Xiaobin Xu - Crystal Wedding

One day, Jin brought a big stack of photographs to show her, all nude pictures of the girl, in all kinds of poses, some of them very revealing. ‘These are a bit over the top,’ Tianyi remonstrated. ‘Did you force her into this?’ ‘No … it was her, she wanted to do it. Are all girls a bit masochistic?’

His question struck home and Tianyi shivered. Was she masochistic? It seemed like it. Her sex life had never given her any pleasure. Was it because Lian was just too nice to her? Too gentle? Did she need someone a bit rougher? Not too rough, she wasn’t looking for violence, just a masculine sexuality, a masculine strength. If the man wasn’t strong then the woman wouldn’t be gentle. A man had to be a man before a woman could be a woman. Some men could penetrate, caress, embrace a woman just by looking at her. Did such men still exist?

In time, Tianyi really did meet a man like this. It was two years later. Jin had gone to America, and the girl had graduated and been allocated a job back in her native Liaoning province. Tianyi was invited by a social science journal to a symposium in Zhangjiajie, Hunan. Zhangjiajie, an area of mountains and forests, had only just opened to tourism and its gorgeous scenery was still pristine. The journal had invited a group of top scholars to attend. Tianyi was the only woman present, and so enjoyed privileged treatment. And there she met Xiao’ou, spotted him straightaway. A guide took the whole group out for an evening stroll along Golden Creek. Tianyi hummed as she walked, infected with an almost irrepressible excitement, her footsteps dancing in time to the song in her head. She was still young, after all.

It was this renewed vitality that restored her to health, not the mini-confinement after the miscarriage, which had only added to her ailments. For instance, her fingers swelled up and she could not grip properly, and her periods became irregular and very heavy. The practitioner of Chinese medicine she consulted just said she ‘had deficiencies in her blood and her qi ’ and prescribed endless herbal tonics. None of them did any good at all and she decided she might as well stop them. Her complexion was dull and sallow and there were dark rings around her eyes, although they were still bright.

Xiao’ou was a research student, with a job as a newspaper reporter and a talent for writing. He was tall and very handsome, with a husky, deep voice, and was a wonderful conversationalist. It was hard to find fault with him, in fact. It was an eight-hour bus ride from Changsha, the capital of Hunan, to Zhangjiajie and they sat next to each other and chatted all the way. There seemed to be so much to say. She did most of the talking and he listened attentively. She liked listeners who paid attention. She felt small and delicate next to a man of his stature, and she liked that feeling too.

As they got nearer to Zhangjiajie, the temperature began to drop. She was cold and huddled up in the seat. He noticed immediately and took off his down jacket and draped it around her shoulders. The jacket carried the smell of his body, and made her feel cosy and warm. In the course of eight hours, they became intimate, almost like lovers. Their fellow passengers even began to make jokes: ‘Hey, has the TV soap finished yet?’

He recommended Last Tango in Paris to her, and she did manage to get hold of it when she returned to Beijing. She watched it, flushing, her heart pounding. She did not understand why he would like a film like that. Of course, Marlon Brando was brilliant, but she did not like him in his old age, nor did she like this nightmarish sex.

After she got back to Beijing, they carried on meeting. He told her he wanted to go abroad, to set up some kind of ‘cultural enterprise’. She helped him by finding the right people and pulling strings. She brimmed with enthusiasm, unstinting in her efforts, especially happy to help someone that she liked.

Xiao’ou was always unhurried and unflustered. He often phoned her at unexpected moments and, when she heard his deep tones, it would give her a frisson of excitement. Once he said: ‘Why don’t you come over? I’m in the Erligou Hotel, room 203, we’re going to do a TV drama. The screenwriter and the actors are all here, come and meet them, talk through some ideas, they’re really keen to hear your ideas.’ ‘You’re so funny,’ she said. ‘How come you’re always doing something different, even TV dramas?’ He laughed: ‘Right, do you find that a bit of a let-down? This is the second TV play I’ve directed, the first was two years ago but it’s never been broadcast.’

So she went. There was a noisy scrum of people in the room. The screenwriter was the author of a best-selling book, The Complaint , a man called Dong. He wore his hair long and clearly thought he was the boss of the show. There was a lame man who walked with a stick, an attractive figure who had played a Christian priest in a previous role but this time was the male lead. The female lead was a stunner. She was dressed in a black leather coat and long, black boots that made her look like a Nazi Stormtrooper. Xiao’ou introduced her as Wenshu. Tianyi found her spirits dampened by how casual and relaxed Wenshu and Xiao’ou were together. She made an effort to act cheerful and laugh and joke but secretly wanted to make her excuses to leave at the first opportunity.

They watched the rough-cuts and she made some general comments, then stood up. To her surprise, the others were all on their feet too: ‘We’d better be off.’ Xiao’ou raised no objections and they left. All of a sudden, quiet descended on the room. She looked at Xiao’ou and found he was looking at her too, with an expression of tenderness. The warmth of his gaze startled her and she averted her gaze. But her heart dissolved, like a cloud that at the slightest touch would seep moisture.

‘Come on, let’s go and eat, there are some good places around here,’ he muttered, looking at the floor. She followed him out of the hotel and, as a sudden breeze caught her in the face, she felt filled with warmth. They walked along, side by side, getting closer until she felt an arm drape itself gently around her neck. They huddled close together against the evening wind. She felt that the journey to the restaurant was all too short.

He ordered masses of food but did not touch it. She, on the other hand, tucked in while he sat and chatted idly. He talked of his family and childhood, telling her that he had been a wild child, and did not get any schooling. ‘But you’d never guess,’ she put in. He carried on as if he had not heard, telling her how much he had missed a mother’s love, how all neglected children were troubled adults. ‘What did your mother do?’ she asked, feeling she could ask that now that they were growing closer. He said his parents had been in the Ministry of Defence. He mentioned their names, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

‘But don’t get the wrong idea,’ he said. ‘I’ve made my own way in life. Have you had enough to eat?’ He only picked up his chopsticks once she had set down hers. How strange, she thought, but that was how it was every time they ate together. He simply refused to start until she had finished her meal. It was very puzzling. ‘Let’s eat together,’ she urged him. ‘It’s delicious.’ But he would not budge. ‘My parents are workaholics. My mother hasn’t given up work even now she’s got cancer, she …’ ‘Your mother’s got cancer?’ she exclaimed. ‘Yes, breast cancer, she’s been admitted to Hospital Number 304 for treatment.’ ‘304? Isn’t that the one near here? Then why don’t we go and see her?’ ‘Fine, we’ll go when we’ve had dinner.’ His expression never varied, she thought, and wondered if he would be as impassive if the house caught fire.