lin’s young friends were sitting was the most convivial of the lot and the noise they made was deafening, but Wang Qiyao felt their laughter was but the extremity of sorrow and that all that their faces showed was grief. A boy at the next table knocked over a glass belonging to one of the adults, spilling red wine — to Wang Qiyao the stain on the tablecloth was the color of blood. She could barely make it through the banquet — her heart ached, though she couldn’t figure out why, nor could she find a release from the pain. The banquet felt like the last supper; everything seemed to be coming to an end. This kind of despair comes on suddenly, in a torrent, and for some reason seems especially to favor grand occasions as its setting. The more magnificent the occasion, the more overwhelming the grief that attends it. Over at the next table, she could hear Xiao Lin and Weiwei singing a song. Their gleeful voices nearly shattered her last line of defense, but the ensuing rowdiness held down her grief. By the time everyone got up to say good-bye, Wang Qiyao could barely speak — she could only bow her head to the guests. It was a good thing that hardly anyone there knew her and she was simply brushed aside. Walking past the clusters of people saying their good-byes, she went home by herself.
This unexpected assault of misplaced emotion was followed by a long string of quiet, peaceful days. Xiao Lin left. Weiwei began to visit home more frequently again, and sometimes, when Zhang Yonghong was there too, it almost felt like the old days. Laying out a piece of new fabric on the table, they would discuss it endlessly before they set about cutting out the pattern.
By this time a new breed of younger and more fashionable girls had come on the scene on Huaihai Road, making Zhang Yonghong’s generation look conservative. But their conservatism wasn’t what we usually think of as conservative; it was in fact a strategy of conserving one’s strength for future attacks, of stepping back in order to spring forward. Having lived through many trends, they had gradually formed their own perspective. They had progressed beyond blindly following the latest trend and were now stepping aside to let a new generation take over the cutting edge. You could say that they had finally secured a foothold amid the raging torrents of shifting fashion. Just because they were no longer driving the trend didn’t mean they were no longer a part of it: they were the ones who controlled when fashions came and went. In contrast, though the fashions on the street may have looked explosive, they were rootless and fleeting.
Weiwei, always a step behind Zhang Yonghong, was the kind who instinctively looked to someone else for guidance. If she hadn’t had Zhang Yonghong and Wang Qiyao to steer the ship for her, Weiwei would probably have spent her entire life as a slave to fashion. But there they were, the three of them together again, heatedly discussing cuts and alterations, just like old times. Each of their outfits was the end result of extensive research and discussion. As they tried on new clothes, one would stand in front of the mirror while the other two stood on either side, carefully looking her over. Every now and then, one would turn around and find a look of loneliness on the face in the mirror, at which point she would quickly find something to say to the others in order to cover it up.