Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

Liu Yue stayed with him until he sobered up and she reproached him for drinking so much and damaging his health. She then took some money from her purse.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I know you’re short on money at the moment. Tell me when you need more. I’m not rich, but I’m not that poor maid any longer, either. Even if you think it would be demeaning to take money from me, at least it’s better than getting drink money by prostituting your reputation and humiliating yourself.”

Zhuang had no clue what she was talking about.

“Are you still trying to hide this from me? Hong Jiang told me everything,” she said, confusing him even further.

“What did he say?”

“Look at this.” She pulled a thin pamphlet out of her pocket. He took it from her. The cover was virtually devoid of design, just the words The Ins and Outs of Zhuang Zhidie’s Scandalous Lawsuit , followed by a table of contents listing the chapters: “Lingering Feelings for Old Flame Jing Xueyin / Article about the Romance by Zhou Min,” “Humiliated and Angry, the Beauty Seeks Redress from the Leadership / A Confidential Letter as a Pacifying Attempt,” “Sparks Fly Inside and Outside the Court / Zhou Min Deserved the Betrayal,” and so on.

“What’s this all about?” He flung the pamphlet away.

“I saw someone at the dance hall reading it. I asked him where he got. He said the Dazhong Book Shop, so I went there. Hong Jiang was helping people bundle pamphlets to be sent to other counties. I asked him who wrote it and why he was participating in a moneymaking scheme that would ruin Zhuang Laoshi’s reputation. He said he didn’t know who wrote it, but since others were making money off of it, why should he miss out on it? Zhuang Laoshi said that after he and Dajie split up, he didn’t feel right taking money from her, so he went to Hong Jiang. And the bookstore has to make money. He even said that the booklet was produced with your tacit approval and told me to mind my own business. Is that true?”

Zhuang was outraged. “Fuck that son of a bitch. How dare he do that to me?” Then he laughed softly. “I’ll stop complaining about him, Liu Yue. He’s a businessman, so what’s the use of cursing him? I’m not going to try to find out who wrote it; it could have been Zhou Min or Hong Jiang, even Zhao Jingwu or Li Hongwen or one of the others. It doesn’t matter. They can write what they want. Rumors have been swirling around the city, and you can stop one or two people from talking about it, but you can never plug up everyone’s mouth. Meng Laoshi once said there’s a group of people around me who profited from writing articles about me. I never expected that even our own bookstore would secretly print stuff like that to make money. I guess it’s my turn to profit from myself!”

As sadness welled up inside, she tried to console him. “I’m glad you’re looking at it that way. Are you still dizzy? Let me help you into bed to rest for a while.”

He shook his head, saying he couldn’t sleep. The expression on his face was pitiful. “How did my life turn out like this, Liu Yue? Shouldn’t everything have been over when the verdict was announced? How did it get so much worse?”

“It’s because you’re a celebrity.”

“Celebrity. You’re right; I’m a celebrity, and now I’m an even bigger celebrity, a celebrated laughingstock and an object of condemnation.”

“Don’t mind them, Zhuang Laoshi. You’re a writer, and you have to let your works speak for you. Aren’t you writing a novel? Then pull yourself together and finish it. That will allow you to clear your name and even gain wider acceptance and a better reputation.”

“You think so?” he asked. “Could it work?”

“Of course.”

“Then I won’t write it. I don’t want that kind of fame.”

. . .

After seeing Liu Yue off, Zhuang was even firmer in his determination not to write anymore, for that was the only way he could detach himself from fame. In the end, he penned an article, his last, to conclude his writing career. An announcement of 1,028 words, it said that due to severe insomnia, Zhuang Zhidie had lost his ability to write and was hereby formally announcing his retirement from the literary scene. When it was done, he sent it anonymously to the Literary Field Guide in Beijing. Within a week of its publication, the Xijing tabloids reprinted the article as a news item. One night Meng Yunfang came to see Zhuang. “Do you know what the rumor mill is spreading about you now, Zhidie? People say you’ve lost the ability to write and have retired from the literary scene. What a joke. The mayor even called me today to ask about it. I told him that was impossible. He was very unhappy, and said he would find out who started the rumor. How could the media work to destroy our own celebrity like that? Do you know who wrote it, Zhidie?”

By then Zhuang had shaved his head, which glistened. “I wrote it.”

“You wrote it? What were you doing, playing a prank on yourself? You can’t do that, no matter how terrible you feel. Tell me, what else can you do besides write? Be a cobbler, a street vendor?”

“I don’t think I’d go hungry doing something else. Even if that happened, you wouldn’t turn me away if I came to you for something to eat, would you?”

“Well, you never listen to me anyway. But I’m telling you, you are not just Zhuang Zhidie’s Zhuang Zhidie; you’re Xijing’s Zhuang Zhidie. Go explain yourself to the mayor. I came with another task today, entrusted by the mayor. He would like you to write some pieces for the Ancient City Cultural Festival, including a description of the festival logo. I told him you haven’t been feeling well lately, so he asked me to write a draft, but he didn’t like what I wrote. He wanted you to revise and embellish it.” Meng took out a manuscript, which Zhuang tossed aside without taking a look. “I’ve lost the ability to write, so I can’t write or revise it for you.”

“You can pull that on other people, but not me. If you’re determined not to be known, then I will put my name on this, but you have to work on it for me.”

“I can help you, but only this one time. And you must keep this from the mayor.”

After Meng left, Zhuang began working on the article. He had to laugh over the logo they had picked; there were so many things they could have used for the Ancient City Cultural Festival, so why did they have to choose the giant panda? It was his least favorite animal. Though a rare animal, it was stupid, lazy, and childish, and then there was its saccharine, silly look. How could it represent the city and its culture? He threw down his pen and stopped working on the article, but on second thought he decided that it might just be the perfect image for the logo. This ruined city deserved such a symbol. He didn’t want to suggest that the festival logo be changed to a hawk, a horse, a cow, or even a wolf, but he was reluctant to improve the eulogy to the giant panda. Hence he crossed out several paragraphs and replaced them with a long section of jumbled, illogical, and ungrammatical description. When he was done, he went to the post office to mail it to the mayor, without waiting for Meng to come for it.

He ran into Ruan Zhifei when he came out of the post office. Zhuang was surprised to see no dark glasses on his friend’s face; in fact, Ruan’s eyes were sparkling bright. “Your eyes are fine now?” Zhuang asked.

“Yes, they are. I wanted to come see you when I got out of the hospital, but the mayor sent me to Shanghai to purchase some musical instruments. I was assigned to the preparatory committee for the Cultural Festival, and see what happened? I got back three days ago and have been running around like a headless chicken, so I haven’t been able to visit you.” Ruan paused to stare at Zhuang’s face with a puzzled look. “What happened to you? Are you ill? I want you to be well and not make me worry, like Wang Ximian.”