Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

The food arrived and the director mumbled a few polite words before digging in. Once he started eating, he seemed to forget the business at hand and paid attention only to what was on the table. At that moment, noticing a hole worn through the cuff of his suit and his overgrown fingernails, Wang Qiyao suddenly began to feel nauseous and put down her chopsticks. It was only after a goodly portion of the dishes had been eaten that the director started to loosen up and put on a casual demeanor. As a luster slowly lit up his face, he put down his chopsticks then, as if trying to start over from the beginning, he offered Wang Qiyao a cigarette. She declined but helped to light his. The gesture moved the director and a closer feeling of trust seemed to grow up between them.

“Yao Yao,” he said at last. “At your age you should still be in school. Why bother competing in that ‘Miss Shanghai’ pageant anyway?”

Wang Qiyao explained that it wasn’t her idea, that the waters were flowing in the right direction and she was merely riding along with the current, and in any case fate would determine the outcome.

The director continued. “You’re an educated girl, so you’ll have heard about women’s liberation. You should hang onto your ideals. After all, those other girls competing in the ‘Miss Shanghai’ pageant are nothing more than the playthings of rich officials and celebrities. Is that what you call ‘going with the flow?’”

“Well, I have a different opinion about that,” Wang Qiyao rejoined. “As far as I’m concerned, competing in the pageant is the very symbol of a woman’s liberation. The Miss Shanghai pageant confers social status on a woman. And your theory about all the girls being playthings for the rich doesn’t hold water either. After all, several daughters of rich officials are competing. You’re not telling me they would take advantage of their own daughters, are you?”

“You’re absolutely right,” the director went on. “The whole thing is precisely for those big shots’ daughters. The entire pageant is one big birthday present from those big shots directly to their daughters and mistresses, everyone else is there to make them look better — it’s a game within a game.”

Hearing these words, Wang Qiyao’s expression changed. She countered with a cold smile.

“Well, that’s not how I see things. At home, every girl is somebody’s daughter, but when she goes out into society she is a woman; what makes you think that they’re good enough to compete, but I’m not? And even if what you said is true, I couldn’t drop out of the race even if I wanted to. I’m going to see this out to the end. We’ll just have to wait and see who comes out on top.”

Seeing how his remarks had offended her and realizing that she had a point, the director didn’t know what else to say. He managed to hem and haw his way through a clichéd speech about equality of the sexes and female emancipation, his words sounding like lines straight out of a movie. He even spoke of how it was the responsibility of the young to keep their country’s fate within the horizon of their hopes and dreams.

“China today is facing an uncertain future, bullied by America and on the verge of a civil war.” His words had the high-minded, arty ring of leftist cinema.

Wang Qiyao decided to stop trying to refute him and simply let him say whatever he pleased. He went on and on and, when he finally paused, she stood up to leave. The director was caught completely off guard. He was about to say something, but Wang Qiyao beat him to the punch.

“Actually, director, you also played a role in my decision to compete in the ‘Miss Shanghai’ pageant. If you hadn’t introduced me to your friend Mr. Cheng, who took those photos for Shanghai Life, none of this would have happened. To tell you the truth, Mr. Cheng was the one who suggested I try out for the pageant in the first place.”

With that, Wang Qiyao unleashed a mocking smile. This smile provoked the director and he was suddenly struck by an inspiring thought. “Yao Yao — excuse me — Miss Wang, the ‘Miss Shanghai’ crown is but a floating cloud. It may look enticing, but it will be gone before you know it. It is like mist passing before your eyes, it won’t last. You’d be better off trying to fetch water with a bamboo basket. It dazzles your eyes, but in a split second it will all disappear. In my years at the film studio, I’ve seen my share of glamour, but at the end of the day all that is left of the cloudburst and lightning is a strip of transparent, black-and-white celluloid with a backward image. Talk about emptiness; well, there is nothing emptier than that— that is what you’d call vanity. .”

Wang Qiyao didn’t wait for him to finish. She turned away and walked out, leaving him talking to her retreating backside. There was a wedding banquet being held downstairs and the celebratory firecrackers drowned out his voice.

The director felt he had a historic mission to persuade Wang Qiyao to drop out of the pageant and criticize the “Miss Shanghai” beauty contest. In 1946 the film industry was among the more progressive groups in Shanghai. The revolution had already taken firm root in that circle. The director had read about theories of women’s liberation, progressive youth, and the elimination of decadence in books, but the latter part of his talk was based on personal experience. He had paid a price in suffering and love for these experiences, so his advice came straight from the heart. He watched Wang Qiyao walk off — not once did she turn to look back. The more truculent she grew, the more uncertain he realized her future was. But if he had wanted to help her, there was nothing he could have done.

Strings of celebratory firecrackers continued to sound as the neon light reflected in the window turned from red to orange and from green to blue. How raucous and colorful were those Shanghai nights.

The director’s words went right past Wang Qiyao’s ears. Since her meeting with Wu Peizhen she had had the feeling that she could never go back to the way things were. This realization only led her to pursue her ideal even more strenuously — there was no turning back now. She wanted to turn herself around overnight, and for this there was a price to be paid. It was unclear, however, what this would entail. Her future was uncertain, but Wang Qiyao’s heart was at ease. She was by nature the kind of person who puts action before words. But, owing to setbacks, she had become prone to melancholy when thinking of the past. This sadness was an encumbrance, needlessly adding to her burden; in the end, her instinct to move forward forced her to let that sadness go. Wang Qiyao seemed to fully expect to make it into the semifinals and then into the final round. Neither brought her much pleasure, as if she had bestowed these honors on herself. Because she no longer believed in miracles, the only faith she had left was in herself. Every girl who made it into the final round took it completely for granted. After round after round of competition, they had long erased any notion that it was “just luck that had gotten them this far.” Once they got past that, everything was on their own shoulders.

This is what sets Shanghai girls apart from other girls — they believe in the power of the individual and take the initiative into their own hands. Frankly speaking, once you have made it into the final round, you are already halfway there and already qualify as a semicelebrity. Several of Shanghai’s well-established clothing stores came knocking on Wang Qiyao’s door offering to sponsor her with complimentary tailor-made outfits. When the list of finalists was released, it was simultaneously announced that the final competition would take place in three parts: the first in traditional Chinese cheongsam , the second in Western dress, and the third in a bridal gown. In their bridal gowns all the contestants looked as if they were about to go down the aisle. Suddenly rumors started flying around that the girls were all kept women, and people even gossiped about the famous men each was involved with. In the days leading up to the final pageant, the Jiang family refused all visitors, with the exception of Mr. Cheng. He was their sole link with the outside world. With his help, they could sit in their living room and still know everything that was going on.