Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

Yuyang really did feel fine, but she was exhausted. She had bled a lot the day before, but apparently nothing terrible had happened, and for that she was grateful. She had thought she’d be in terrible shape, but nothing seemed to be out of place. He’d fondled her again, that was all. Other than the bleeding, she didn’t feel humiliated like she had the first time.

She actually felt better, since this was the first time in her life that anyone had actually knelt down to her, not to mention that the someone was her teacher. After this, it would be him, not her, who needed to fawn. Yuyang told herself that he had fondled her before, and since it was him again, she had lost nothing in the process. Once, twice, it was all the same, except that it took longer the second time. What did it matter if she bled? What girl doesn’t bleed once a month? Besides, he had promised that he would never mistreat her and that he would try his best to keep her in town.

It might have been only a transaction, but it was a substantial one, and well worth it, since she had come out ahead. With the teacher giving her his promise, she could not be unfeeling; and yet she felt bad. It wasn’t pain, and it wasn’t pleasure, just something that was hard for her to handle. She’d feel a lot better if she could scream. Yuyang might have been young, but no one needed to explain to her what went on between a man and a woman. She would never have consented if he’d asked her to do it. In fact, she would have threatened to scream if he’d asked, and she was grateful to him for not doing that.

It made a big difference to her. He was a man of his word. He hadn’t taken off his clothes, so there was no reason to feel bad, just so long as he didn’t make her do it with him. He was, after all, someone who had seen the world and weathered many storms; he knew how to take care of things. He showed his ample planning skills with the scheduling. No one would have expected him to ask Yuyang to come to his office every Sunday morning. Who’d have thought he was capable of doing that on a Sunday morning? No one would suspect a thing, which made it perfectly safe, and that put her mind at ease. Besides, her classmates’ focus was on Pang Fenghua and the homeroom teacher; the more animated their gossip became, the less attention anyone would pay to Yuyang.

All along, she’d planned to wait till she’d gathered all the necessary intelligence before reporting to Wei Xiangdong, so she had no reason to hurry. One day—it made no difference when—she’d make that little bitch pay. Moving too soon could alert Fenghua, who might escape from her clutches. That would be a terrible loss. But Yuyang’s youth betrayed her—she could not keep a secret.

One day, while she was sitting on Wei’s lap, she could hold back no longer. She asked him if he knew the identity of the homeroom teacher’s love interest. He produced the names of four or five young female teachers, but she shook her head and smiled.

“No, it’s someone in my class,” she said. His eyes lit up, a strange, eerie glint that seemed aimed at an invisible object. It was the glint of a tiger eyeing its prey. To Yuyang, that glare appeared to send steam into the air, to actually smoke.

“Really?” he asked. Encouraged by the light in his eyes, she nodded with certainty. “You’re sure?” he asked.

Without a word, she went back to her dorm room to retrieve her diary and handed it to him. That was Yuyang’s style. She’d rather act than talk, and let the facts speak for themselves.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked sternly.

“The right to speak comes only after investigation,” Yuyang said.

Nothing happened on campus for several days, which concerned Yuyang. The truly shocking event did not take place until Saturday night, though nothing out of the ordinary occurred during the day. After nightfall, not only did they not send for Pang Fenghua, they actually extended lights-out a full hour later and showed a couple of war movies. The teachers’ weekend club was open, so lights blazed on campus, belying any sign of impending doom. At nine-thirty, the usual time for lights-out, Wei, flashlight in hand, made his move, followed by Director Qian, Teacher Huang of student affairs, Director Gao of educational affairs, Deputy Director Tang, several staff members who had applied for Party membership, and seven members of the school security team—a mighty contingent that headed to the dorm room of the homeroom teacher in charge of Section Three of the class of ’82.

The lamps around the dormitory were not functioning; it was pitch-black. Stepping lightly, the group moved so silently that the only sound was their heavy breathing, which they were having trouble keeping in check.

When they reached the darkened room, Wei stopped, turned around, and raised his hand to make sure that no one made any noise. The group stood still, like a grove of breathing trees. Wei curled the index finger of his right hand and tapped gently on the door, as if afraid to startle a child on the other side. Nothing stirred, so Wei craned his neck and whispered, “Teacher Peng, please open the door.” As if making a deal with the door frame, he repeated, “Teacher Peng, open the door now.”

He waited, and then said, “Teacher Peng, I have a key, and I’ll use it if I have to.” Still nothing stirred inside. So Wei took out his key and inserted it into the hole, but the door remained shut—it was locked from the inside. Now everyone took a deep breath as Wei retrieved the key and raised his voice. “Smash it!”

He snapped on his flashlight, nailing the wooden door with a blindingly bright light. There was a thump on the other side, followed by the flickering of a fluorescent bulb. Peng opened the door, but he hardly resembled the Section Three homeroom teacher or the people’s teacher of dialectical materialism, historical materialism, political economics, and the brief history of social development. Seemingly devoid of human form and skeleton, he looked like a chicken thrown into the pot or a dog fished out of the water.

The separate interrogations began that night. Pang Fenghua refused to talk until three in the morning, when, exhausted from crying, she confessed and took responsibility for everything, as if she were the one who had done all the unspeakable acts. Then she clammed up and resumed crying.

By comparison, the homeroom teacher had a better attitude. After seven or eight cups of boiled water, he responded to every question. But his interrogation was interrupted when he began spitting blood, thanks to the boiling water he’d gulped down.

How careless could someone be? How had he not sensed how hot the water was? And how had he managed to gulp it down like that? He must have been scared out of his wits. Fortunately, he cooperated by telling them everything, including the first kiss, the first embrace and who had initiated it, whose tongue had first entered the other’s mouth, whether they had fondled each other and how, and who had begun fondling first and where. He told them everything, sometimes more than once because Wei kept repeating his questions, and Peng had to repeat his answers.

Wei’s eyes lit up each time Peng responded, and Wei’s skin twitched as if he were in pain or, perhaps, in ecstasy. He seemed to be enjoying himself, but Peng was less forthcoming when it came to sex. He hemmed and hawed, trying to evade the issue. Naturally, Wei would not let him off the hook, and he followed up with tough, carefully crafted questions, not giving Peng a chance to deny anything.

“When did you first go to bed together?” Wei asked.

“We didn’t,” Peng replied.

“The two of you had to be in bed because everyone saw how the sheets, the blanket, and even the pillows were all rumpled. How can you deny it?”