Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Wang Qiyao, Jiang Lili and her mother, and Mr. Cheng strategized about Wang Qiyao’s wardrobe in the final round. Mr. Cheng felt that whoever had decided to save the bridal dress competition for last was truly inspired.

“Most wedding gowns are relatively similar in design — the bridal photos displayed in salon windows all seem to be of the same person — bridal gowns are the ultimate emblems of purity and elegance. Let’s see who can capture the essence of a bride-to-be — real gold can stand the test of blazing fire.”

The three women listened spellbound to Mr. Cheng’s words. Women wear their clothes on the outside, but Mr. Cheng seemed to know what was going on inside their hearts — he understood them completely.

Mr. Cheng went on, “As for the wedding gown, although it’s hard to know where to begin, there are several crucial points. First, we have to take advantage of the power of contrast. The first two outfits should roll out the red carpet for the third. They should make the wedding dress stand out. Aren’t wedding gowns white? Well, we’ll start out by giving them brilliant colors. Aren’t wedding gowns simple and pure? Well, we’ll dazzle them with elaborate designs. Aren’t wedding gowns right out of fairy tales? Well, we’ll show them the way of the world. With the first two outfits we’ll put on quite a show — give them quite an eyeful — but then we will end with a quiet echo. This is where our second tactic comes into play. Wang Qiyao will wear the simplest and most completely unadorned wedding gown, of the commonest kind you always see in display windows. By going as simple as we can, we will heighten the contrast. This should produce the strongest effect. The only difficult part lies in deciding just how to make those first two outfits stand out — for that, I’m going to have to rely on you three ladies.”

But after all that, how could any of them dare say anything? As women, they all felt ashamed that they had to listen to a man’s advice on fashion — it was an utter dereliction of duty. Only Wang Qiyao had a few ideas she was willing to share. After hearing Mr. Cheng’s wonderful idea, she said, she had decided to wear crimson red and jade green to set off the white dress. Mr. Cheng knew right away that Wang Qiyao understood where he was going with his plan; they had some minor differences of opinion when it came to the specific colors, but that was all. He felt that, although crimson and jade were two of the most eye-catching colors, it all depended on how one wore them.

“Wang Qiyao’s beauty is not the kind that can be flaunted; it’s an understated beauty — the kind you come to admire only after taking it in slowly. Crimson and jade, however, are strong, decisive colors; they leave no room for gradual appreciation. The eye of man works hastily, and such strong colors could ruin Wang Qiyao chances — they will not only cover up her subtleties, but completely smother them. We want strong colors, but not that strong. What if we tone things down a bit and find colors that compliment Wang Qiyao’s strengths? Working with her natural endowments, we could use softer colors to attain an equally powerful effect. I suggest we go with pink: with Wang Qiyao’s charm this should create a delicate elegance. As for green, let’s go with a warm apple green. It may be a bit rustic, but it will blend well with Wang Qiyao’s purity to create a vivacious effect.”

By the time Mr. Cheng had finished, there was nothing more the three ladies could say; they didn’t dare add anything. And so, the color scheme for Wang Qiyao’s outfits was decided in this way.

Meanwhile, rumors were spreading all over the city that the judges had been bought off and the three finalists had already been decided. The winner was to be the daughter of some rich entrepreneur, second place was to be taken by the mistress of some government VIP, and the third runner-up was supposedly a social butterfly, famous throughout Shanghai. Although this was mere gossip, the rumored winners were so much older than the other contestants that a tabloid printed a satirical essay to accuse the judges of selecting a “Madame Shanghai” instead of a “Miss Shanghai.” Following this essay came another that ridiculed the pageant, insinuating that the satiric term “Madame Shanghai” meant that anyone with the right connections could become a beauty queen. A third essay appeared to dispel the rumors: the future Miss Shanghai was to be decided by a fair vote, and no bribing or purchasing of votes was allowed. This was in turn refuted by a fourth article, asserting that nothing can be done in this society without money — including garnering votes. If nationalist officials and even anti-Japanese heroes could be bribed, what was going to stop someone from buying off the “Miss Shanghai” judges? This criticism was actually a potshot at the successful bribery by a high-ranking official from Chongqing. Back and forth went the papers and tabloids with their accusations and insinuations. The smell of gunpowder rose, creating quite a show on the eve of the final round; it also brought a new tension to the atmosphere surrounding the pageant.

Mr. Cheng’s visits to the Jiang home became even more frequent. He would arrive first thing in the morning and stay until late at night. They were on the eve of a major battle. Once they invited the seamstress in, she never left; she had all three meals with them and even stayed over at night. She was like an esteemed guest, but at the same time she also worked for them, supervising the tailors they had hired. Mr. Cheng was naturally the one in charge; Jiang Lili was another supervisor, as was her mother. Then there was Wang Qiyao, picking away at every little detail — every stitch had to be perfect for her. Deep down she felt rather bad about making a fuss over such minor details— Is this what life has come down to ? The most infinitesimal matters, and yet she was expending every ounce of her heart and soul on them. She knew only too well that the seamstress’s handiwork was beyond criticism, yet she was set on finding fault with her. Seeing the seamstress caught in an awkward situation, Wang Qiyao not only felt worse about herself, but even started to feel bad for the seamstress. The embroidered flowers on the pink satin cheongsam , however, still managed to warm her heart. Those minute, closely spaced stitches were woven into her dreams, and the meticulously worked piping was sewn into them; just looking at them brought tears to her eyes. If things didn’t work out in the end, one couldn’t blame them. The apple green Western outfit had a much more natural feel than the cheongsam : its cashmere fabric seemed to absorb the light and let it sink in, where it stabilized her mind. The pure white wedding gown inspired a myriad emotions; there were a thousand words that it was yearning to say even as it remained tragically mute — although, as every one knows, ultimate understanding requires no words at all.

These articles of clothing would venture out into the world with her, companions to her loneliness. Her intimacy with them is that of skin pressed against skin, heart against heart, but in the final analysis nothing and no one would be able to help her. She had only herself. This sadness too she could keep only to herself. During the last days leading up to the pageant finals, having to stay in the Jiang house felt like an insult, and the rumors printed in the papers felt even more of an insult. The kindness with which Mr. Cheng and the Jiangs treated her was insult heaped upon insult. All of this hurt she kept inside; outside she looked the same as ever and no one could tell that anything was wrong. Everyone was filled with anxiety as they busied themselves with their various tasks. The house could not but take on a somewhat chaotic aura, but Wang Qiyao somehow maintained her composure amid this chaos. And in spite of it all, with each hour, with each passing minute, amid the tabloid polemics, her pink and green outfits, and the hurt she carried around inside her, the pageant finals came closer.