Yan Lianke - The Four Books

As everyone watched, the Child walked into his building.

The Author followed him in.

They spoke for a long time.

After a while, the Child emerged alone, his expression softened. In the doorway, he blew his bronze whistle, summoning everyone back to the courtyard. The Child looked at the Musician, who this entire time had been standing by a wall, head bowed, and said, “Come with me. Do as I say, and I’ll award you a red blossom.” The Child then headed over to the third dormitory of the second brigade. The Musician hesitated, but in the end she followed the Child.

There was a red light in the East. The Musician followed the Child to the dormitory. The Child stood in the entranceway, and shouted inside,

“There is no need for you to slice me up — I know it would be hard for you to do. And there is also no need for you to follow everyone to the riverbank to smelt steel. I’ve thought it over, and decided that there is no need for you to say anything. Instead, I’ll have the Musician do everything that you originally should have done. After all, given that you two were a couple, if you don’t go then she must go instead. And if she goes, she’ll need to do the work of two people — yours in addition to her own.”

The Child walked away.

He left his words in the entranceway, like a hostage. When he reached the main district entrance, he looked at the sky and the troops, he whistled again and waved, then led them northward.

In fact, as the troops departed, they proceeded around the wall to the east of the courtyard. The Scholar hurried to catch up with them. He was limping, like a dog with a broken leg that was nevertheless determined to catch up with its master.

4. Old Course , pp. 199–210 (excerpt)

The ninety-ninth was located eight li from the river.

This region between the ninety-ninth and the river was a marsh in the summer, and frozen salt flats in the winter. If you got up before dawn, you could reach the salt flats by sunrise. The sun was suspended above the eastern horizon — a beautiful golden orb linking the earth and the sky. Along the riverbank there was the frosty sound of birds singing. At first, it was only one or two calls, but by the time the winter sky was filled with blinding light, the air was filled with a solid wave of sound.

The sun was very bright.

The flat riverbank was covered with white salt.

Everyone’s face and body was drenched in sweat.

As the professors headed out toward the river, they each carried a bundle of bedding, a travel bag, and a set of pots and pans. They were also hauling several carts full of grain, oil, and salt. The Child flitted ahead like a bird, following the path that he and the Technician had previously taken. He proceeded due north, through the area that was a marsh in the summer and salt flats in the winter. The region was completely bare except for a few clumps of towerhead grass, out of which some sparrows and other birds would occasionally emerge, their sharp cries sounding like women crying out after accidentally biting a hot chili pepper.

The troops marched through the distant wasteland, like a solitary flock of geese in the vast sky. The putrid odor of the towerhead grass, the acerbic smell of salt, and the wooden smell of the thornbushes, together with the bright smell of morning sun and the cold scent of the air itself — all mixed together to produce a distinctive alkaline smell. Even though you couldn’t see it, the odor hung thickly.

Up in front, a red flag mounted on the cart was fluttering in the wind, as though the troops were sailing down a river. They walked in single file, forming a wiggly line as commands like “forward, march” and “whoever lags behind will forfeit a blossom” were passed down from the front to the rear of the procession. At the rear were the Scholar and the Theologian. The Scholar was on crutches, and since each step was as arduous as if he were dragging a sandbag, the Theologian had been sent to assist him and make sure that he didn’t fall behind.

“You are more learned than I. In fact, I hear you even attended a reform session on Marx’s Capital ,” the Theologian said. “But you know how much the Israelites suffered when they followed Moses out of Egypt?”

The Scholar didn’t reply, and instead merely continued walking forward.

“Who knows how many people starved to death on the road, or how many died from exhaustion. Even after marching through the autumn and the winter, they still couldn’t make it out of Egypt and reach Canaan. We,” the Theologian said, shifting his bag from his left shoulder to his right and taking the Scholar’s green canvas bag, “still have eighty more li to go, but if we hurry we should be able to reach the river by nightfall.”

In the end, no one dropped from the procession. By noon, they saw a pond ahead, in the middle of that desolate wasteland. The pond was frozen solid, and the water plants that flourish in the summer lay withered on the surface of the ice, like an uncombed mop of hair. They sat around the pond, and after they had rested, cracked the ice to boil some water, and having eaten some dried provisions, they continued their journey. When someone reached the point where they simply couldn’t take another step, they would sit on the cart up in front, and would compensate the person pulling the cart one or two of their own red blossoms.

They hurried along like this all day, but along the way some people developed blisters on their feet while others removed unnecessary items from their bags and threw them away. The middle-aged Physician removed the stethoscope and blood pressure cuffs she had hidden in her bag and hung them on a thornbush on the side of the road — deciding that even if she saw someone on the verge of death, she wouldn’t try to help them.

By dusk, the road was littered with shoes and socks, and torn hats, together with discarded shovel and hoe handles. There was even a new pair of women’s pants. When it was clear that the procession couldn’t proceed any farther, the Child called out from up front, asking, “Do you see that gray elevated area where the sun is setting over the river embankment?” As his remark was relayed to the back of the procession, he added,

“I will award five red blossoms to whoever gets there first, and will penalize whoever gets there last by making them forfeit five blossoms, and making them cook for everyone.”

The pace of the procession quickened, as the younger people surged forward, sprinting in the direction of where the sun was setting behind the embankment. The grass and sticks under their feet rustled and snapped loudly. Those who were running and shouting slogans held their red banners above their heads as though they were a flaming torch. In the end, even the Theologian left the Scholar and surged forward to catch up with the people in front of him, saying “I’m sorry” as he dropped the Scholar’s bag on the ground. Those running included men and women, young and old, professors and teachers, like a herd of horses galloping toward victory. They were laughing and shouting, as wave after wave surged toward the riverbank, shattering the thousand-year solitude they found there. The banks of the river boiled with activity. The young teachers were the first to arrive, as people stood on top of the furnace that the Child and the Technician had built, hoisting the red flag into the air, their bright red shouts making the setting sun appear dim and lifeless by comparison, like a distant lighthouse enveloped in a cloud of dust. Meanwhile, lagging behind everyone was the Scholar with his broken leg, who went to pick up his canvas bag and paused to watch everyone running ahead and shouting slogans, with cheers and red flags. He stood there for a moment, then bit his lower lip, as a look of confusion covered his face, like the winter fog that blankets the desolate landscape.