Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Director Li had first seen Wang Qiyao during the Miss Shanghai pageant. He had originally gone to support the girl who eventually came in second, but when it came time to vote he threw his flowers into Wang Qiyao’s basket. What Wang Qiyao stirred up in him was not passion but a feeling of sympathy. Men of forty carry pity in their hearts; the pity they feel is for themselves but they project it out onto others. Men of forty: is there a single one who does not have a scar in his heart? Time alone leaves its scars, right and left, to say nothing of those chaotic days. Director Li had been through much in his life. On the outside people only saw his power and importance, but few realized how lonely it can be at the top. There were all kinds of conflicts playing out within him, layer upon layer of them. On the outermost layers were conflicts between nations; underneath came conflicts between political parties; beneath these conflicts between different cliques; and, at the core of it all, the conflicts between individuals. He was the kind of man whose slightest gesture held untold implications. All that outsiders knew was that Director Li was important, but no one realized how his stature made him a living target. Everyone had their sights set on him. Director Li lived his life on stage — the political stage — where nothing was what it seemed and he had to be constantly wary of what could happen both on stage and off. He was a political machine, his springs always tightly wound; not even for a moment could they be loosened. Only in the company of women did he remember that he was indeed made of flesh and blood.

Women are not in the least bit political. Even when they plot one against another, it is more like child’s play, a form of entertainment. When women scheme, it is always for love; the deeper they are in love, the craftier they become. Their love is eternal and never dies. Women are not that important. They have no power over matters of life and death, glory and decline: they are there to put you in a relaxed mood, to serve as scenery. Women were Director Li’s true love, but love was not relevant to the grand scheme of Director Li’s life work. For him love was a bit like a luxury item, never something he couldn’t do without. But for a powerful man like Director Li, luxuries always lay within grasp.

Director Li’s first wife stayed at the old family residence. It was a marriage arranged by his parents through proper matchmakers. Besides her Director Li had two other wives, one in Peking and one in Shanghai. But all told there were countless other women he had played around with. Director Li was a man who appreciated feminine beauty, even to the point of being a judge at the “Miss Shanghai” beauty pageant. At his age, however, he no longer appraised women with his eyes; instead, he used his heart. In his younger days, he too had been enamored of the bright eyes and flashing smiles of conventional beauties — the “good enough to eat” variety that satisfied the senses. But as he got older, and as his senses came to be glutted, his tastes began to change. He began to crave intimacy. He had been to many places and had seen a great many women. Peking women had an endearingly down-to-earth beauty, but this was too fulsome and left no lingering taste to savor; Shanghai women, on the other hand, stayed intriguingly on the palate, but in the end this quality was as nebulous as clouds and mist. You couldn’t become intimate with either type. Owing to the social climate in which they lived, women from both places were apt to chase after fashion, as a result of which they looked boringly alike, variations on the same themes. None of them captured his eyes, much less his heart. In the past few years, it appeared as if he had begun to lose his appetite for women, but in actuality his standards had grown stricter and it was harder to find anyone to his liking.

There was something about Wang Qiyao that struck Director Li’s fancy. He had never been fond of the color pink, because it was too feminine. A woman in pink was wearing her coquettishness all over her face, parading her sensual allure. But when Wang Qiyao wore pink she managed to make it tasteful. The pink still spoke of coquettishness, but it was honest and straightforward. One could see every stitch and thread that went into the embroidered flowers on her cheongsam —all expressions of care and diligence. Director Li realized that he had misjudged pink and decided it was just as natural on a woman as were the wind blowing or water flowing. If anyone was at fault, it was those women who ruined it by wearing it the wrong way; their accomplices, the tailors who ruined it by making awful outfits, were also to blame. But, after all, how pleasing to the eye and comforting to the soul this color really is!

Director Li had dealt with so many women that he was a little dazed, and so he had grown circumspect. He may have thrown his flower into Wang Qiyao’s basket, but she was still by no means unforgettable in his eyes. Preoccupied with business matters and entangled by other women, he didn’t have much time to think about her. Upon being invited to attend the grand opening ceremony for the department store, he happened to inquire who would be cutting the ribbon. He was told that it was yet to be decided, but that a certain movie star whom he liked — with whom he had once had an affair — had been suggested. Director Li responded by saying, “Why not invite Miss Third Place!” And so Wang Qiyao was invited and ended up sitting beside him. From close up, her satin cheongsam appeared as soft as water, as if understanding human desires, and her new hairstyle was youth pretending to be old, sensible, and shrewd. When she asked him her question about cosmetic lines, he broke out in a smile. Not only did he not mind her faux pas, but he liked it very much indeed. A girl utterly innocent of the world! And then, when he noticed that having realized her mistake, she kept quiet, a deep pity welled up within him — it was at that moment that he secretly made his decision.

As far as women went, Director Li was always decisive. There was never any dragging out of things or beating about the bush: he always dove right into the heart of the matter. This was partly the result of what power does to a person, but it was also simply because he felt that life was too short to do otherwise. After the banquet Director Li offered to see her home in his car, catching Wang Qiyao by surprise. Watching how the crowd cleared a path for them as they made their way out, she followed him meekly to his car. She noticed the fawning gazes as they approached the car; although she could sense that their reaction came partially out of fear, she kind of liked it. She began to understand just what kind of person this Director Li was. She was a bit taken aback but also pleased when Director Li personally opened the car door for her. He sat beside her, and though not a large man, he radiated an aura of authority with his dignified manners. He was the symbol of power: all one could do around him was to submit and obey. Director Li kept quiet the whole way. The curtains were drawn; off and on, street lights shown through the car windows. Wang Qiyao found herself speculating, What is he thinking? It was not until then that a curiosity bordering on hope dawned on her. How will this day end? she wondered. The car continued to glide over the road and the lights showing through the white curtains now ran in series. This city that never sleeps is like a riddle, and the answer to the riddle will not be revealed until its time comes. When will the time come? One never knows. Wang Qiyao was a little scared, but she was also calm in the face of fate. She seemed to feel that whatever was to happen had already been decided. What good did do to worry about it?