Xu Xiaobin - Dunhuang Dream

Thinking about it now, the biggest difference between the World of Ultimate Bliss in her dream and The Transformation of the Western Paradise was that the latter included countless Buddhas and men in the five directions and ten worlds while the former included just herself and a serenely quiet and beautiful land. As far as she was concerned that which was profoundly moving could only be contained in silence. It would be better to say that the scene in her dream rather than belonging to the World of Ultimate Bliss actually belonged to nature, a mysterious and untouched region.

That day, she had Wuye take her to find that gray building where he was held for five days and five nights. Full of confidence, Wuye took her to the place, but they were startled to find themselves in front of a pile of gray rubble and a bulldozer at work. Wuye stopped a laborer and pressed him about it, as if hoping to confirm his memory for Xingxing. Indifferently the laborer replied that the building had been demolished two years before and that there was no gray Soviet-style building from the ’50s in the area. Wuye blanched and looked utterly defeated. Xingxing tried to comfort him while having doubts about everything he had told her, attributing it to an illusion produced by the Bodhisattva Guanyin through hypnosis. She was enveloped in foreboding and since that day had been urging Wuye to leave.

She felt that the most absurd part of her dream was finding the way to the World of Ultimate Bliss via the toilet in her house.

5

Shortly after Xingxing arrived back at the guesthouse, Chen Qing came over to deliver a note from Zhang Shu inviting her to have dinner with him at the best restaurant in Dunhuang. He stated in the note that it was to thank her for giving him four copies of frescoes of Lakshmi.

Without the slightest hesitation, Xingxing decided to go. First, because Wuye had gone to the Yulin Caves to see that friend of his who had become a monk; second, and most important, she hadn’t had a decent meal in ages and had been eating plain and simple food and felt like a square meal.

Zhang Shu was already there when she arrived. The lights were dim and the music soft. The half-drawn curtains produced a sumptuous red glow. He smiled when he saw Xingxing. Then he motioned for the waiter and asked Xingxing to order.

Xingxing’s eyes ran over the seafood dishes, but her finger opted for common meat dishes. Dishes costing more than twenty yuan were rarely encountered in Dunhuang restaurants. Zhang Shu insisted upon ordering two local specialties — moss and black mushroom meat roll and niang pizi , a kind of noodle dish.

“How can you afford this? Did you strike it rich?” asked Xingxing, looking at him inquiringly. As she had said it, she suddenly realized her crisp voice didn’t harmonize with the atmosphere here.

“Food is much cheaper here than in Beijing. You have to look at it this way,” said Zhang Shu, leisurely opening a blue and white porcelain bottle and taking a sip of Sanpaotai, a local specialty in which longyan, red dates, and gouji are steeped in tea, making for a refreshing beverage. Zhang Shu was partial to the beverage, but after ordering it, he recalled that Xingxing didn’t drink tea.

“You have tea and I’ll have wine,” said Xingxing, pouring herself a glass of Rose Fragrance Wine, a product of Xinjiang.

“I seem to recall that you don’t drink any stimulating beverages.”

“That’s true, but there are special occasions.”

“Such as?”

“When I’m feeling particularly proud of myself or when I am very disappointed.” Xingxing smiled and lifted her glass. “But today, it’s simply to complement the food.”

“Good. Bottoms up for the food!” Zhang Shu lifted a glass in fun. At that moment a young waitress gracefully approached to serve their food.

“What have you been doing the last two days?” he asked, as he moved the dishes around, full of zest.

“Nothing really. I did some more sightseeing and copied some paintings.”

“Have you seen any good paintings?”

“ The Transformation of the Western Paradise , but I don’t really like it all that much.”

“Why?”

“It’s too busy and too mannered. There is nothing mysterious about it.”

“I actually like the painting. It’s a great work on a large scale.” He ate. “I heard that Director Tang of the Cultural Research Center is having it copied. His idea is to protect some of the originals and display the copies for the tourists.”

“It’s a good thing we came when we did.”

“Actually, copies sometimes are quite valuable, especially when there is no original available.” He smiled as he looked at her.

“Your words can go into a book of famous remarks.”

“This is an age of substitutes because there are so few of the genuine article.”

“Another brilliant remark.” She smiled and her eyes shone.

“That is why when I see the real thing, I value it all the more.” He spoke with some effort.

She looked away from his eyes.

“It’s true, Xingxing. I often think of death these days.” His voice was very low, and she had to strain to hear him. “The fear of death increases when a person hits middle age. Don’t you think so? We have given away our youth. Now, no matter what, we should never give any more away to anyone ever again. That way, on the day we die, we can say that we have enjoyed life to the fullest.”

His voice grew ever fainter, and she could see tears in his eyes.

He lifted his wineglass, drained it, and poured another. She put her hand on his trying to restrain him.

“Don’t drink any more, okay?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

Zhang Shu gently moved her hand away and threw back another glass.

“I always wonder why life is so messed up. I don’t love those who love me, and the ones I love don’t love me.” He was becoming more talkative and his gaze more insistent. “Think about it: I’m forty and don’t have much interest in living. I can’t take it lying down and want to keep on struggling. .”

She looked at him without saying a word. She had completely lost her appetite.

“Thanks for the paintings,” he said, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Don’t mention it; it was nothing. For us painters it’s nothing.”

His eyes were becoming slow-moving.

“Three of the eight distresses of Buddhism include parting with what we love, meeting with what we hate, and unattained aims. Many things in life do not go as we wish.” She looked straight at him. “There is a common expression that puts it really well: ‘A good man can’t get a good wife, but a worthless scoundrel can get a gem.’ In my experience, a good man and a good woman will never walk together forever. .”

“Why not?” His face darkened.

She shook her head.

He didn’t believe her at the time. He thought it was just a common expression a woman was likely to use. But later, he came to believe it.

6

Many years later, I ran into Xiao Xingxing at a relatively unimportant occasion. By then she was close to forty. I had my doubts about Zhang Shu’s feelings. There was nothing special about her; she was just an ordinary woman. You couldn’t call her pretty, and there was nothing special about her temperament or her talk. She was cute, though. Applying the word cute to a woman of forty ought to be taken as a huge compliment. I must confess, though, that she did seem young and full of life. It was sort of like that song that says, “With her embrace, you will never age.”

But most people are afraid of such women, regardless of their spirits or bodies. They have their own way of doing things, and for most men they exist perpetually behind a veil of mystery. Decades later the woman behind the veil might still be young and attractive, but the man has long since been withered by time.