Liu Chang'an parted from An Nuan and slowly walked toward the bridge.
The river breeze was gentle. The sun had completely sunk behind Mount Lu, leaving only its afterglow scattered across the sky. Looking into the distance, he saw the most striking sight at the head of Orange Isle: the smiling statue of the great man, gazing tenderly at the city where he had once studied and lived, a city rebuilt after being consumed by flames and watered with blood.
Among humanity were the lowly and the great, the ugly and the beautiful... A human life lasted barely a hundred years, yet generation after generation had made the history of the whole species a magnificent epic.
Humanity called itself an epic, but from another vantage point, watching from beginning to end, it was no more than a play.
Su Shi once told a story:
"Water spilled from an overturned basin lay on the ground. A mustard seed floated on it, and an ant clung to the seed, bewildered and unaware of where it was going. Before long the water dried up, and the ant went on its way. Seeing its kin, it wept and said, 'I thought I would never see you again. Who could have known that, in the blink of an eye, there would be a road broad enough for eight carriages to pass?'"
He had always thought that ordinary people's lives and feelings were no different from the movements of ants. But was there still a great roc, soaring ninety thousand miles into the sky, looking down on him from the boundless reaches of space and the world?
Even if they were ants, he still found himself missing them. Liu Chang'an had never looked down on or disdained the fear and worry of those clinging to a mustard seed.
Ye Sijin was just such a lovable little ant. Liu Chang'an had noticed that ever since meeting Qin Yanan, his memories of Ye Sijin had grown much clearer and begun to surface. Perhaps there were many things he needed to see again before he could think them through and make his memories more complete.
But that wasn't necessary. The memories of countless years had sunk deep and lain dormant in his heart; that was a form of protection for his mind. Otherwise, if scenes from centuries or millennia of memories drifted freely through his mind, he would probably have gone mad long ago.
Back at the neighborhood, Liu Chang'an went to the wall and picked some pumpkin vines. This was the only stretch of wall left in the whole neighborhood, with vegetables growing below and vines climbing over it: pumpkin vines, loofah vines, bitter melon vines... A little farther away stood a grape trellis, beneath which people who had finished dinner early were already sitting in the shade, chatting.
"Xiao Liu, finish dinner early and come play Pao Hu Zi..."
"Sure. We haven't even been able to get two mahjong tables together these past few days."
"This change from spring to summer, when internal heat rises, is an easy time to get sick."
After chatting for a while, Liu Chang'an went home and put away the dried cilantro that had spent the whole day in the sun. Then he took a broom and knocked the fallen leaves off the top of the vehicle. Once he had swept the floor, he started cooking.
Naturally, they were having pumpkin vines tonight. He stir-fried them with chili peppers and no meat. Liu Chang'an had lived in South Hunan for many years and had grown used to the local flavors.
Life was actually simple. As long as you didn't have so many desires, or crave having them satisfied right away, there was much less anxiety and worry... But life was short, and not everyone could wait as leisurely as Liu Chang'an, taking things slowly and working toward them step by step. How to fulfill and enjoy one's desires within a limited life—that was the root of the world's restlessness.
After showering, he changed into a white undershirt and loose black hemp shorts, put on a pair of woven sandals, and carried a large palm-leaf fan over to the grape trellis to play Pao Hu Zi.
Pao Hu Zi had rules similar to mahjong, but it was played with paper cards. Winning and doubling the stakes worked about the same, though the game went faster. Liu Chang'an was naturally an old hand.
Pao Hu Zi was scored, and they only settled up once the score reached a hundred. Liu Chang'an was young and sharp-eyed, so of course he was put in charge of keeping score. But the old men and women wore glasses, too. Every now and then, they checked to make sure he hadn't written down too many or too few points. Sometimes they stared ahead through their bifocals, their eyes unfocused, murmuring as they counted the total on their fingers.
"Xiao Liu, your college entrance exams are coming up, right?" Old Man Qian wasn't sniffling tonight and seemed much better. That was probably thanks to winning against all three of his opponents by himself the night before. He was feeling confident, and the first thing he did was make Liu Chang'an play a losing card.
"Soon," Liu Chang'an said with a smile. "I'll get into some school or other."
"That won't do... After we finish playing tonight, you need to study properly. No more games before the exams," Old Man Qian said, concerned. If they stopped playing tonight, the whole game would break up, so he figured Liu Chang'an could start studying properly tomorrow.
They played all night. Old Man Qian had started strong but ended up losing.
"Tomorrow, then!" Old Man Qian grabbed Liu Chang'an's hand, his eyes full of indignation as he spoke with deep reluctance.
"Sure." Liu Chang'an burst out laughing, counting his winnings with undisguised delight.
"You just wait!" Old Man Qian gave a heavy snort and left.
Liu Chang'an happily put away his eight yuan, then folded up the table and chairs and set them against the wall. They didn't belong to anyone in particular. A long time ago, the families had brought over tables and chairs they weren't using, and no one had ever taken them back. They had become communal entertainment equipment.
The cards, ballpoint pen, and scorebook were Liu Chang'an's, though. He packed them away, then smiled toward the shadows not far off.
Qin Yanan hadn't expected Liu Chang'an to have noticed her already, so she walked over.
Auntie Xie from the convenience store had been waiting for the game to end. She had planned to turn off the lightbulb hanging from the grape trellis, but when she saw what was happening, she quickly withdrew her hand. Nonchalantly, she fanned herself and yawned, occasionally glancing over from the corner of her eye.
The large bulb cast a bright, intense light that made the shadows especially distinct. Qin Yanan was tall, and even her shadow seemed particularly long. She wore black culottes with a rose-red ribbon tied around her waist, giving her a light, fiery air. Her waist, however, seemed a little too slender; one couldn't help wondering if it could support her ample bust.
That evening, Qin Yanan had dinner at her father's place, drank a little with him, and talked about her great-grandfather and Liu Chang'an. The conversation had left her confused and increasingly frustrated.
After smiling, Liu Chang'an seemed to consider the greeting done. He headed home on his own. Qin Yanan hesitated. She had initially thought of leaving without a word, but since she had come all this way, she was reluctant to say nothing, to vent nothing. So she followed him.
The sparse branches of the Chinese parasol tree, the cool moonlight, and the quiet courtyard reminded Liu Chang'an of a poem:
"The waning moon hangs above sparse paulownia branches; the night deepens, and all is still. Who sees the lonely wanderer coming and going, a faint shadow like a solitary wild goose?
Startled, it rises, then turns back; its sorrow is understood by no one. It searches every bare branch, yet will not settle; alone on the cold sandbar, it rests."
A thousand years had passed. The poet's circumstances and state of mind had naturally been different from Liu Chang'an's, but some of the emotions were the same.
Qin Yanan thought Liu Chang'an's back looked lonely. It even reminded her of the first time she had heard Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6. Why was a piece so calm, with even a few cheerful little ripples, called the "Pathétique"? It was only after she had listened to it more often and grown older that she understood: true loneliness was hard to put into words. It was the composure and calm that came after a heart had been pierced through and through by too much, then remade. Like a tranquil sea, it concealed surging currents charged with the force of a storm.
What showed plainly was sorrow; what lay hidden was anguish. Liu Chang'an turned around and looked at the face that had grown more familiar as his memories returned. He smiled as he always did.
"I have a good relationship with both the Qin Family and the Ye Family. I was especially close to your great-grandmother." Still smiling, Liu Chang'an glanced at the Chinese parasol tree, which had lost many of its leaves, and said something Qin Yanan hadn't expected.
Qin Yanan had talked with her father about Liu Chang'an that day, but he didn't know much more than she did. Her great-grandfather had told Qin Yanan to spend more time with Liu Chang'an and leave everything else for later.
What did "later" mean?
When her grandfather died, her father was still an infant. Her great-grandfather had practically raised him single-handedly, and her father had never once disobeyed him. Qin Yanan knew perfectly well that if her great-grandfather wanted to do something, her father would support him without question.
Was Liu Chang'an related to her great-grandmother's family? That seemed a little too distant. Besides, ever since Qin Yanan could remember, she had never heard of or been in touch with any relatives on her great-grandmother's side. Could it be that they had finally found the last surviving bloodline from her great-grandmother's family—that is, Liu Chang'an—and that was why her great-grandfather had started thinking along these lines?
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