Pathway to Japanese Literature

In the middle of Hangzhou’s West Lake floated a single pleasure boat.
It was mid-March; the willow trees along the lakeshore were already beginning to put forth tender young leaves, but the lake water remained cold—still too early in the season for pleasure boating.
It was not uncommon for passing pleasure-seekers to take boats out regardless of the season.
However, this pleasure boat did not belong to such passing tourists. It had not visited any famous sites either; after drifting at the lake’s heart for a long while, it had now returned to the eastern shore.

When they reached the landing, Ruihua and Wenqi—the sister-and-brother children of the Chen family—came bounding energetically out of the pleasure boat.
Next, Zhang Jintian—who had come from Shanghai to this villa—appeared in his corpulent figure.
And then the procession briefly halted.
Zhang Jintian turned around and peered under the boat’s cabin.

From the depths of the boat came a quiet voice.

“I’ll just tidy up a few things and be right there. I’ll head home ahead of you while you’re buying the promised items for the children…”

And Zhang Jintian and the two children went into town to do some shopping.
On the boat remained the children’s mother, Chen Xiumei, and the maid, Jinxiang.

Chen Xiumei remained seated in her spot, holding one hand over the charcoal brazier, and gazed at the boatman. He was a young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, dressed in the ordinary attire of a pleasure boat’s crewman, but with well-defined eyebrows, a resolute mouth, and features that suggested a reassuring strength of spirit.

“Are you Mr. Li Jingyun?” said Xiumei.

Suddenly addressed with such formality, the young man stood stiff as a rod.

“I’ve heard all about you from our Xu Kang. I heard that you originally came from a distinguished family, and that your room is filled with various books and your mind is packed with all sorts of knowledge. But…”

The gentle smile faded from Xiumei’s cheeks, and a solemn intensity gathered between her brows.

“But more than that… somehow I feel as though I know you directly quite well…”

“I am also well acquainted with you,” said Li Jingyun, his face turning red for some reason.
And he added,
“I am well acquainted with the Madam of the Chen family.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Xiumei interjected.
“I feel as though I’ve known you directly somewhere before….”

Li Jingyun stood with his head bowed, then murmured.

“It was at Chuyang Terrace.”

“Chuyang Terrace….”

Xiumei repeated the words and gazed steadily at Li Jingyun’s face.

“Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
Li Jingyun’s face flushed bright red once more.

Xiumei fell silent and averted her eyes.
The surface of the stilled lake mirrored the blue sky, pregnant with the afternoon sunlight, shining like a living creature.

To Jinxiang, who was tidying up the dishes, Xiumei firmly instructed:

“I’ll linger here a while longer, so you go on ahead and see to preparing the evening meal.”

Having sent Jinxiang back first, Xiumei had the boat set out a little further.
On the table remained tea sweets.
She picked up one of the lotus seed pastries and, nibbling it with her small snow-white teeth, gazed at the mountain peak where Chuyang Terrace stood to her right.
Li Jingyun quietly rowed the boat.

Such conduct was somewhat too self-indulgent for the Chen family’s madam.
For a young, beautiful widow of only thirty-five or thirty-six, this was especially true.
However, she had always possessed a certain innate indifference to worldly matters.

Mr. Chen had passed away five years prior, but Xiumei had continued living solely with the children.
She entrusted all matters of the store and property entirely to the loyal elderly servant Xu Kang, and no matter what consultations were brought to her, she would delegate them all without giving them almost any thought.
And gradually, she gained softer flesh, her gestures grew more graceful, and a dewy radiance suffused her face—so that only after becoming a widow did her beauty first begin drawing others’ eyes.
However, such matters seemed of no concern to her at all; though she became the subject of various rumors, she harbored no intention of remarrying, spending leisurely days with her children and merely overseeing the household affairs.
And from time to time, she would simply do something whimsical.
Though there was an excellent chef in the house, there were times when she would go eat at a noisy town restaurant alone with her daughter Ruihua.
There were times when she would wander out for a stroll along the lakeshore alone without even taking a maid.
In her daily interactions, she never picked and chose whom to associate with and would receive even those with the worst reputations with a cheerful demeanor.

However, in her act of tactfully sending people away and having Li Jingyun take the pleasure boat out again with just her, there seemed to be something different from mere indifference. She nibbled on two or three lotus seed pastries, remaining silent all the while.

Chuyang Terrace, located atop Geling on the northern shore of the lake, was regarded as a place with an excellent view. In summer, there were many people who came to stroll. However, it had been passed down that one should gaze upon the eastern sky from here in the early dawn of the first day of the tenth lunar month. It was said that at sunrise, radiance would fill the air and half the sky would turn crimson, or that one might witness the sun and moon rising together. There were also said to be people who climbed it in the early morning of New Year’s Day on the Gregorian calendar to offer prayers to the first sunrise.

In the predawn hours of this New Year’s Day, Chen Xiumei had climbed Chuyang Terrace alone—for reasons unknown.
And she waited for the sunrise, but there was only a faint whitish hue drifting in the eastern sky—the entire heavens lay blanketed in a dull overcast, and within the frigid air, needle-like particles that could be mist or rain were felt fluttering about.
Four or five human figures silently descended the mountain.
Xiumei also began her descent.

The path wound and twisted, with stone steps and paving stones interwoven. On the stones worn smooth by countless footsteps, in the dimness, Xiumei’s chilled little foot slipped. She knelt sideways, scraped the back of her left hand, and supported herself with her right hand against the ground. As she caught her breath, from behind came the arm of a young, sturdy man helping her up. From within her sharply tailored coat that enveloped her form, and from beneath the veil that shrouded her head completely, she offered thanks in a low voice. The young man only said, “You should return home quickly.” And so they continued—she leaning part of her soft weight into his arm, he supporting her as they followed the dim stone path with steady steps, descending all the way to the lakeshore without pausing to rest at any pavilion along the way.

Though there was no rain nor wind, only a dimly pale dawn remained. Xiumei stopped there and spoke in a quiet voice while half-lifting her veil to peer at the man.

“I am Chen Xiumei.”
“I wish to meet you again tomorrow afternoon.”
“I will be waiting, so would you please come?”

“Thank you very much.”
“I shall come when you have need of me.”

Leaving those ambiguously interpretable words behind, the young man bowed politely and walked briskly away.

Xiumei quietly returned home.
Only the maid Jinxiang knew that the scrape on her left hand had occurred outdoors.

Xiumei waited for the young man’s visit.
However, the young man did not come to visit.
That young man was none other than Li Jingyun of the pleasure boat.

With quiet water sounds lapping softly, the pleasure boat made its way toward the center of the lake.

Before long, Chen Xiumei, as if suddenly noticing something, had Li Jingyun cease rowing and beckoned him closer to her seat.
A gentle, tender smile spread across her face.

“Why didn’t you come the next day? I was waiting for you.”

Jingyun blushed and stood stiffly, but at last he answered.

“I intended to call upon you when you had need of me.”

“Yes… Indeed, you said something like that back then too, didn’t you? Oh, please sit there.”

Jingyun fidgeted, but when his downcast eyes caught sight of Xiumei’s small feet, he promptly took his seat as though avoiding them.

“I’ve learned all about you from Xu Kang.”
“I hear Xu Kang was close with Father.”
“Even after your father passed away, do you still meet Xu Kang sometimes?”

“No, I rarely meet him.”
“I hear you’re all alone now.”
“Yes, I am.”
“It must be lonely for you.”

Jingyun shook his head and smiled with the composed demeanor of a young man for the first time.

“Do you ever climb Chuyang Terrace?”

“No, I don’t climb it.”

“Then why did you climb it on New Year’s morning?”

Jingyun suddenly took on a lonely look in his eyes.
And after glancing briefly at Xiumei’s face, he answered.

“I was struggling with all manner of thoughts at that time.”
“It was due to those ideological struggles that I came to want to see the sunrise.”

“Yes, because you were struggling with thoughts… the sunrise…”

Xiumei widened her gentle eyes and tilted her head in apparent puzzlement.
Jingyun said abruptly.

“Then, Madam, why did you climb to such a place?”

“You see, I had many things I needed to think about. To keep myself from thinking about any of it, I wanted to see the sunrise.”

This time, Jingyun widened his eyes in apparent bewilderment.
And when their eyes met for a moment, Xiumei suddenly smiled brightly.

“In other words, it seems we’re both in the same situation.”

A hot flush rose to Jingyun’s cheeks.

After a period of silence, Xiumei picked up a lotus seed snack and extended the bowl toward Jingyun as well.
Jingyun stood up as though startled and poured tea for Xiumei.
Xiumei said as she sipped the tea.

“You promised to come to my house if needed.”

“No formal promise was made.”
“I’ll visit whenever required.”

“Then please call on me occasionally.”
“As thanks for that dawn… though it sounds peculiar to say so—there are matters I must entrust to you. I believe in you.”
“And if ever I can assist you, do speak plainly. I’ll do all within my power.”

Jingyun bowed his head motionlessly and teared up.
“There’s just one thing I want you to keep in mind.”

Xiumei said.

The content of Xiumei’s words came as a complete surprise to Jingyun.
It concerned Zhang Jintian.

Zhang Jintian was a relative by marriage of the Chen family, originally from Hangzhou, who currently owned a villa there and had maintained an extremely close relationship with the Chens.
He was said to primarily handle general merchandise trade goods in Shanghai, but seemed involved in various other areas as well, with the true nature of his business considered ambiguous.
He had put on a show of great wealth, but in reality had withdrawn tens of thousands in gold from the Chen family and left it at that.
That Zhang Jintian had sent Chen Xiumei a strange letter at the end of last year.
Since your daughter Ruihua will soon be sixteen, it would be appropriate to give careful consideration to marriage matters next year.
There’s a suitable match in Shanghai—and depending on circumstances, this Jintian could take her as well.
Moreover, Xiumei herself—being young—cannot keep living like this forever, and she ought to find some way to change her thinking.
Moreover, given the current circumstances, there are concerns about the future.
Among those who come and go from the Chen family, it is said there are quite a number with covetous eyes fixed on property and the lady.
“In any case, I wish to discuss all matters in detail when I come there next spring.”—Such was the abrupt letter’s meaning.
It was a perplexing mix of jest and bluntness, impossible to pin down its true intent.

Chen Xiumei was greatly troubled by that letter.
Especially as she had at times sensed covetous gazes all around her, that final line struck deep into her heart.
However, regarding such matters, she could find no suitable person to consult within the family, and even Xu Kang—though loyal in financial affairs—was but an old man with little understanding of a woman’s heart.
But what unsettled her most of all was not understanding why Zhang Jintian himself had written such a letter.
He was a man nearing forty yet still unmarried, rumored to keep several mistresses, his work shrouded in ambiguity—she could not fathom what he was plotting.

And when March arrived, Zhang Jintian came to the villa on business.
He had brought splendid embroidered souvenirs of Suzhou silk and linen for Xiumei and Ruihua.
This was something that had never happened before.
However, regarding the matter of the letter, he did not say a word.
Xiumei, for her part, did not bring it up either.
In that situation, there was also the anxiety of not knowing when or what might happen.

Li Jingyun had always curried favor with Zhang Jintian, who was fond of pleasure boats, and on occasions like today when Zhang hosted tea gatherings on the lake, he alone would be invited. Therefore, if he harbored any inclination to side with Chen Xiumei’s family, they wished for him to discreetly monitor Zhang’s true intentions while continuing to lend his support in the future.

Xiumei explained these matters simply yet eloquently enough for the astute Jingyun to comprehend.
Then she sighed.

“People who understand a woman’s heart are rare in this world.”

Jingyun, who had been listening in silence, suddenly exclaimed.

“Will you trust me?”

“It’s precisely because I trust you that I’ve spoken of these matters.”

“I will do anything.”
“If it’s for your sake, I will do anything.”

“Will you swear it to me?”

“I swear.”

Xiumei extended her right hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jingyun knelt there, took her hand, and pressed it to his chest.
Then, still kneeling, he leaned his upper body against the chair and wept deeply.

Xiumei kept her gaze fixed on empty space but abruptly stood up and looked around.
The lake surface lay still and leaden, while the thickets on Huxinting Pavilion’s islet already cast long shadows.

Then, a little over a month later on a certain day, a grand banquet was being held in a private room of a town's traditional restaurant.
Centered around Zhang Jintian, a dozen or so people kept it going from around three in the afternoon until night.
At first, economic and political topics arose, but as night fell, the crowd dwindled to four or five men in their thirties to forties—all Zhang Jintian's close drinking companions. With drunkenness came vulgar talk, and when geishas were eventually summoned, the party descended into utter chaos.
The very nature of the banquet's atmosphere revealed it to be nothing more than an impromptu gathering.
In fact, that afternoon, a wedding ceremony had been held at this restaurant, and Zhang Jintian—who had attended—after the ceremony commandeered the back room and began hauling acquaintances there indiscriminately.
He seemed somehow both agitated and exhilarated at heart.

The floor of the room was strewn with watermelon seed shells, sunflower seed shells, peanut shells, plum pits, chicken bones, and the like, while someone appeared to have brought leftover items from the wedding ceremony—multicolored paper cuttings and ribbons lay scattered about. As the night wore on, the dishes grew cold, but the decanter of aged wine grew hot. Some were competing in drinking games, others were calling for playing cards, some were toying with the women, and others sat gaping in drunken stupor.

It was to this scene that Li Jingyun arrived, summoned by a messenger from Zhang Jintian.
He surveyed the lavishly dressed crowd, the disordered room, and the geishas before pausing at the entrance.

“So you’ve finally graced us with your presence,” Zhang exclaimed.
“You’re late!”
“I sent messengers twice!”
“Come on over here.”
“There’s someone who’s been waiting impatiently for you.”

He stood up, came over, grabbed Jingyun by the shoulder, and pulled him into the back of the room.

“What’s going on?” Jingyun asked, staggering.

“It’s nothing complicated—today’s an auspicious wedding.”

“Whose wedding is it?”

“It’s neither here nor there.”
“My… your wedding.”
“Why, there’s someone who’d like to stand beside you.”

Zhang Jintian led a young geisha to his side.
Jingyun recognized her.
With a slightly pointed chin and a slender figure, she was named Yingmei.
Yingmei simply allowed herself to be handled, grinning as the bangs of her bobbed haircut swayed gently.

“Hahaha! You look perfect together! I’d love to show that person how you look right now.”
“You’ll get scolded. Well, have a drink.”

Jingyun flushed slightly but calmly drank several cups.

In such disorderly banquets, words would scatter everywhere and topics leap about unpredictably, making it difficult to grasp the central thread—yet in Zhang Jintian’s drunken mind, something about Jingyun seemed to linger.
He introduced Jingyun to everyone, declaring, “This here is the so-called pleasure boat philosopher.”
He also disclosed a certain theory Jingyun was said to have expounded elsewhere, conveying its famous dictum: “The stagnation of Hangzhou’s decline lies in not expanding West Lake toward the Qiantang Riverbank.”
Thereupon, a brief comparison between the scenic beauty of West Lake and that of Qiantang River was raised, but Zhang Jintian, acting dismissively, whispered something else to Jingyun.
It was a question of whether, having gained too much of the Chen family’s trust, he would be willing to consent if a marriage proposal with Ruihua were brought up.

Jingyun answered while draining his cup as prompted.

“Isn’t it you who’s going to marry that person?”

Immediately realizing he’d said something foolish, he pinched his thigh hard and grimaced in pain.

Zhang Jintian burst into raucous laughter.

“You do come up with such precious notions.”
“No wonder Yingmei’s taken a fancy to you.”
“……Oy, Yingmei! Seems this fellow wants to wed you.”
“Don’t you dare let him slip away tonight.”

Yingmei nodded with a smile and leaned against Jingyun’s shoulder.
Startled by having his ear stroked by those swaying bangs, Jingyun began to stand up in surprise, while Yingmei nearly fell over and leapt to her feet.
Zhang Jintian and the other courtesans burst into laughter.

Jingyun immediately thought he had done something foolish, pinched his own thigh hard, and grimaced at the pain, his face reddening.
And he drank wine.

In another corner arose an inexhaustible debate over wives and concubines: whether bachelors remained unmarried because they desired concubines, or because they detested wives—and which of these was the truth. The discussion turned to probing Zhang Jintian’s genuine views for resolution.
In response to that, Zhang Jintian offered a different answer.
He argued that in cultures with higher civilization—women’s appearances do not decline even as they age—thereby reducing the need for concubines; whereas in less civilized cultures—women age prematurely—increasing the necessity for concubines.
The discussion then turned to how this applied in this country, and Zhang Jintian declared that in this country, women become old hags the moment they marry.

“However, there are a few exceptions,” he said.
“I know one such exception—a woman of thirty-five or thirty-six who still maintains a dewy complexion.”
“What’s more, she wasn’t particularly beautiful in her youth but has grown more beautiful with age.”
“She’s truly an exceptional woman.”

The people exchanged meaningful glances.
“On top of that, it’s said she has property too,” one of them said.

“Hmm, she has property too.”

“She’s tailor-made for you,” another said.

“Alas, she has already been married once,” Zhang Jintian answered.

“Then she’d fit right into the concubine group,” someone said.

“It’s currently under consideration.”
“First, let’s have a toast.”

They all toasted amidst laughter.

At that moment, while joining the toast, Li Jingyun suddenly smashed his cup against the floor, shattering it. Zhang Jintian fixed his gaze intently in his direction. He immediately pinched his own thigh hard and grimaced at the pain. Perhaps this had been taken as some manner of challenge, for Zhang Jintian’s fist flew out and struck his cheek. He endured that pain without a sound. Zhang Jintian’s large face appeared before his eyes, and he spoke in a low, resonant voice.

“It’s because of bastards like you that I have to protect that woman.”
“You’d better stop visiting that house too.”

And another fist strike flew toward his cheek.

He involuntarily tried to stand up, but at that moment, Zhang Jintian let out a loud laugh.

“Hey, Yingmei! Hold fast.”
“This man’s trying to slip away from you.”
“Clamp onto his neck like a barnacle and don’t let loose.”

When Yingmei and the other courtesans looked on in surprise, Jingyun was trembling minutely while clenching his teeth.

“Ha ha ha, I’ve had enough of this comedy,” someone said.
“Let’s toast to this.”

And while the group was in the midst of toasting, Li Jingyun stood up and left the room.

What was strange was that when the aforementioned events occurred—both before and after—Chen Xiumei’s name never passed anyone’s lips.

It was the night of the following day. Li Jingyun walked alone along West Lake's Su Causeway. The stars shone clear in a moonless sky, yet the lake's surface retained a faint glow. Though bearing traces of drink, he seemed more profoundly immersed in spiritual intoxication—his gait unsteady yet purposeful. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, hands folded across his chest, advancing with slow steps. At times he would lift his head to turn flushed cheeks skyward, gazing at starlight, or extend his hands from his chest as if conducting an invisible flute—only to resume his meditative posture moments later. When nearing one end of Su Causeway, he would pivot sharply to retrace his path; approaching the opposite end, he turned again with equal decisiveness. Thus he traversed the nearly two-kilometer causeway time and again. Above him, willows spread supple boughs whose catkins drifted down intermittently despite the windless air, alighting upon his figure.

What could he have been so lost in thought about?
To put it into words—

My resolve was already fixed.
To where no alternative decision remained possible—there I had descended.
No—not descended through force,
but carried by nature’s own currents.

My sole regret was my cowardly act today.
However, if even nature has its strategies, then this cowardly act should be permissible as one such strategy.

Last night, I was humiliated before several townspeople, before several courtesans—in other words, amidst the public.
And moreover, this had been done through insults to the woman I love—no, through insults to my very love itself.

I emerged from that humiliation with my head bowed.

And what of today?
I visited Zhang Jintian—the very man who had insulted me—and prostrated myself before him to offer an apology.
I told lies I did not mean, verbally denied what lay deep in my heart, and begged forgiveness.
For gratitude toward Ms. Chen Xiumei, and for wine’s intoxication—these became my shallow pretexts.

May disaster befall those ensnared by vile lies.
He himself is naught but despicable.
Zhang Jintian fell into my stratagem and further sought my devotion and aid.
I swore.
Ah, how shamefully I swore.
May disaster befall those who know not that true oaths are built solely upon sincerity.

By being compelled to swear an oath to Zhang Jintian, I finally came to understand my own strength.
Ah, had I only realized this but a little sooner...

Yet it was not too late after all.
As I came to know my own strength, I simultaneously came to know the depth of my own love.

I knelt before Ms. Chen Xiumei—kneeling as I had once done within that pleasure boat—and confessed: "I have loved you since that moment at Chuyang Terrace."

That pallid, divine face of hers from that moment remains vividly etched in my eyes.
It will surely linger forever.
But in that instant, I could not endure it.

"I am in love with you.
Yet this shall likely conclude as a celestial love.
Both this affection of mine and your very self were defiled by a certain rapacious man.
Please wait in silence two or three days—all will become clear."

Having said only that, I ran away.
That person must have realized most of it.
But she would surely endure it.
By now, it was clear that that person had come to love me too.
Love was a woman’s strongest pillar.

The only path left to me now was to carry it out.
All other paths were blocked.

That too was acceptable.
Hadn't bidding farewell to this land been my long-cherished resolve?
That Hangzhou's decay lay in not expanding West Lake to Qiantang River's banks—this had been my persistent theory, one even mentioned by adversaries.
This West Lake—shallow and murky, amounting to little more than an expansive rice paddy—no matter how it cradled Three Pools Mirroring the Moon's shadows and Mid-Lake Pavilion's silhouette, no matter how it let hazy melancholy drift through mist-laden rains, no matter how it studded its shores with countless famed sites—in the end, none could refute the rumor that temple incense ashes blanketed its lakebed.
It might lull people to sleep; it might grant them respite.
Yet it could never become something that tempers and vitalizes.
Let temples multiply—cemeteries multiply—villas and hospitals proliferate endlessly.
I would bid farewell.

Even so, why does this sorrow linger in my heart? Wasn't even climbing that Chuyang Terrace meant to solidify my resolve to part ways? I met that person there at Chuyang Terrace—though we had known each other beforehand—but was this meeting of hearts my fatal oversight? Or rather, if this was the destiny that drove me to that final critical moment where only single-mindedness remains, then I shall gladly accept it. That is precisely a matter of face for those with courage. For those who truly value face, words like 'no way' should hold no existence.

That person will become my heart's homeland.
West Lake will become my flesh's homeland.
I shall make possessing a beautiful homeland my solace.
I shall make the unknown rough seas ahead my courage.

Yes—only a meager stratagem, a small boat, one gesture, and then flight.
The rest lies in heaven's knowing.

It was two days later.
On West Lake drifted an ownerless skiff, within which was found the corpse of Zhang Jintian, stabbed from behind with a blade.
Subsequently, Li Jingyun’s disappearance was reported.
Various rumors arose in the town, and various pieces of information reached the police, but no definitive clues about the culprit were obtained.
Zhang Jintian was buried in a cemetery outside the city, but Li Jingyun’s whereabouts remained completely unknown.

And then, about a month later, there sat a beautiful middle-aged woman praying upright in the hall of Lingyin Temple—a renowned monastery nestled in the western mountains bordering West Lake.
After offering prolonged prayers through her tears, she quietly rose and departed.
There she secretly left behind a small ivory pleasure boat of exquisite craftsmanship.
The woman was Chen Xiumei, and this intricately carved ivory vessel stood as her remembrance of Li Jingyun.

In connection with that pleasure boat, such a legend was recorded, but there remains nothing to do but leave Li Jingyun’s subsequent fate unknown.