Can Xue - Five Spice Street

If we analyze these three quotations, we can understand X’s attitude: (1) She’s quite a lot more complacent than before. (2) She does as she pleases (this is the same as before the adultery began). (3) The adultery itself made her ‘‘incredibly happy’’-so much so that she wanted to ‘‘share it with someone’’ (she hasn’t pointed this out herself, but isn’t it clear as daylight?). (4) She deliberately exaggerates her disease in order to confuse people.

The second change in Madam X was horrible, too. The first one to encounter this change was Ms. B-the one who had made up her mind to wait until summer to seek revenge. One noon, Ms. B ‘‘was overflowing with optimism.’’ She was humming a march, and her steps were buoyant as she walked to the street to post a banner. (Written on all of the red banners was: ‘‘Photography is important to the national economy and the people’s livelihood.’’) When she passed Madam X’s house, she was flattened by a snow-white bolt of lightning. She went blind for half an hour at most. This immediately made the rounds of the whole street: after dinner, everyone was talking about it. Tense discussion in a dark meeting, and confirmation from Ms. B herself, caused highly intelligent people to think the same thing: Madam X’s supernatural power had evolved into a flood tide and had become a clear and present danger to everyone. For, in that unforgettable half hour, not only had Ms. B lost her vision, but ‘‘her whole body was paralyzed’’ and ‘‘she couldn’t move.’’ After she came to, she saw ‘‘several hundred silver whirlybirds hovering in the sky,’’ and from Madam X’s window ‘‘the biggest demonic mirror was hanging impressively.’’ But Madam X herself ‘‘was standing under the mirror with her lover and her husband, caught up in the moment, and they were talking to each other in a kind of secret language.’’

After the dark meeting of highly intelligent people, the writer worked out a mistaken prediction which caused him to wake up to the superficiality of his scholarship. Following the meeting, the writer walked along in the dark with the adorable widow, absorbed in the excitement of the meeting: his myriad thoughts actually seemed to take on wings. So he opened his mouth and described what had been brewing in his mind for some time: ‘‘From now on, everyone has to adopt certain measures for dealing with Madam X.’’ The adorable widow’s imperturbability startled the writer, and he blushed.

“Why?’’ she answered in a low voice. ‘‘Adopt what measures? Are we all jittery? What you just said made me wonder. You’ve been a stenographer for so long, and you’re still so fickle. I can’t understand you.’’ The writer walked on with her for a long time in silence. She didn’t say anything and her expression was grim. Not until they parted did she suddenly scold him: ‘‘It is most unwise to substitute one’s own fantasies for the objective laws of nature.’’

The widow’s opinion was representative of the attitudes of the elite group in the Five Spice Street community. For a long time after the meeting held in the dark, there was no activity anywhere on Five Spice Street: even if Madam X hung a demonic mirror high up in front of the window, others led their disciplined lives as usual. Similar meetings were held several times, but this didn’t mean that there would ‘‘be any action,’’ because the gentlemen attending these meetings were ‘‘old sparrows who had weathered many storms.’’ They wouldn’t do anything premature. When there was a meeting, they went: they loved taking part. The elitist style intoxicated them. The mysterious dark atmosphere intrigued them. So they all got to the meetings on time. They all wore dark overcoats and sat up solemnly in the dark room. Their calm and steady manner taught the writer a lesson, causing him to move from admiring them to imitating them. After a while, he was like a duck taking to the water. In order to squeeze into the elite circle and get his artistic talent recognized, the writer purchased a dark overcoat and earnestly prinked from head to toe. He mingled with the crowd at the meeting and then, without saying a word, took a seat in a corner. That’s when the writer began learning how to be quiet like a smart person and began to understand that silence is golden. In the dark, who could tell who was talking? And even if they could, what did that mean? Because of our silence and composure, even if we were talking about major issues such as everyone’s safety on the street, we wouldn’t be jittery. Otherwise, wouldn’t we be acting prematurely? Wouldn’t that show we were capable of nothing but biting our nails over this kind of issue, so that people would say that a certain insignificant person’s supernatural power was making the Five

Spice Street elite eager to prepare for combat? Wouldn’t that sound ridiculous? No matter what others supposed, we instinctively took no action. We achieved victory through our special tactic-by living our daily lives as usual and not changing at all. No one paid any attention to a certain person’s supernatural power, but instead we held regular meetings. This was our mighty offensive. No matter how strong they were, all the forts would be breached. When we wore dark clothing and quietly slipped into the meeting room, any cunning enemies were scared out of their wits. How did the countermeasures of the Five Spice Street elite affect Madam X? Perhaps not everyone can be sufficiently aware of these high-level spiritual actions. Was it possible that Madam X was also unaware of the countermeasures they took in the dark? Ms. B painstakingly investigated this. She reported that the countermeasures had been notably effective: Madam X’s supernatural power was rapidly declining, she looked ‘‘more sallow by the day,’’ the frequency of her going out had ‘‘atrophied a lot,’’ and ‘‘the symptom of attempting suicide’’ was revealed in her words. At this point, Ms. B sprang to her feet and drew her finger across her neck to illustrate ‘‘attempting suicide.’’ ‘‘What other way out does she have? None. When the people have formed a mighty force, confronting it with her little trick was no different from ‘throwing straws against the wind.’ Committing adultery was bad enough, and now she’s also been deploying her evil supernatural stuff. She’s asking for trouble!’’ She also told everyone a piece of astonishing hot news: a black curtain was hanging at Madam X’s window, and it had been twenty-seven hours since she had closed her door and not emerged.

To satisfy his burning curiosity, the writer impulsively charged into Madam X’s bedroom. It was as dark as a vault, and he was assailed by strong puffs of a floral scent-enough to choke a person.

‘‘Have a seat. There’s no problem with that chair,’’ a voice said from a corner of the room. ‘‘There used to be some things in this room that were problematic, but I’ve solved them all one by one. I don’t like sloppiness. Can you see now?’’ She propped herself up on the recliner.

One by one, the thick curtains, table, chairs, and bed appeared before the writer’s eyes. Large and small mirrors were flickering continuously with white light, making everything in the room seem phony and affected. There were quite a few pots of flowers in the corner where Madam X sat, and that’s where the fragrance was coming from, bringing with it a certain exaggeration. In this artificial environment, Madam X became strangely talkative.

‘‘There’s nothing wrong with anything here. All the legs on the chairs are sturdy; this isn’t so outside this room. Once I went out and saw people sitting on problematic chairs. I was so frightened that I had to shut my eyes and flee back here. I should go out less frequently. Don’t worry: everything in this room is sturdy. I don’t like being suspended in the air.’’ She smiled. She held out one gloved hand to the writer. Steeling himself, the writer shook it: he felt that the thing inside this glove was very suspicious.