Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Shanghai in late 1945 was a city of wealth, colors, and stunning women. After the Japanese surrender, the revelry that took place every evening in its nightclubs seemed justified and appropriate. In actuality, of course, merry-making had nothing to do with the affairs of the world; it stemmed from people’s natural affinity for pleasure and delight. The fashions displayed in shop windows, the novellas serialized in newspapers, the neon lights, the film posters, the department store banners, and the flower baskets celebrating new company openings all brightly sang out that the city was beside itself with happiness. “A Proper Young Lady of Shanghai” was part of that music, music for ordinary women. It told everyone in the city that they would never be forgotten, that they were all on the road to glory. Shanghai was still a city capable of creating honor and glory; it was not ruled by any doctrine, and one could let the imagination run wild. The only fear was that the splendor and sumptuousness of the city were still not enough. Like a peasant sowing grain, the city planted all that was sumptuous and splendid — it was truly a city of ornate brocade. The title “A Proper Young Lady of Shanghai” made one think of “the moon rising above the city on the sea”—the sea is the sea of people and the moon lighting up the night sky is everybody’s moon.

And then an invitation arrived from a photo salon, asking Wang Qiyao to sit for a photo shoot. In the evening, after the salon closed up shop, Wang Qiyao’s mother had the maidservant accompany her daughter there in a pedicab. Off they went, a bag of clothing in hand. The photo salon was much fancier than Mr. Cheng’s studio; there were more lights, and different people were in charge of the lighting, changing the backdrops, and makeup. Three or four of them encircled Wang Qiyao as if she was the center of their universe. The stores downstairs had closed and all was quiet, as were the desolate streets outside — they were surrounded by silence, and the atmosphere in the photo salon took on an almost sacred quality. The noises of clappers warning people to be careful with their cooking fires, seeping in through the closely drawn curtain of the back window, seemed to be coming from another world. Wang Qiyao felt the intense warmth of the camera lights shining down on her body, almost toasting her skin. She felt like she could almost see the way her eyes must have been sparkling. Surrounding her was darkness, and she was the only soul in that world of darkness.

The picture of her later displayed in the window was even more glamorous because she was elegantly attired in evening dress. But this was a commonplace elegance; like a rented bridal gown, this pseudo-elegance — as long as everyone knew — was not meant to deceive. The splendor displayed in the shop window hinted at a dream ready to be fulfilled, a dream belonging to proper young ladies. It also hinted at a kind of striving, the strivings of proper young ladies. The Wang Qiyao who appeared on the inside front cover of Shanghai Life had been an everyday kind of proper young lady, while the Wang Qiyao who appeared in the shop window was a fantasy version of a proper young lady. Both were quite real. The latter captured your eyes, the former your heart; each had its proper place. The Wang Qiyao displayed in the shop window had taken the “good girl” side of her and buried it deep in her heart, replacing it with an expression of restraint on her face — and she seemed to stand taller than common people. Her face bore a detached coldness, but one knew there was an earnest warmth in her that yearned to be liked. This was the image of herself that Wang Qiyao most adored — it suited her taste perfectly and, moreover, provided her with confidence. After seeing it that first time, Wang Qiyao never walked past the shop window again; this is yet another example of her self-restraint. Displayed beneath that were the words, “Wang Qiyao, the Proper Young Lady of Shanghai.” From that point her fame spread like the wind.

But Wang Qiyao was still her old self. The night she went to the salon, she couldn’t get to sleep until quite late, yet she still arrived at school on time the next morning. During a PTA meeting, the school elected her to present flowers to returning alumni, but she gave up the honor to another classmate. When curious classmates tried to wheedle the details of the photo shoot out of her, she told the complete story, taking care not to exaggerate anything or make it sound at all mysterious or romantic. Her attitude was the same as it had ever been. She never rushed to finish first and never lagged behind — she always tried to steer a middle course. Gradually, her modest attitude helped to quell the jealous feelings brewing among her classmates.

But, though she behaved no differently from before, changes were taking place inside her. In the past Wang Qiyao had always felt a slight irritation about having to abide by the rules and be a good girl, but now she could accept her role without rancor. With success came poise. And because she had already had a taste of success, she was more than willing to step aside so that others could have their chance. That glamorous night at the photo salon, where everything seemed to revolve around her, was enough to illuminate many a dull and tedious day. With her portrait on display in the salon window, even her silence was articulate. Something about Wang Qiyao caused her to rise above the other girls — had made her, indeed, into the exemplar of proper young ladies. Quiet and reserved, she used to behave like this against her will, but now her reticence was held up by hope. But, both before and after, the same patience was always at work.

Patience — indeed, that certain “something” about Wang Qiyao was patience. Patience is a quality that holds fast no matter what setbacks may await; whether you face gains or losses, it always comes in handy. For someone as delicate and soft as Wang Qiyao, what weapon more formidable than patience? Whatever the outcome, be it success or failure, one cannot go wrong with patience; it is the last to go to the wall. Quiet and poise are the attributes of a proper young lady, and Wang Qiyao behaved exactly in the same way as before. One thing from the past was missing though, her friendship with Wu Peizhen. They had become even more distant than strangers. Strangers have no reason to avoid one another, but these two did. Wu Peizhen even went out of her way to avoid walking past the window that displayed Wang Qiyao’s photo — she didn’t want to lay eyes on a picture of her. Both were riddled by an unspeakable vexation, but thinking about each other only seemed to leave them more depressed.

In no time, however, several classmates lined up to take Wu Peizhen’s place; some came knocking on her door to walk her to school, while others asked her out to the movies after class. Wang Qiyao kept them all at arm’s length — neither too close nor too far. After several attempts, they lost interest and gave up. Then one day Wang Qiyao discovered a letter hidden in the pages of her textbook. It was an invitation. Besides a card, there was a letter written in the flowery language popular among young schoolgirls. The letter declared the writer’s affection for Wang Qiyao, while the card invited her to a birthday party; both were signed by Jiang Lili. Jiang Lili had never had any real contact with Wang Qiyao, nor did she ever seem to have any close friends. Her family owned a factory and she was one of the wealthiest girls in her class. In school she was an average performer; she loved to read novels secretly in class, so much so that she ended up nearsighted. With her Coke-bottle glasses, she appeared even less approachable. Jiang Lili’s homework essays were always brimming with luxuriant and gaudy language that seemed to come directly out of one of her favorite tragic romances.