Dragon's Gate. Vivian Bi
straight in, checked the floor boards, the corners, the windows and the walls, before announcing: “Professor Ruan, your house is really run down. The floor is cracking, the paint is peeling off and how can an intellectual like you not have proper bookcases? You need someone to help you. You definitely need Old Shi.” Before the professor had worked out who this Old Shi was, Sun Lanfen was already leaving with a final word: “I’ll go get him.”
Shi Wangcai had now been working in Ruan Qiling’s house for a month. Every evening he put in a few hours. He had fixed the floor and built a whole wall of bookcases. Ruan Qiling soon discovered that this tall quiet man was not only handy; he was also intelligent and understanding. Her every hesitation or suggestion was considered carefully and his every proposal focused on her needs. Yet there was nothing cringing about him and his manner was confident. As a loner, she enjoyed having him in her house, although neither was talkative. When the bookcase was finished, she offered him more money to paint the house as well.
Two days earlier, Ruan Qiling had noticed that Shi Wangcai seemed preoccupied. Under her persistent questioning, he confessed that he had told his wife that Ruan Qiling had a television set.
“Do they want to watch something?”
“Yes, the ballet The White-Haired Girl.”
“It’s on tomorrow night at seven, isn’t it?”
Shi Wangcai’s face turned red.
“Well, bring them here tomorrow. We can watch it together.”
Over tea in her kitchen, Shi Wangcai tried to begin a conversation. “It looks like snow,” he started.
“Yes it does – we haven’t had proper snow for two years.”
“I like snow, always have. I like to hold the snowflakes in my palm and appreciate their beautiful patterns. I also like the silence snow brings to the world.”
Ruan Qiling was surprised to hear Shi Wangcai’s poetic reply. She smiled and put her cup down. “Let me show you something.”
She went to get the crystal snow dome down. Because of the renovations, she had put it in a cardboard box with the rest of Chen Zuojun’s things on top of the sideboard. She had to stand on her toes to reach into the box. Somehow she lost her balance and knocked the box down, its contents scattering everywhere.
Shi Wangcai bent to pick things up but was shocked by the Kuomintang colonel’s portrait. He picked up another photo, the wedding picture, glanced at Ruan Qiling and returned them to the box. “I think I need to go. Thank you for the tea.”
Holding the snow dome in both hands, Ruan Qiling followed him to the front room mechanically. Shi Wangcai gathered up his tools and left.
As she closed the door, her first impulse was to destroy everything. But just as she was about to light the match, she stopped – this would be seen as destroying evidence because Shi Wangcai now knew of its existence.
The next day, Shi Wangcai brought his wife and son to watch The White-Haired Girl but he himself left for work. His wife was cheerful during the evening so Ruan Qiling relaxed a little. At least, he seemed not to have mentioned what he saw to his family.
This morning, when Sun Lanfen called for snow clearers, Ruan Qiling went out first. She expected Shi Wangcai to be there too but there was no sign of him. She approached Shi Ding to ask after his father. The boy’s evasive reply stoked her anxiety. What would Shi Wangcai do to her?
Ruan Qiling sat on her bed the whole afternoon. Images of her past and imaginings about her future came thick and fast – from the faded red rear light of her husband’s car to Secretary Zhang’s alert eyes – travelling through the afternoon light into the evening dark.
Tap, tap, tap. There was a knock on the door. “It’s me. Shi Wangcai.”
Chapter Two: Mildew
I
Spring was not a good season in Beijing. If it followed a dry winter, all of May would be blasted by sandstorms, the wind blowing dust into every corner. The sun would be blotted out and the world silenced by the wind’s howls.
If spring followed a wet winter, mildew would impose its rule. Once it arrived in a Beijing home, a tiny green spot would bloom in no time to tens of thousands, forming green carpets of various shapes. Its green colour blanketed all other colours and its smell was nauseating.
The heavy snowfall at the beginning of that year ushered in an unprecedentedly long mildew season. After the snow melted into the ground, the damp reinforced the mildew until, even after the arrival of the early summer sun, the green patches refused to retreat.
Seeing the sun, the residents of No. 10 rushed outside with their clothes and bedding, jockeying for space on the clothes lines. Ropes were tied between the four trees at the corners of the front courtyard to create a web of lines. Normally, when these lines were fully laden, the yard resembled the sun terrace of a dye house with its many shapes and hues. This summer, since the new slogan of “Destroy the Four Olds” – old ideas, old culture, old customs and old habits – had been introduced, the display was very subdued. The traditional flora and fauna print quilt covers had all been dyed a solid blue or grey, along with any garments of a bright colour.
It was mid-afternoon, the quietest time in No. 10. People were not yet back from work or school and the night shifters were still sleeping. Sun Lanfen sat next to her quilt hanging on the line, sewing patches over the tears. Her two teenage sons were restless sleepers and often ripped the quilt. She enjoyed this rare moment of leisure working under the sun. The bright light and fresh air eased the tightness in her chest brought on by the mildew.
Whenever people put their clothes out in full force, Sun Lanfen would find excuses to sit outside. It was a good opportunity to discover the secrets of other families. A needless new garment could mean someone had come into extra money, which needed to be known; the yellowed edge of a quilt indicated laziness, which deserved a lecture; cloud-shaped water marks on a sheet meant a child had wet the bed so its mother must be told the traditional remedy. Today, her eyes were caught by the multicoloured patchwork quilt of the Shi family. Its loud colours stood out in the grove of plain fabric so much that she could not help walking over and turning it over. She shook her head and sighed. “This Old Shi!”
Lin Guiru appeared at the gateway. “Mrs Sun, thank you. The inside definitely needs to be aired.” Seeing Sun Lanfen fiddling with her family’s belongings, she rushed over and called out to head off any further embarrassing nosiness.
Sun Lanfen was not at all embarrassed. Instead, she asked Lin Guiru to give her a hand to match both sides of the quilt exactly so that the patchwork on the underside would be completely concealed.
“Take a look,” she said, pointing her chin at the other clothes lines, then resumed her seat on the stool. “Who else has this ostentatious kind of thing? You’ve worked in the propaganda team for months now so you should know better. I know this quilt took a lot of hard work but you can at least put it away for now, can’t you?”
Looking around, Lin Guiru could see Sun Lanfen had a point, but she was still stung by her sarcasm. “Thank you for pointing this out.” She put on a reverent expression. “You know, my husband has had no time for anything. He’s been helping Professor Ruan all these months, building bookcases, fixing the floor and painting the walls. We haven’t thanked you properly yet. If you hadn’t recommended him, we wouldn’t have all this pocket money.”
This seemed to placate Sun Lanfen, but Lin Guiru went on: “Wangcai really respects you. Your words are his decree. Every day, except for his few hours’ sleep, he’s sold himself to the house in the rear yard. That’s why the quilt cover and other things never got dealt with.”
“What about you?” Sun Lanfen was no fool. “Isn’t this your home as well? Or maybe you’ve already thought about changing?” She