Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

Groping around with their feet, as if they were trying to catch fish underwater, they cut a pathetic figure. Seven hours later, they knelt down and wailed, a sight that drew laughter even from the old Party secretary, who privately admitted that Wei had a knack for educational discipline. While the head of the school security team was not a particularly important post, it gave him the ideal opportunity to expend his excess energy and showcase his talent, all to the benefit of the school. Naturally, in light of his special circumstance, he had to be employed “under supervision”—the degree of which would be determined by Director Qian.

“What do you think, Little Wei?” Director Qian asked him as they sat in the student affairs office. Wei was less than a year younger than Qian, but Qian always called him Little Wei to mark the distinction between leader and subordinate. Little Wei was standing before Qian like a student.

“I’ll do whatever Director Qian asks me to do,” he said sincerely.

“Give me frequent reports,” Qian said.

“I will.”

Qian was pleased. He was a man who did not like flattery. If you tried it on him, he saw right through it. On the other hand, he appreciated people who worked for and talked to him respectfully. Clearly pleased, he said, “You may go now.”

“Head of the school security team” was a vague phrase that could or could not be considered a job title. But that was not important; most important was the group of troopers under Wei’s supervision, the people he would deploy. His job was no sinecure, but it was one that moved him into a leadership role. And that made him inordinately happy.

Soon after he took up his post, Wei began meeting with the students one-on-one, his favorite mode of carrying out his duties. During evening study period, Wang Yuyang watched as Wei called Pang Fenghua out of the classroom and then saw the two of them carry on a long and serious yet cordial conversation in the hallway. Yuyang reminded herself to be careful and not to talk too much in front of Fenghua, now that she’d become one of the more active students. But then she considered her own place in the class. She really didn’t amount to much; she was like a squirt of urine in the Yangtze River. With or without her, it made no difference, and nothing either good or bad would come to her, so why worry? That thought put her more or less at ease, but it was a special kind of ease; it was neither painful nor scratchy—not bitter and not sweet, sort of sour.

Yuyang was experiencing a hard-to-describe sense of loss. She knew she was jealous of Fenghua. Never one to compete with others, she nevertheless secretly felt that she was a match for Fenghua; but now, though hard to believe, she paled in comparison. The other girls in class were whispering that, thanks to special tutoring by their homeroom teacher, Fenghua had even learned to understand Misty Poetry. [15] An avant-garde poetry movement of the 1980s. That was no small feat. Obviously she’d made considerable progress.

But Yuyang had underestimated herself. Good luck was about to make a visit; she just didn’t know it yet because Wei was still deliberating. With his experience in management and discipline, Wei had little faith in the school security team, for the team members, though unquestionably enthusiastic about their mission, had a serious flaw: They were out in the open, and the other students were on their best behavior around them. That made them ineffective when it came to monitoring their fellow students’ thoughts and souls. In order to fully understand them and truly take control of their actions, Wei would need to find suitable informants from the inside—“an eye that can see ten thousand li ” or “an ear that can hear what travels with the wind.” This sort of person should not be too prominent, too showy, or too noticeable in either a positive or negative way. Wei was convinced that he would be well informed in regard to the political orientation of the school if he could develop one such student in each class. Naturally, these students were to remain anonymous heroes, reporting to him and him alone.

Yuyang could not believe that Teacher Wei even knew who she was. He’d called out “Wang Yuyang” in a loud, clear voice, and had even waved, so obviously he was trying to get her attention. This unexpected recognition from the teacher was flattering, but it also made her nervous. The stolen money incident was closed, yet it remained an unstated sore spot for her, and she was still afraid of being called on by the teachers.

Wei summoned her to the general duty office. Lacking the nerve to take a seat on her own, she stood with her eyes lowered, but after a brief and simple chat, she realized that Teacher Wei was a genial person and not mean at all, despite the fact that he was tall and big-boned, which gave him a rough appearance.

Unlike Director Qian, who always looked glum, Wei seemed to be outgoing and laughed easily. Finally he broached the subject. “We have been secretly observing Wang Yuyang with the intention of making her someone we should cultivate.” Teacher Wei had said “we,” not “I,” which meant that he represented the gigantic, tight-knit, behind-the-scenes leadership—mysterious, sacred, and impossible to see in its entirety. He pointed out in a somber voice that as a target of cultivation Wang Yuyang was still lacking in certain areas. In her current state, she wasn’t quite up to par. She was, for instance, inadequate in the area of “one heart and one mind” dedication. Although he was subjecting her to criticism, there was a kindhearted message in his words that implied anxiety over turning iron into steel and potential into substance, and this underscored his expectations and hopes for her.

He was stern yet earnest, hinting at a different kind of organizational trust. No one had ever extended a helping hand of that magnitude or indicated this kind of enthusiasm and trust to Yuyang before, and it moved her profoundly. With myriad emotions surging inside her, she fell into a daze as Teacher Wei gave her instructions and an assignment. From now on she was to give a weekly written report to “us” on any and all anomalies, even those involving members of the security team, whether on campus, in class, or in the dorm. In other words, Pang Fenghua might be on the security team from the perspective of organizational procedures, but she was, in reality, under Yuyang’s surveillance and control. It was too appealing for words.

The conversation with Wei lasted only twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes were immensely important to Yuyang, a landmark that woke her up and convinced her that she was not dispensable, not useless. She was, in fact, regarded with trust and esteem by the people who mattered. The most enthralling quality of her job was that it required secrecy and underground activity. With the knowledge that she’d been given considerable responsibility, she suddenly felt grown up. On her way out she kept turning over what Teacher Wei had said to her; his words echoed in her ears. He’d told her to “observe more, listen more, record more, talk little, and make yourself less noticeable.” How kind his words had been. She’d never sought the limelight, not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she was too shy and didn’t know how to. Now, however, everything was different; keeping out of the public eye was an essential feature of her mission.

Real student life began after nine-thirty at night. During the long daylight hours the students could not be themselves. Their time was divided into filing cabinet drawers, into which were placed daily meals, calisthenics, eye-health exercises, and rest periods. The biggest drawer was further divided into class times. There was a bit of flexible time in the late afternoons, but that was like a cupboard for odds and ends. This chunk of time might have appeared enjoyable, but it was monotonous, taken up by group activities, physical education, or the arts, which after a while, became repetitive. Once the evening study period was over, the students tidied up, rinsed out a few of their things, washed up, and climbed into bed before beginning their real activity. If you looked at the dormitories from a distance you’d find them quite attractive during this time. Every window was lit like a scene from a fairy tale. Then at nine-thirty Beijing time all the windows went dark. At lights-out, the campus quieted down, the dorms included; only the soft nightlights in the bathrooms remained on. The windows turned pitch-black as indoor activity began to die down; but this did not mean the day was ending. On the contrary, it was just beginning.