Pathway to Japanese Literature

Among the shops he owned, there were two that stood as particular points of pride. One was a fur emporium where pelts of tigers, leopards, foxes, otters and other creatures filled expansive showrooms across two floors—said to be such a notable Beijing attraction that travelers made special visits to behold it. The other was a tea establishment rumored to have once supplied leaves to the imperial household itself, its storied history whispered about like precious leaves steeping in hot water.

This Fang Fushan had traveled to the southern regions for about forty days, and after returning home, he hosted a small banquet at his residence, inviting approximately ten people.

Fang Fushan enjoyed lively social interactions and frequently hosted banquets, always finding some pretext to do so. However, this particular gathering carried an unusual air. According to He Yuan—who served as the Fang family’s steward—the reason given was that Fang had been remiss in his social duties during his travels. However, it had already been a month since Fang Fushan’s return, and He Yuan added that General Lü was also expected to attend.

General Lü was the Beijing Garrison Commander, but at that time, various rumors were circulating about him. There were rumors that he would soon be transferred to the Jinan area, and also rumors that he frequently clashed with provincial government authorities and was planning drastic militaristic policies. Of course, these rumors were only whispered secretly among certain groups of people, and though their veracity remained uncertain, whether because of them or due to some other occurrence, an air of unease and agitation was gradually thickening among the general populace.

Thus, Fang Fushan’s banquet left people with a distinct impression.

Zhuang Taixuan, who had received the invitation, said to his son Yiqing: “I intend to decline by pleading ill health. Though we’ve received fine teas from southern regions through Mr. Fang’s generosity of late, that man’s recent actions don’t sit well with me. Still, you ought to go. For a young man like yourself, broadening your perspectives through observation nourishes the spirit.” “In that case, I’ll attend and serve as your representative too,” Yiqing replied airily.

“No—since you’re attending as an individual, you can’t simultaneously act as my representative,” Taixuan remarked with a contemplative gaze. Yet for Zhuang Yiqing, his friend Wang Shaosheng presented a greater quandary than his father ever could.

Zhuang Taixuan now rarely involved himself in worldly affairs and tended to remain at home, yet through his profound insight and esteemed virtue, he stood as a towering presence. Therefore, it came as no surprise that General Lü had been invited to the Fang household, nor was it strange that Zhuang Yiqing—though still a young man—had received an invitation as Taixuan’s son. But Wang Shaosheng stood apart. Hailing from an obscure and impoverished lineage, his sworn friendship with Zhuang Yiqing alone provided insufficient grounds for receiving such deliberate summons from the Fang family.

He said to Zhuang Yiqing in an irritated tone. "I was only introduced to Mr. Wan Fushan through you and have met him just two or three times since." "We’re not particularly close acquaintances." "To put it bluntly—whether Fang Fushan travels safely returns from his trip or dies in a ditch along the way—none of that concerns me in the slightest." "I don’t understand why I was invited." Zhuang Yiqing answered with an ambiguous smile.

“So it’s probably just a whimsical invitation.” “You only need to come enjoy the feast.” “I hear Colonel Gao Binru has been invited too.” “You won’t be seeing Colonel Gao Binru for a while yet.” “Since my father isn’t attending, there’s no need for formalities—the three of us can freely eat, drink, and chatter away to our hearts’ content.”

“Is Colonel Gao Binru coming too?” “He is.” “That’s strange.” “There’s nothing strange about it. Colonel Gao serves as General Lü’s staff officer and strategic advisor—his attendance makes perfect sense.” Yet Wang Shaosheng’s mind dwelled elsewhere—on their small collective calling itself the New Humanism movement. Several young intellectuals had launched a modest magazine titled *New New Literature*, advocating humanism grounded not in universal consciousness but ethnic identity. Their ideals manifested through diverse literary forms: demands for reforming customs and traditions intertwined with explorations of Eastern natural philosophy. Poems alternately condemned the Summer Palace’s gaudy splendor as grotesque, extolled the Temple of Heaven’s Circular Mound Altar, pitied goldfish confined to Zhongshan Park’s round vats, and envied herons nesting freely in the Imperial Ancestral Temple’s woods. One verse portrayed how the Forbidden City’s golden-roofed halls dazzled observers while casting shadows that smothered all Beijing—a biting allegory against the regime. This faction had won sympathy among young intellectuals while drawing government scrutiny that occasionally produced discreet warnings. Within the New New Literature group, Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng stood as leading figures. Zhuang brimmed with confidence about his ability to write criticism, fiction, poetry—anything—yet remained chronically indolent. Wang worked diligently as a librarian to sustain himself while pursuing poetry with solemn dedication. Colonel Gao Binru, a close friend of the Zhuang family, had consistently voiced support for their literary circle. All this made Wang suspect hidden designs behind Fang Fushan’s invitation to these three men.

Zhuang Yiqing laughed.

“If we follow your logic, shouldn’t such matters be entirely unrelated to us?” “Whether Fang Fushan has any intentions or not—that’s none of our business.”

After remaining silent for a while, Zhuang Yiqing smiled and said.

“If you’re that concerned, I could let you in on the secret—though truth be told, their base of operations seems to lie in an unexpected quarter.” “However, before all that, you need to decide whether to accept Fang Fushan’s invitation—or I’ll be in a bind.” “That is the crucial issue.” “Why’s that?” “You’ll understand why later.” “Anyway, you’ll agree, right?” Wang Shaosheng thought for a while before answering clearly. “I’ll leave it to you.”

“So you’re going then?” “Yeah, I’ll go.” “Very well… Now then, there’s a matter to discuss.” Zhuang Yiqing gazed at the other man with a teasing look.

“It seems Chen Huijun will also be attending the Fang household’s banquet.” “Of course, this has nothing to do with you, but…”

Wang Shaosheng opened his eyes wide.

“The reason Chen Huijun might attend is because Liu Qiuyun will be there.” Wang Shaosheng’s face flushed faintly and his eyes brightened, but he abruptly said: “Why must you phrase it so circuitously?”

“Because I respect love.”

That was a line from one of Wang Shaosheng’s poems. After Zhuang Yiqing recited the line, he smiled cheerfully, but Wang Shaosheng turned red up to his ears. "I’m well aware I respect your affections," Zhuang Yiqing said cheerfully. "I’m actually reaping the benefits right now." "As for revealing secrets—this is where it comes in—I believe she’s behind getting us both invited to Fang’s house." "Because she wants to meet us." "But never mind that—there’s an inconvenient condition attached." "A secret messenger came asking someone to bring that ‘toy for New Era Women’ you know about." "For her it’s probably an excuse to keep us from backing out—for us it’s an obligation." "What do you think—can we get one quickly?" "The money’s right here ready..."

Wang Shaosheng sat motionless, utterly absorbed in thought.

“I think it would be best for you to hand it over to her directly…” Wang Shaosheng remained deep in thought. Then he suddenly stood up and shouted. “Very well. I’ll fulfill my promise to her.” What Liu Qiuyun referred to as a “toy” was, in fact, a single small pistol.

Regarding Liu Qiuyun, there were various theories circulating about her, but none held any certainty—it was as though she perpetually carried about her person a sort of mysterious shadow. She was a complete orphan with neither known birth family, relatives, nor place of origin, having been raised in Chen Huijun’s household as a foster daughter. According to accounts, during one of Chen Huijun’s visits to Taku, she happened upon a six- or seven-year-old girl tending a fruit and tobacco stall on the port’s wharf. Arrested by the child’s keenly intelligent gaze and features suggesting innate refinement, she found herself rooted to the spot. Presently an old man who appeared to be the stallkeeper approached to peddle his wares, but Chen shook her head and instead inquired about the girl.

“This child is not for sale; she is something entrusted to me…” replied the old man. And thus began negotiations over this entrusted matter—according to the old man’s account—the girl had been wandering alone by the harbor about a year prior when a sailor found her, but when that sailor departed aboard a large cargo vessel, he left her in the old man’s care. Now, the sailor never returned after that, the girl still could not remember her origins, and the old man was at a loss for what to do—but clinging to the faint hope that someone might come looking for her eventually, he took her along to the harbor stall every day, or so the story went.

“That is precisely why I have come searching for this child,” it was said that Chen Huijun declared.

However, it remained difficult to verify the truth of this story; in any case, Chen Huijun appeared to have given the old man a substantial sum of money and taken custody of the girl. That girl was Liu Qiuyun—whether the name Qiuyun had been given by the old man or the sailor or had originally been hers remained unclear—but it seemed true that the surname Liu had been adopted from the old man’s own family name. Thereafter, she effectively became Chen Huijun’s foster daughter and was more frequently addressed as Chen Qiuyun. Chen Huijun avoided discussing Qiuyun’s origins with anyone.

Chen Huijun’s own life, too, was shrouded in many shadows. She was said to have been born in Nanjing, yet she was remarkably knowledgeable about Shanghai matters. There was a theory that her late husband had been involved in work related to the theater world, and another theory claimed he had run a business dealing in secondhand clothing. Afterward, she owned considerable assets and managed an antique shop, but there were whispers that the shop had actually been entrusted to her by Fang Fushan—or perhaps even gifted—along with various other rumors. And her long-standing relationship with Fang Fushan had almost become an open secret.

She was tall with a slender build, her eyes moving with lively agility, and though already around forty years old, she retained a youthful complexion. Moreover, this city-dwelling widow possessed a rare talent for uncovering trivial matters across all spheres of society—and even those truly mundane affairs took on a certain lingering quality when voiced through her lips. In this manner, she cultivated acquaintances across all spheres of society, and wherever there was power, wealth, or ambition, her presence was often observed. She frequented hotel dining rooms as well, and her dancing was known by the bellboys to be more than just proficient. However, to high society, she was merely a middle-class woman—and not entirely respectable at that—merely a somewhat bothersome leisured woman.

Under Chen Huijun’s care, Liu Qiuyun spent her girlhood attending school, where she learned the arts of makeup and cooking and received formal training in vocal music. Chen Huijun’s residence hosted numerous visitors of varied backgrounds, and Qiuyun absorbed their diverse conversations through attentive listening. When she turned seventeen, she came to reside with the Zhuang family for approximately ten months. Through calligraphic works and paintings stored in her shop’s inner chambers—and facilitated by Fang Fushan—Chen Huijun had established ties with the Zhuang household. On one occasion, adopting a penitent tone before Madam Zhuang, she lamented her own unstable circumstances and regretted past indiscretions before introducing Liu Qiuyun as a pitiful orphan of distinguished lineage. Stating her earnest desire to properly raise the girl, she humbly requested that Liu be allowed to cultivate refinement temporarily within the Zhuang family’s wholesome environment. Then she lowered her voice to speak quietly.

“If you were to take charge of the municipal office’s affairs, you would require various additional hands—and I would like you to employ Qiuyun as you would a maid.” “Also, for my part, if I leave that child in your care, I can spend some time in Shanghai with peace of mind.”

At that time, the mayor had resigned over a certain matter, and a movement was beginning to emerge to bring forth Zhuang Taixuan, a man of virtue and prestige, as his successor.

As for Chen Huijun, there were theories that she bore some secret political role, theories that her involvement in opium smuggling had begun to surface, and theories that combined both—but for the time being, she was to go to Shanghai. However, Zhuang Taixuan coldly and flatly refused the mayoral position, and Chen Huijun’s trip to Shanghai—repeatedly delayed—eventually fizzled out. And so, only the entrustment of Liu Qiuyun to the Zhuang family came to fruition.

Ten months later, in the season of fresh greenery, Chen Huijun and Fang Fushan went to Mount Tai, guiding an elderly American couple who had come as leisurely travelers. To this group was added Fang Fushan’s daughter Meizhen, and subsequently Liu Qiuyun also came to be included. When they returned from that journey, Chen Huijun suddenly developed a fever and coughed up a considerable amount of blood. She grew irritated and alternated between crying and fits of anger. Taking that opportunity, Liu Qiuyun came to return from the Zhuang family to Chen Huijun’s care.

When Liu Qiuyun first came to the Zhuang family, her worldly demeanor and shy-seeming reticence formed a strange incongruity, her gaze harboring a light one might call penetrating. Yet she soon acclimated to the household’s gentle atmosphere—her manner gaining cheerfulness, her silence condensing into purposeful speech, that sharp light in her eyes softening. Madam Zhuang took interest and positioned her somewhere between maid and foster daughter. Her beautiful features shifted with perspective: viewed sideways, the angular jaw lent an air of keen intelligence; seen frontally, rounded cheeks imparted marked gentleness.

“At times, you seem like two entirely different people,” Madam Zhuang would sometimes remark with a smile, gazing at Qiuyun’s face. Those two separate individuals gradually coalesced into one, shaping the New Era Woman.

The Zhuang family’s gentle atmosphere also accommodated the freedoms of the new era. If one were to liken Zhuang Taixuan’s lofty scholarly virtue to a mountain, then at its base, the sprouts of the New New Literature faction centered around Zhuang Yiqing freely stretched forth. Wang Shaosheng came nearly every Sunday, and other young men gathered, sometimes joined by women as well. And among those people, Liu Qiuyun too came to mingle, until she was finally counted as one of their comrades.

While Liu Qiuyun was an avid reader of New New Literature, she herself had never once written an article. Nor did she ever participate in their ideological debates. However, her reserved words—always underpinned by intense passion and rendered in vivid imagery—served to impart the sensory elements often lacking within this faction. A number of writings that appeared to have been inspired by her words could be identified. For example, such questions were posed: Who is there to praise the lotus flower that is beautiful only to scatter? Who is there to know the fragrance of the lotus’s coiling leaves that strive to grow and spread? There was also the question: Who is there who can trample under muddy-soled feet the sentimentalism scattered fluttering down by the small white blossoms of the locust tree-lined avenue? There was also the question: Who is there who can comprehend the symbolism of a polished lamp affixed to a dust-covered old rickshaw?

The one who was most sensitive to these matters was Wang Shaosheng. Moreover, it was Wang Shaosheng who felt the greatest sense of loss inwardly regarding her departure from the Zhuang family to return to Chen Huijun’s care. He wrote a poem and, with flushed cheeks, showed it to Zhuang Yiqing. It was a sentiment of parting poised on the delicate line between friendship and romantic affection, concluding with: “…Silence stems from respect for love.”

On the Sunday afternoon before she was to leave, the three of them found time to stroll leisurely through the spacious garden. At that moment, Zhuang Yiqing unexpectedly disclosed Wang Shaosheng’s poem, causing both Wang Shaosheng and Liu Qiuyun to fall into an awkward silence. Thus placed in a position where Zhuang Yiqing alone had to keep up a steady stream of conversation, when they reached the small pavilion at the pond’s center, its twin pillars bore the inscription: “Kun of the Northern Sea.” Pointing at the phrase “Peng of the Southern Sea” displayed there, he said.

“People of old conceived such fascinating things. Of course I don’t put stock in legends about Kun of the Northern Sea or Peng of the Southern Sea, but there’s something trustworthy in their essence. Both building the Great Wall and digging the Grand Canal were manifestations of that spirit. We may scorn these physical structures, but we’ve no right to mock the spirit behind them.”

In response, Liu Qiuyun said quietly.

“In that case, my dream too has no right to be laughed at.” “What kind of dream…” “I rode a camel and walked along the top of the Great Wall.”

“What a strange dream.” “But when I suddenly realized, I felt terribly lonely.” “I did not have a pistol.” “I truly did want just one small, cold and gleaming pistol.” “So what were you planning to do?” “I won’t do anything with it.” “It would be enough just to keep it.” “If singing clocks and golden birds flitting from branch to branch were the Empress Dowager Cixi’s toys, then surely a pistol may serve as the New Era Woman’s plaything.”

“A toy for New Era Women? How splendid.” “Then will you grant me that toy?”

Zhuang Yiqing turned and looked at her face. Her words carried an almost too-quiet weight in their tone, and a somber hue had settled over her features. Wang Shaosheng, who had been listening in silence until then, suddenly spoke. “Is this a story from a dream, or is it real?” “I don’t even know myself.”

And she fixed her gaze into Wang Shaosheng’s eyes. “When I return home, I will enter into a completely different life. “Yet I wish to remain your comrade forever. “In such times, having one important toy… Just keeping it with me makes me feel it could become a support for my heart.”

It was a tone that insisted on consent, matched with an expression teetering on tears. Wang Shaosheng averted his gaze downward.

“Let’s undertake this together,” Zhuang Yiqing shouted.

Thus everything was decided.

However, its realization continued to be postponed. The promise imbued with commemorative meaning and vows for the future had to be fulfilled in secret by the parties themselves alone. Moreover, secretly procuring what appeared to be a considerable sum of money proved no easy task for Zhuang Yiqing, while covertly acquiring strictly regulated goods at that time remained dangerous for Wang Shaosheng.

Beijing’s autumn arrived suddenly as if chasing away summer, and clear days continued. Along the shore of the small island in Nanhai Park, people could still be seen engaged in the pastime of fishing. A short distance to the side, Wang Shaosheng stood absently leaning against the railing.

Those fishing were two or three boys and a child accompanied by a middle-aged married couple. The child, frequently having his bait stolen and getting flustered, was being taught various things by his father. The mother watched this with a smile while holding her own fishing rod, yet she hardly glanced at her float. The boys gazed silently and intently at their floats; now and then, at the tip of a fishing rod that was suddenly lifted up, small fish danced.

Wang Shaosheng remained leaning half his body against the railing, his eyes fixed on the murky water's surface as he sank deep into thought. He did not go to the tables arranged in the pavilion to drink tea, nor borrow a fishing rod to enjoy himself, nor was he watching the anglers. He remained utterly still for a long while, as if he had lost track of time. From the small boat shuttling between the south shore, a small number of passengers disembarked and passed behind him several times. Among those people, there soon appeared a thin young man wearing black sunglasses. The young man came straight from the boat toward Wang Shaosheng and lightly touched his shoulder. Wang Shaosheng turned around, but as the man continued walking away, he followed after him.

“It took a bit longer than expected,” the Young Man with Sunglasses muttered unhappily.

Wang Shaosheng asked.

“So, what happened?” “Well now, I overextended myself a bit…” He stared at Wang Shaosheng as they walked. “You must exercise greater caution going forward. “Visiting me at such a place—and so late at night…” “But it was confidential business.” “That’s precisely why it’s ill-advised. “Confidential matters ought to be conducted in crowded daylight. “These days, we’re rather under observation.” “Has something occurred?”

“That’s what I want to ask you. What are you going to do with something like that?”

“Well… I was asked by someone, so…” “But something this tiny won’t be of any use—though it’d make a fine toy.” “Of course it’s a toy. “I believe it’s a toy.” Perhaps because his tone was too earnest, the Young Man with Sunglasses stared fixedly at Wang Shaosheng. Then he laughed.

“You’re honest—that’s why I like you.” “…Shall I take a guess?” “A young woman or an elderly gentleman—that’s who you’re giving it to, I suppose.”

Wang Shaosheng remained silent.

“Did I go a bit too far?” “Nah—there’s no need to worry.”

The two men came out to the shore of Zhonghai. The Withered Lotus Pond lay desolate under the cold gleam of the afternoon sun. Beneath the avenue of large willow trees, there were no passersby.

Under the shadow of one of those willow trees, the Young Man with Sunglasses abruptly came to a halt, retrieved a small cloth-wrapped object from inside his coat, and held it out to Wang Shaosheng. “Here’s what you requested.” “It’s an antique, but it hasn’t been used yet.” “I polished the parts that had a bit of rust.”

Wang Shaosheng received it. Inside the small cloth was a cardboard box containing a small pistol fitted with a leather holster. “The operation is simple, so you know how it works, right?” “There are only ten bullets.” “That part was actually quite troublesome.” Wang Shaosheng wrapped it again in the small cloth and tucked it inside his coat. And he handed over twenty banknotes. “And then, how much should I give for the rest, I wonder.” “The rest… Ah, that thing?” “Since I was the one who brought that up, any amount would do—but in that case, give me ten.”

When Wang Shaosheng handed over ten more banknotes, the man nonchalantly accepted them but fixed his gaze intently on Wang Shaosheng from behind his sunglasses. “This concludes it.” “Keep your promise now.” “Meaning the remaining portion will be completely erased.” “That you received this transaction from me, that I procured it for you—all becomes nonexistent.” “Not forgotten—it never existed at all.” “Understood?”

“Agreed. It’s a promise.” “There is no such thing as a promise.” “There’s nothing.” “That’s right—there’s nothing.”

The Young Man with Sunglasses laughed brightly.

And then the two of them walked along the lakeshore once more, following the avenue of willow trees.

“Next time, come when you’ve got no business,” said the Young Man with Sunglasses. “My treat. That woman’s a bit clumsy, but there’s this Xiao Suji—puts on airs yet manages to be cute. The place may look shabby, but their Western liquor tops Beijing’s best—stuff even Tianjin doesn’t have. Come ready to drink yourself soused. Hell, it’s healthier than opium stupor. But when it’s business—” he leaned closer, “—come to my house. Show up there unannounced, get asked ‘Who’s that?’—no telling what bind we’d both be in. Hideouts demand full transparency about who’s who.”

“In that case, it defeats the purpose of having a hideout, doesn’t it?” “That’s right—it’s gotten all backwards.” “It’s General Lü’s influence, isn’t it?” “The rumors of General Lü’s coup must have spread quite widely.” “That’s why spies have been planted everywhere.” “When it comes to that lot, they’re convinced secrets only lurk in hidden places.” “So those of us operating in secrecy took the initiative and relocated to more visible locations.” “If you’re going to act, then you should use this tactic.” “By the way, with whom do you have contact?”

“Contact… Such a thing doesn’t exist anywhere.” “Even if you don’t have them, they’ll assign them to you from their side.” “You must take precautions.” “Our true allies lie neither with General Lü’s faction nor the Provincial Government’s camp.” “Then where are they?” The Young Man with Sunglasses shot Wang Shaosheng a piercing look. “If there are none, you manufacture them.” “They can be established right within arm’s reach.” “No—they’re already positioned.” “Things promise to grow rather intriguing.”

Just as the avenue of willow trees came to an end, they emerged at the bridge. The Young Man with Sunglasses suddenly said, “Well then, I’ll take my leave here.”

Wang Shaosheng watched him depart as indifferently as if they were strangers, then walked off absently in the opposite direction.

At Fang Fushan’s banquet, as expected, meticulously selected dishes were prepared. Pork, duck, small birds, and vegetables were ordinary enough—dishes from Jiangsu’s marshes, Sichuan’s remote mountains, Japan’s coastal waters, and the South Seas’ tiny islands successively graced the table. As for beverages, there was only aged rice wine, carbonated water, and cold water. He Yuan appeared at opportune moments, stood rigidly upright in a corner, and oversaw every detail.

Fang Fushan’s performance at the banquet was even more splendid than the dishes themselves. He was short in stature, and hunched over the dining table, he appeared even shorter. Yet this very quality, combined with the intensity of his gaze, made him seem a formidable figure. His face was oblong, swelling downward from the cheeks, with conspicuous folds of flesh framing either side of his mouth. The sagging skin beneath his chin lay half-buried in his collar. And he ate and drank with extreme speed, all the while constantly engaging those around him in conversation. On one side sat General Lü, and on the other an elderly relative of the Fang family, yet Fang Fushan kept turning his face toward both while also calling out to Colonel Gao Binru and Zhuang Yiqing, who sat slightly further away. Matters of food and customs—things like Shanghai’s Crabdrome and Hyarai, Guangdong’s Black Baths, Indian magic tricks—mere trivialities he regaled them with as travelers’ tales. And in those eyes that darted about—eyes which at times betrayed his gentle smile—there flashed something wholly separate from these idle stories: a light of profound resolve unthinkable in a man nearing sixty, piercing through one’s very core.

Beside him, General Lü remained as composed as a mountain. He ate slowly, drank slowly, spoke little, and settled his large frame with solid composure. Yet his long beard drooped limply, his complexion had turned sallow, and his eyes were clouded over. There were rumors that his opium habit had grown severe. When Fang Fushan first introduced Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng, he merely blinked two or three times, barely glanced at their faces, and muttered as if speaking to himself.

“I’ve heard about you lot before.” “I’d thought you’d always be wearing Western suits.” Zhuang Yiqing offered an ambiguous smile and replied with ceremonious precision.

“I had also thought that Your Excellency always wore your military uniform.” After a brief pause following those words, General Lü suddenly laughed loudly—“Hahaha!”

Gao Binru, who stood nearby, briefly furrowed his brows. Wang Shaosheng looked up at General Lü’s face as if startled. The general, looking even more self-satisfied, let out another booming laugh. The civilian clothes he wore made General Lü appear either oddly ingratiating or downright foolish. At the banquet table, General Lü produced another of those booming laughs. When talk turned to food, he uncharacteristically launched into a story about something he claimed to have experienced in Taiyuan. It happened during a famine year, he said—while drinking at a restaurant there with several fellow officers, two or three human toenails had surfaced in their plate of stewed pork. Everyone being thoroughly drunk at the time, they’d apparently taken a macabre delight in dropping the nails into their wine cups and drinking toasts with them—or so his account went.

After that story, when the conversation momentarily lapsed, General Lü let out another booming "Hahaha!"

Then, from a slightly distant seat, Chen Huijun’s voice was heard. “My, Your Excellency is quite adept at fabricating stories.”

General Lü laughed again with a booming “Hahaha!”

Chen Huijun was already speaking to Madame Fang beside her.

“On octopus legs—those round suction cups—there are so many of them, aren’t there?” “There was a place in Shanghai that would take just those suction cups, dry and harden them, then pass them off as a special vine from the hinterlands and serve them to American sailors.” “They did a roaring trade.” Madame Fang simply nodded and listened. Fang Meizhen, seated at the table with schoolgirl vivacity, whispered something to Liu Qiuyun. Only Chen Huijun alone among the women engaged with the gathering’s central conversation.

Chen Huijun’s presence stood out. Her relationship with Fang Fushan seemed to have already been publicly acknowledged even by Madame Fang, but setting that aside, her socially adept manner—with its keenly active eye movements and bloodless, pale clear skin—lacked refinement yet held a certain allure. She frequently addressed Gao Binru. Gao Binru offered only brief replies and spoke mainly with his neighbor Zhuang Yiqing. He had some passing knowledge of both classical and modern literature.

Wang Shaosheng hardly spoke. From time to time, he gazed in Liu Qiuyun’s direction. Liu Qiuyun remained quiet and reserved, but when she raised her face and met Wang Shaosheng’s gaze, she immediately lowered her eyes again. The banquet, spanning over four hours, had proceeded without incident, but Fang Fushan suddenly turned to General Lü, initiated a discussion about music—a subject neither seemed likely to comprehend—and drew the conclusion that among all forms of vocal music, Beijing Opera remained supreme. And he called out to Chen Huijun and, in a perfectly natural and offhand tone, requested if they might be allowed to hear a little of Ms. Liu Qiuyun’s singing. Chen Huijun smiled and whispered something to Liu Qiuyun. And strangely enough, Liu Qiuyun immediately stood up. Fang Meizhen stared at her with astonished eyes.

Liu Qiuyun’s slightly pallid face tensed up, and like stone, she suppressed all expression. Then she said:

“As I am no singing courtesan, I know only a few trivial pieces…”

Her voice seemed to catch; then she turned sideways and, gazing into empty space, began to sing in a low voice. It was a widely known piece—a slow, sorrowful melody from the Beijing opera *Silang Visits His Mother*, in which Silang sings of longing for his mother. The song, ill-suited to the banquet, seemed at first like deliberate irony, but soon it left a profound impression. Her voice gradually rose and became a thing of beautiful sorrow. The gem in her hair ornament quivered minutely behind her ear. The sharpness of her jawline, prominent in profile, seemed to convey single-minded devotion, and the soft curve of her cheeks appeared to express tender sorrow; together, they intensified the song’s plaintive yearning for a mother.

With Wang Shaosheng merely keeping his face lowered and Chen Huijun merely gauging the room’s mood, the people held their breath and fixed their eyes upon Liu Qiuyun. General Lü’s eyes alone glistened with raw intensity at that moment. She seemed to throw her entire body and soul into the song alone, but when she finished singing, she still suppressed her expression and gave a slight bow before hurrying into the next room as though fleeing.

Fang Meizhen immediately stood up and followed after her.

Sighs and murmurs of admiration escaped. A middle-aged woman among the guests wiped her tears. And with Liu Qiuyun and Fang Meizhen not returning, the dining table was conveniently abandoned.

In a corner of the next hall, a mahjong group formed. Madame Fang, Chen Huijun, and the middle-aged woman who had wiped her tears after the song were joined by the elderly man who had been seated next to Fang Fushan. Since Wang Shaosheng seemed to have gone out alone toward the garden, Zhuang Yiqing and Gao Binru went together in that direction to investigate.

It was a clear autumn night, and the stars were shining beautifully. In the spacious garden without a pond, there were many plantings and placed stones, and atop the artificial hill, a single electric light stood solitary in the small pavilion. Gao Binru raised both hands in a stretch and then said in a coldly critical tone.

“There was one thing missing from tonight’s banquet.” “What would that be?” “Your father’s absence.” “My father hasn’t had much regard for the people here of late.” “That’s only natural.” “But from their perspective, your father should have been the most valued guest.”

“Why is that?” Gao Binru turned toward Zhuang Yiqing, took in his genuinely puzzled expression, and then spoke.

“Consider this.” “With Zhuang Taixuan’s prestige, the Fang family’s wealth, and—though I don’t know how you yourselves feel about it—you two being regarded as leading representatives of the young intellectual elite: Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng. Then add myself here as General Lü’s strategist, though it may sound odd for me to say so, along with Chen Huijun preening as the socialite starlet, and Liu Qiuyun who seems poised to show extraordinary talent. With all that assembled, it’s hardly unreasonable to think one could stage a grand political play in Beijing.”

“Is General Lü thinking such things?” “No—as if he’s thinking about that.” “He’s probably being dragged along…” “Then who is thinking about it?” “Fang Fushan?” “Fang Fushan is, I suppose, what you’d call the facilitator.” “The planning seems to lie with Chen Huijun.” “Anyway, those two make an effective pairing.” “And are you also involved in this?” “If I were involved, I’d have handled it much better.” “Making Liu Qiuyun sing like that was pitiful—I wouldn’t botch things so clumsily.” “I’m merely a bystander.”

“A bystander… And you’re content with that?” “I despise you.”

“Oh, come now. Contempt should be reserved for the final act.” “There are moments when one ought to simply enjoy observing how events unfold.” “But mark this—I would have you all exercise restraint.” “Show restraint, I beg of you.” “It was fortunate your father couldn’t attend tonight.”

“Does Father know about such things?” “He likely isn’t aware.” “But you mustn’t inadvertently let it slip.” “This remains our secret—yours and mine.”

“That goes without saying. But… we—Wang Shaosheng and I—had assumed it was Liu Qiuyun who arranged for our invitation.”

“Why do you say that?” “Because she was also one of us...” “But after she returned to Chen Huijun’s side, she must have changed quite a bit.” “Moreover, even if she were to suggest it, whether to take it up would be entirely Chen Huijun’s decision.” “Chen Huijun, as her foster parent, holds absolute authority over her.” “And do you acknowledge that?”

“It’s a matter of fact.” “Denials from third parties serve no purpose for those actually involved.”

“You’re being terribly cold.” “Being cold regarding women’s issues is my principle.” “Women are dangerous, you see.”

And Gao Binru laughed heartily. At that moment, having circled the garden and being about to return to the room, they encountered Wang Shaosheng leaning against a pillar of the outer corridor, standing as motionless as a statue propped against the column. Without relaxing his contemplative stern expression in the slightest, Wang Shaosheng said bluntly to Zhuang Yiqing.

“That’s done.”

“I see,” answered Zhuang Yiqing. Out of deference to Gao Binru, the two said nothing further, but they had clearly understood it concerned the pistol matter. Wang Shaosheng still did not seem to have fully regained his composure.—Overcome by some unbearable emotion, he had fled the room alone and leaned against one of the outer corridor’s pillars. Just when it felt like a long time had passed, Liu Qiuyun stole toward him. She stared at Wang Shaosheng’s face and murmured, “The promised item…” Wang Shaosheng took out the wrapped pistol from his inner pocket. Liu Qiuyun received it and stowed it inside her robe. And she said.

“Will you… believe everything about me?” “I believe,” answered Wang Shaosheng. Liu Qiuyun extended one hand. Wang Shaosheng tightly gripped that hand. And in the dim light, Liu Qiuyun’s eyes seemed to Wang Shaosheng to grow gradually larger, brimming with an eerie glow, then larger still and deeper. He nearly drowned in those eyes. The moment she did, Liu Qiuyun released his hand and vanished like the wind. The impression at that moment—so hallucinatory, so intensely vivid—left Wang Shaosheng utterly beside himself; he remained leaning against the pillar there, perfectly still, for what felt like an eternity.

Gao Binru gazed briefly at Wang Shaosheng’s condition and glanced toward Zhuang Yiqing as well, but without saying a word, he led the way and entered the room.

A group was leisurely playing mahjong.

In another corner, surrounded by rosewood furniture, celadon ornaments, red-lacquered couplet boards, and fur rugs, General Lü and Fang Fushan were drinking wine and conversing. The figures of Liu Qiuyun and Fang Meizhen were nowhere to be seen.

Gao Binru went straight over to General Lü, took a cigarette in hand, and said. “According to Your Excellency’s theory that those with robust stomachs possess greater courage, it seems we young people are rather lacking in valor.”

General Lü laughed while stroking his beard. He Yuan, who had appeared there from somewhere unnoticed, offered a lit match to Gao Binru’s cigarette.

A day later in the afternoon, Liu Qiuyun suddenly visited the Zhuang residence. She had come under the pretext of inquiring after Honorable Zhuang’s health—though it was plainly evident this was merely an excuse. When Zhuang Taixuan clearly stated regarding Fang Fushan’s invitation that while his health had been perfectly fine, a minor hindrance had prevented his attendance, Liu Qiuyun offered no verbal response to this—yet through her demeanor demonstrated she understood the matter perfectly well.

Zhuang Taixuan and his wife treated her with gentle smiles, and she maintained a composed demeanor. Zhuang Yiqing exchanged brief greetings and then went off somewhere. When Mrs. Zhuang inquired about the banquet at Fang Fushan’s residence, Liu Qiuyun herself brought up the matter of that song. “Since General Lü was very fond of theatrical songs, I had been asked from the previous day to sing something beautiful.” “And so I was made to feel ashamed, but in retaliation, I sang a sad song instead of a beautiful one.”

“What did you sing?” “It was a folk song from Silang Visits His Mother.” Zhuang Taixuan gazed at her with eyes brimming pity. Mrs. Zhuang spoke with gentle concern. “But how remarkable you remember such things.” “I receive regular instruction, you see.”

And she spoke about her singing teacher. It was an elderly teacher from a drama school who would come to teach her once each week. He praised Liu Qiuyun’s voice profusely and guaranteed that she would undoubtedly succeed if she became an actress. However, since Chen Huijun would not consent to enrolling her in the drama school, he had given up on that. But from then on, he insisted that one could not truly perform a song without understanding the play it came from, and during lessons he would always demonstrate the play’s gestures himself. This was because Chen Huijun, for some reason, while having Liu Qiuyun learn theatrical songs, never permitted her to watch actual plays and did not allow her to visit the theater even once.

There was something interesting about her singing teacher. One time, during a conversation between Chen Huijun and two others, someone recalled the theory that ingesting powdered pearls made one’s complexion most beautiful. The teacher insisted this was true, affirmed that there were famous actors who practiced it, then urged Chen Huijun to try it herself. Chen Huijun seemed genuinely persuaded; she asked various people about whether powdered pearls truly worked, then relayed their differing opinions to Liu Qiuyun for consultation. Then Liu Qiuyun said.

“The singing teacher must have a great store of pearls he’s desperate to sell,” she said. “Let’s buy them for him.” With those words, the powdered pearl theory vanished like smoke. Hearing this, Zhuang Taixuan laughed with delight while Mrs. Zhuang narrowed her eyes in thoughtful approval.

But according to Liu Qiuyun, even that small sarcasm of hers was something she had actually learned from Zhuang Taixuan. Once, the mayor visited Zhuang Taixuan—who had once nearly been recommended by the mayor himself—and discussed various strategies for Beijing’s prosperity with him, then also consulted him on effective methods to attract tourists from around the world to historic sites and commemorative structures. Then, Zhuang Taixuan offered an alternative response. “If the ancient pagoda of Wuta Temple and the ruins of Yuanmingyuan are more pleasing to discerning connoisseurs than the Forbidden City or the Summer Palace,” he had said, “then surely the magnificent city walls after the entire city has become ruins would be what most delights the most discerning connoisseurs of all.” And this sarcastic notion of the entire city in ruins had become a topic of conversation among the New New Literature circle at the time.

Reminded of this by Liu Qiuyun, Mr. and Mrs. Zhuang Taixuan exchanged glances and smiled. And Liu Qiuyun, as if coyly leaning into the Zhuangs’ affections within this warm atmosphere of familiarity, suddenly turned sorrowful eyes toward Mrs. Zhuang. “Since returning home, I’ve scarcely found time for embroidery.” “And so...”

And so, she wanted to offer her apologies. While staying with the Zhuang family, she had learned embroidery from Mrs. Zhuang and had made rapid progress, but upon returning home, she had promised to someday present a splendid floral-and-avian piece for their viewing. Because she had grown uncertain whether she could ever fulfill that promise or might never fulfill it at all, she wished to beg forgiveness—so she said. “Oh, that’s really not important at all.” “You’re worrying about such trivial things,” said Mrs. Zhuang.

Even so, Liu Qiuyun had a sorrowful look in her eyes. And this time, it was Mrs. Zhuang who had to do all the talking.

At that very moment, Zhuang Yiqing came rushing in. “We’ll be borrowing Ms. Liu Qiuyun for a moment.” “Wang Shaosheng has also come.” “We need to discuss matters regarding the New New Literature.” “My, how rude…!” reproached Mrs. Zhuang.

“Hahaha, conversations between young people might prove more engaging,” said Zhuang Taixuan.

And so Zhuang Yiqing urged the silent, downcast Liu Qiuyun and went out of the room toward the garden. On the garden bench, Wang Shaosheng sat with his arms crossed and head bowed. He had come from the library after receiving an urgent summons from Zhuang Yiqing. When he saw Liu Qiuyun, he stood stiffly, bowed, and did not utter a word. Liu Qiuyun also remained silent.

“How was it? Did it please you?” Zhuang Yiqing abruptly inquired.

“What do you mean?” “That... It’s a toy.” “Yes, it’s wonderful. Today I’ve come to thank you for it.” “But you came alone.” Liu Qiuyun assumed an ambiguous expression.

“We were worried, you know? Couldn’t stop thinking about it…” Zhuang Yiqing feigned a cheerful tone, but then his words trailed off.

And the three of them walked through the spacious garden in silence. After a while, Liu Qiuyun stole a glance at Wang Shaosheng and suddenly spoke.

“I might go on a journey.” “Huh? A journey...?” Zhuang Yiqing asked. “Yes—that dream of riding a camel along the Great Wall… it might truly come to pass.” “But… I’ve received the toy… And there’s no loneliness… no worries anymore….” There was something in her measured tone that hovered ambiguously between sincerity and jest. “It’s another dream story, isn’t it?” “If it were real, we could go together too.”

“I still can’t tell whether it’s a dream or reality.” “That’s precisely why it feels like a dream-tale.”

Once more, words ceased. A prolonged silence ensued—one that laid bare how all their previous words had been some manner of pretense—and the two of them arrived at the pond. At that moment, Liu Qiuyun came to a halt and declared resolutely, her face tense with what could only be described as anguish.

“That evening, I sang. Today, I wanted to sing once more.”

Leaving the two men hesitating to respond behind, she ascended to the small pavilion at the pond's center. From the small pavilion bearing the couplet “The Kun of the Northern Sea, the Peng of the Southern Sea,” one could distantly see the White Tower of the lama atop the hill in Beihai Park. Zhuang Taixuan had never particularly cared for that view and had once considered planting trees to block it, but due to opposition from his wife and Yiqing, it remained as it was. At that distant White Tower, Liu Qiuyun gazed intently for a while.

In the crisp autumn azure, the White Tower now appeared to float like a phantom. Liu Qiuyun fixed her eyes upon it and quietly began to sing. The lyrics of that song were never clearly recorded. It was something Liu Qiuyun had created—crude yet pure, imbued with a vein of crystalline clarity. It likened the White Tower to a vision of the mind—mourning yet rejoicing that it remained unpainted in blue, red, or purple; wishing it might stay thus forever; resolving to depart silently while revering affection. —The final verse had unmistakably been taken from Wang Shaosheng’s poetry.

The melody was simple, but her voice was beautifully clear. At that moment, she wore no hair ornaments and was dressed simply; her figure, gazing at the distant White Tower, carried a purity removed from urban clamor—a vision perfectly suited to the song.

Throughout, there was the crispness of autumn.

Even after the song ended, she did not move for a while. Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng, seemingly struck by the crispness, approached in silence. And when she turned around and the three faced each other, all of them—amidst a kind of dazed reverie—naturally smiled.

A servant carrying a rosewood tea tray was seen emerging from behind a large Taihu stone. Liu Qiuyun suddenly dashed off toward them and, just as she used to do during her time at the Zhuang residence, took the maid’s tea tray and carried it over. After saying she would fetch some sweets, she left.

Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng waited in vain for her to return, lost in quiet contemplation. However, she had already bid farewell to Zhuang Taixuan and his wife and left. From late that night until the following morning, news of General Lü’s sudden death spread throughout the city. It was officially attributed to a sudden cerebral hemorrhage, yet a lingering sense of something amiss thickened the air with unease and foreboding. Amidst this, Colonel Gao Binru firmly suppressed the military and quelled the unrest in the city—measures executed so efficiently that rumors even arose suggesting preparations had been made prior to the incident. Not only that, but Gao Binru took about an hour from that intense period to visit the Zhuang residence and inform the anguished Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng of the incident’s truth. Moreover, as his visit to the Zhuang residence had been conducted publicly, it eventually brought about a calming effect on those around them.

On the night of the incident, Liu Qiuyun, accompanied by Chen Huijun, visited General Lü’s quarters. Colonel Gao Binru greeted them in military uniform, Chen Huijun promptly took her leave, and then the two were left alone. “You’ve come to a decision, haven’t you?” said Gao Binru.

“I had resolved myself long ago,” Liu Qiuyun answered. According to Gao Binru’s explanation, this decision meant taking on a certain special mission. He said this: “When the situation undergoes a major transformation and people’s hearts are in turmoil, the extent to which a young, beautiful woman’s voice can exert significant influence surpasses all imagination.” “People who engage with society are well aware of this, but military men seem largely ignorant of it, and few have ever exploited it.” “However, it seems General Lü attempted to adopt this method as well.” And he gave a wry smile.

Meanwhile, Gao Binru and Liu Qiuyun spent some time facing each other.

“The sole condition is that you absolutely maintain secrecy.” “You do understand, don’t you?” “Understood.” After that brief exchange, they engaged in aimless chatter—light literary conversation and discussions about fruit.

She had styled her hair exactly as she had for Fang Fushan’s banquet, adorned with the same hair ornaments; only the pale blue kimono now used satin instead of silk. And one could discern that she harbored some firm resolve within, relying on it to maintain a seemingly gentle exterior. When Colonel Gao Binru detected something resembling her inner resolve, he simultaneously noticed she had concealed something in her bosom—likely a small pistol. However, he pretended not to notice.

He explained: “A young woman’s bosom should be left alone without laying a hand on it.” “At least that’s my policy.”

After about thirty minutes had passed, General Lü finished dealing with his urgent tasks and became available. Gao Binru reported Liu Qiuyun’s earlier arrival. General Lü cast a sharp glare but immediately softened his expression and stroked his long beard.

General Lü changed into civilian clothes and welcomed Liu Qiuyun into his private chamber. On the central table was laid out a late-night meal; on a corner table lay maps and documents; and beside the sofa, a small stand held opium-smoking paraphernalia.

Gao Binru had other duties to attend to and went out for about two hours. Upon returning, he inquired about General Lü’s condition but was informed that the chamber’s door remained closed. Therefore, Gao Binru began organizing the documents.

A considerable amount of time passed.

At that moment, a muffled explosion—as if wrapped in something soft—and what sounded like a scream came through. When he listened carefully, once again—this time unmistakably—there came the sound of an explosion. He stood up and, with composed steps, went to General Lü’s private chamber and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He suddenly quickened his pace, circled around to the courtyard, placed his hand on the window, and since it opened without resistance, leapt into the room.

General Lü lay face down, drenched in blood. Liu Qiuyun held a pistol in her hand, stood cold as stone, and aimed steadily at Gao Binru. “Stop.” “It won’t hit.” “You’ll just end up hurting yourself instead.” In a calm tone, Gao Binru advanced toward her and forcibly seated her in the chair there. She dropped her body as if collapsing. “What’s wrong?” She had been staring fixedly at Gao Binru, and then she spoke in a strangely beautiful voice.

“As compensation for disclosing the secret… he demanded my chastity.” “Understood,” replied Gao Binru.

And he examined General Lü’s wound. He explained and offered a brief defense of General Lü. “When involving women in secret plans, depending on the counterpart, to demand even their bodies is considered the safest method.” “It’s merely that General Lü lacked discernment in judging people.” General Lü had already stopped breathing. It appeared he had been shot with a pistol pressed against his flank; then, after collapsing, he had received another round to the chest from behind. It was unclear which had been the fatal wound.

The late-night meal remained untouched; some alcohol had been consumed. Maps and other documents lay spread across surfaces. Opium smoke lingered in the air—its paraphernalia left disordered.

Colonel Gao Binru did not interrogate Liu Qiuyun about anything. He had her don a military coat and keep holding the pistol, then sent her under guard—having briefed the driver—to a location in Tianjin. Swift handling was required. Colonel Gao Binru immediately covered up General Lü’s sudden death as cerebral hemorrhage and spent the night consolidating complete military control. The next day, a public procession supporting General Gao Binru was held, but Gao himself promptly disbanded it. This strangely orderly procession was led by the sunglasses-wearing youth who had met Wang Shaosheng at Nanhai Park days earlier. With no further incidents, the entire city quieted under Gao Binru’s authority. Rumors about pre-incident preparations circulating were only natural.

However, there were two regrettable matters. The first was Liu Qiuyun’s whereabouts: while being transported to Tianjin, during a momentary car breakdown in the pitch-dark night, she completely vanished. The other was the lyrics of the song she had sung in the Zhuang family’s garden. No matter how Zhuang Yiqing and Wang Shaosheng strained their memories and intellects to reconstruct them, they could only produce something far removed from their impression of that time. The two reportedly titled these reconstructed lyrics *Song of the White Tower* and long cherished Liu Qiuyun’s memory. Her whereabouts ultimately remained unknown.