The visitors to Wang Qiyao’s apartment were actually people we run into every day — we just didn’t make the connection. If you went to Market 16, for instance, you would surely recognize one or two of the dockworkers bringing in the crabs. Or you would discover that one of the guys selling crickets in the small local market looked awfully familiar. The scalpers outside the movie theater, the hustlers trying to purchase bonds on the stock exchange. . they came from every profession and you could see traces of their activity everywhere. They spent their free time at Wang Qiyao’s apartment, drinking coffee and eating the exquisite dim sum she had prepared — they couldn’t have wished for a nicer place. They would always bring along their friends; Wang Qiyao didn’t even know all of their names and then there were others whom she knew only by their nicknames, and still others whom she never even got a good look at. There were too many in this mixed crowd, and she couldn’t give everyone equal attention. Her salons were beginning to gain a degree of notoriety in Shanghai; people from all over the city came to see what all the fuss was about and as a result spread the word even farther.
But Wang Qiyao’s regular visitors were still that same trio of old friends — Old Colour was one, and Zhang Yonghong and Long Legs were the other two. They had grown closer and would often go out together for tea or dinner while on other nights they would all go out dancing or to the movies. In the winter Wang Qiyao would set up a hotpot in her apartment and they would sit around eating and telling stories; time would fly by and the sky would gradually darken, but that hotpot only got hotter. Suddenly Wang Qiyao was struck by a feeling of déjà vu: all of this had happened before, only the faces had changed, and a feeling of sadness would hit her. Then, as a fresh piece of charcoal beneath the pot burst into flames, a crimson glow illuminated Wang Qiyao’s face. The light accentuated the wrinkles on her face. It was only for a split second, but Old Colour saw everything. Shock was followed by anguish. She’s an old woman. .. They ate until they were stuffed, at which point they all fell silent. Even Zhang Yonghong and Long Legs quieted down, each consumed by their own thoughts, which carried them far away. It was quite some time before Wang Qiyao suddenly let out a gentle chuckle, and the others were startled to find how dark it had got. Wang Qiyao rose to turn on the light and added more water to the hotpot.
“How come no one’s talking?”
“Why don’t you say something then?”
Wang Qiyao chortled again. When they asked her what was so funny she didn’t answer. It was only after they pressed her that she responded, “Seeing the three of you reminds me of something. .”
But when they asked what it was, she blew it off, saying it had nothing to do with them. This felt as if she was intentionally trying to push their buttons, and her guests insisted on an answer. Only after much pressing did Wang Qiyao finally burst out, “I was just wondering what kind of future lies in store for the three of you!”
They were all taken aback. After a pause, Zhang Yonghong asked, “And what about your future? You don’t know what will happen to you either. . ”
“What future do I have?” asked Wang Qiyao. “For me the future is now!”
Everyone said that she was just being modest, but Wang Qiyao laughed it off and continued, “Everything is crystal clear today, but who knows what tomorrow will bring.”
Baffled, the others looked at each other and began to feel a bit awkward, especially Old Colour. He felt that he had been lumped in with Zhang Yonghong and Long Legs, which made him feel like a third wheel; he wondered what kind of fish Wang Qiyao was trying to catch by stirring up the water like that. He sensed that she was directing her words at him, that it was an inquisition of some sort, as if she were trying to test him. Feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, he tried to change the subject, but Wang Qiyao wouldn’t hear of it, and continued to talk about how unpredictable fate was: if the mountain doesn’t shift, then the water will, and when the water doesn’t, people will. Zhang Yonghong and Long Legs were befuddled by all this, but Old Colour was growing impatient and had just about had all he could take.
He laughed sarcastically. “If I understand you correctly, the two of them are heading for a breakup, and Zhang Yonghong and I will eventually start dating, is that it?”
Putting everything so bluntly made them all laugh. Wang Qiyao didn’t try to defend herself at first, simply saying that he had misunderstood her.
“But you were referring to the three of us, so what other combination could there possibly be?”
Wang Qiyao was speechless and simply smiled. Long Legs was smiling too, but deep down he was angry — not at Wang Qiyao, but at Old Colour, whom he felt had taken a cheap shot. Zhang Yonghong accused Old Colour of being crazy, but an odd quiver passed over her heart.
Laughing, Wang Qiyao nodded at Old Colour. “You’ve got a sharp tongue — you win this time. . ”
A few days after their hotpot dinner, Old Colour dropped by Wang Qiyao’s again; he went straight upstairs, where he found the door ajar and Wang Qiyao sitting on the sofa with a blanket over her legs as she knit a wool top. He tapped on the open door and stepped inside. But Wang Qiyao didn’t even look up — she went on knitting as if no one was there. Old Colour knew that she was upset at him, but pretended not to notice and paced slowly around the apartment. He was wearing a tunic suit with a white silk scarf carelessly flung around his neck, with both hands in his pockets — the very image of an idealistic May Fourth youth. After pacing around the apartment for a while, his eyes fell on the checkered pattern of sunlight coming through the window and realized that winter was approaching. Suddenly he heard Wang Qiyao’s cold voice behind him, accusing him of disturbing her peace with all his pacing back and forth. Old Colour sat down on a chair and looked out at a sparrow pecking at tidbits on the windowsill; the bird was obscured by the window frame and he could only see half its head. Soon Wang Qiyao announced that she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t intend to cook, so she wouldn’t have anything to offer him.
“You think I came here to eat?” he sneered.
Only then did she raise her head. “What did you come here for then?”
“What do you think I came here for?”
Wang Qiyao withdrew her gaze and went back to knitting, trying to ignore him.
Old Colour was getting angry. He sat sulking with his hands still in his pockets. His posture indicated that he felt aggrieved, but he was unable to speak up for himself to get the justice he felt was owed to him. A bit later Wang Qiyao got up from the sofa, made a pot of tea, and set a cup out on the table in front of him.
“What’s there to be angry about?” she asked as she turned around and went back into the kitchen to make lunch.
Now it was Old Colour’s turn to ignore her. He sat in his chair silently stewing in anger. He couldn’t figure out how he could have let Wang Qiyao come out with the upper hand again. It was times like this that the advantages of life experience really showed. That kind of experience takes time to build up; no amount of cleverness is a match for time. The difference of a day or two, or even a year or two, might not matter much, but several decades did.