“What should we have for breakfast?” Wang Qiyao asked, as if they were an old married couple.
Without answering, he reached over Wang Qiyao’s body for the pack of cigarettes on the headboard. Wang Qiyao handed it to him, taking one for herself; the way they lit up was also like an old couple. By that time the first rays of sunlight had come into the room, but stopped on one side of the window frame. There was a note of weariness and desolation in the thin mist shrouding the morning sunlight. As if the day was almost over before it had even begun.
“What time do you have to be at work?” Wang Qiyao asked.
He said that he wasn’t working — he was on winter vacation. It dawned on Wang Qiyao that Spring Festival was right around the corner, but she hadn’t done a thing to prepare for it.
“How are you going to spend your vacation this year?” she asked.
“Just like always,” he responded.
“I really don’t know how you usually spend it. Why don’t you tell me?”
He could hear the petulance in her words but decided not to play along.
Wang Qiyao got the message. Putting on a smile, she said, “What about inviting Zhang Yonghong and her boyfriend over right after the New Year?”
He agreed. They lay there smoking and didn’t say anything further. The sun had already bathed the curtains in a crimson glow and filled the room with light, in which the cigarette smoke shimmered and danced. They stayed in bed until noon. Wang Qiyao fixed them a simple bowl of noodles and asked him to help with the spring cleaning. They hung the comforter out in the sun, soaked the sheets in detergent, and pulled the drawers out of the chest to dust them. The work gave them a sense of exhilaration. The dark atmosphere of the previous day and night was swept entirely away and their mood brightened. When they were done sweeping and dusting, Wang Qiyao went back to scrub the bedsheets that had been soaking. She sent Old Colour off to take a shower, asking him to pick up some smoked meats for the New Year dinner on his way back. It was already early evening by the time he got back with the groceries. Although it was late, the apartment was bright, clean, and freshly aired, and dinner was ready on the table. Wang Qiyao was sitting on the sofa knitting a sweater and watching the television.
“Dinner’s ready!” she said as he walked in.
That night was exceptionally peaceful. Old Colour even thought to himself: Isn’t this what everyone aspires to in life? He regaled Wang Qiyao with stories of his childhood, how he hit his head trying to climb over a wall, how he tried to trap a chicken but it ended up eating the bait and getting away, and all kinds of other trifling tales. Wang Qiyao listened quietly with a pleasant smile on her face. But his stories grew increasingly broken and rambling, against which the television sounded like an off-screen commentary. They were startled when an impatient devil in their neighborhood couldn’t wait to set off the first firecracker in celebration of the coming New Year. The bang scared them half to death — it too was like an off-screen sound effect. That was a night that could almost be called sweet and cozy; the nightmares had retreated and insomnia had released its grip. They fell into a deep slumber, undisturbed by fitful sleep-talk. The room was silent, with the exception of the sound of their gentle breathing. The nights of struggle had finally disappeared, leaving a peaceful evening on Peace Lane.
In this atmosphere of peace Spring Festival arrived. This was the Lunar New Year of 1986, an auspicious holiday, and all around were hopeful signs of change. You could tell from the firecrackers going off on New Year’s Eve, the explosions rising and falling with no signs of letting up. When the clock struck midnight, the entire city was filled with the sound of firecrackers and the sky turned red. Shredded remnants of firecracker paper rained down like a riotous collection of flower petals, transforming the streets into crimson highways; this too was a harbinger of good fortune. Had there ever before been so spectacular a New Year celebration? The joyous explosions seemed to declare the coming of a new world.
Just as the firecrackers sending off the old year had died down, more explosions erupted to greet the new. Breaking through the morning fog, the first firecracker of the day reverberated through the sky like a cock crowing at daybreak; this was the sound of a new era being unveiled. It was answered by a chorus of explosions near and far. They weren’t as earthshaking as the night before, but they spread with growing density, not dense like porridge but like a string of large and small pearls being dropped into a jade bowl with crisp ringing sounds — almost like choral music. The music has a polyphonic quality, like a fugue that gradually shifts without the listener even realizing it. Everyone sings in counterpoint, one group harmonizing with the melodies of another. They are actually singing a canon, one wave following the last. Such is the great chorus of the city, with voices chiming in from every crevice and corner. When one gets tired, another takes over, and the music never stops. Listening to that chorus, one realizes that in this city strength lies in unity.
As Wang Qiyao had suggested, Zhang Yonghong and Long Legs came over for dinner on the second day of the New Year. Contrary to their usual routine, Old Colour decided to try his hand in the kitchen. He strapped on Wang Qiyao’s apron and oversleeves and started preparing the day before. Wang Qiyao, playing his assistant, teased him, “Look who is doing the grunt work for you!”
“Only the best are qualified to work for me!” he rejoined.
Wang Qiyao nodded, laughing. “Look who’s talking! If you keep flaunting it, you’ll end up flat on your behind!”
“Don’t worry, if I do, I’m sure someone will pick me up.”
“Who?” Wang Qiyao demanded. “I’ll tell you who. . YOU!”
They worked the whole of that evening and all through the next morning; it was only around two o’clock on the afternoon of the dinner that things started coming together. Wang Qiyao was quite surprised at how well things were turning out. When she asked Old Colour where he had learned to cook, he just smiled. When she pestered him further, he said that he had learned on his own. In the middle of this conversation, the other two showed up. As always, Long Legs came bearing all manner of gifts, even a bouquet of roses. Although Wang Qiyao chided him for bringing such expensive flowers, she was really quite pleased, thinking this a good omen. One glance at the dishes on the table and Zhang Yonghong immediately knew something was different. She asked if they had hired a new chef. Wang Qiyao shot out her lips in the direction of Old Colour, who smiled but wouldn’t admit to anything.
“Wow! This must have been one expensive chef!” Zhang Yonghong exclaimed.
“Not in the least. .” Old Colour modestly replied.
Wang Qiyao and Old Colour busied themselves with a few last preparations, and the four of them soon sat down to eat. It was still a bit early for dinner, but things tended to get chaotic around the New Year and they didn’t mind eating early.
Once they had all sat down, Zhang Yonghong and Long Legs toasted the host and the chef before everyone exchanged new year wishes. Next it was Old Colour’s turn to introduce the dishes to them; as he prefaced each with an elaborate preamble, Zhang Yonghong was prompted to taunt him, but he didn’t bother to argue — he knew the food would speak for itself. Although visibly impressed, she refused to concede, and this provoked him to take her to task, and so they parried back and forth. Not only were both extremely intelligent, but each had learned a thing or two from Wang Qiyao about how to get a point across; their playful exchanges elicited cries of approval as the other two watched with pleasure. Inspired by their audience, they pushed their performance up another notch and set upon each other with redoubled energy. After who knows how many rounds, there still seemed no end to their resources. Gradually, however, the enthusiasm of the audience flagged, which showed in their lagging applause and waning laughter. Zhang Yonghong and Old Colour eventually had to bring an end to their show even though they could easily have gone on.