Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

“No need to get angry, everyone. Let’s calm down and think this over,” Zhong said. “Tell me the truth, Zhou Min. Is everything you wrote in that article true?”

“Of course it is.”

“There’s no law against a romantic liaison before marriage,” Li said. “Besides, it’s between two consenting adults. I can’t guarantee that what Zhou Min wrote is absolutely true, but then who can say it isn’t? Jing Xueyin was adamant in her denial, so she will have to present proof that it isn’t true. The article said she gave Zhuang Zhidie an antique pottery pot, which I’ve seen in his study. Does she want to deny that, too?”

“Give me a cigarette,” said Zhong.

Gou fumbled in his pocket before producing a cigarette and handing it to Zhong, who was not a smoker. He lit up, took a drag, and immediately started coughing. “I’m going to present our objections to a higher authority and try to get the three directives rescinded. Don’t say anything if anyone mentions the article; just pretend it’s no big deal. But I want you all to come to work on time every day so we can put our heads together if necessary.” He went to his new office. On his way out, however, he banged his head against the door, stumbled, and knocked over a spittoon in a corner, sending its filthy contents all over the floor.

“When your luck stinks, even a fart will hit you in your heel,” he cursed.

Li Hongwen laughed. “Watch where you’re going, Old Zhong.” He shut the door and continued, “Zhuang Zhidie is a true genius in his writing, but a perfect idiot when it comes to women. Jing Xueyin probably made a fuss because nothing happened between them; or she wanted Zhuang to ravish her but he didn’t, so she’s borne a grudge all these years. Now that her feelings for him have been exposed, she blows up.”

“Ravish is the right word. But why was she upset when he didn’t ravish her?” Gou asked.

“You’re still single, so you wouldn’t understand,” Li replied.

“I’ve had more romantic relationships than you,” Gou said.

“But they all came to nothing. Have you ever thought about why? If you don’t ravish a woman you’re in love with, she’ll think you aren’t a man. Got that?” Li said.

“You have experience in this, Zhou Min. What do you think?”

Zhou thought it over and nodded.

“If Zhuang Zhidie had ravished Jing Xueyin years ago, would she be raising hell now, even if she weren’t married?” Li was talking a blue streak when a knock was heard at the door. He shut up and went to open the door. It was Zhong Weixian.

“I thought of something we must be careful about,” Zhong said. “Over the next few days, if you run into Jing, make sure to be nice and don’t say anything nasty. Don’t react even if she tries to provoke you. If we do, it will only make things worse.”

“You were a Rightist, you can do that,” Li said. “I can’t.”

“I’ve always gone along with you, but this time you have to listen to me,” Zhong said as he walked off.

“That’s really uncalled for, Hongwen. The old man is in such terrible shape, you shouldn’t be making things even harder on him,” Gou said.

“I think you’ll have to get more involved or get Zhuang Zhidie to work on this,” Li said. “Old Zhong can’t make things worse, but he can’t make them better, either. He’s been weak his whole life, but he’s now become a real coward, and we’ll be in serious trouble if we pin our hopes on him.”

Disconcerted by what he heard, Zhou Min wanted to ask for advice, but Li sat down and took out a bottle of hair tonic to rub on his scalp. He asked Gou if he saw any new growth.

“Maybe three new strands,” Gou replied as the crackle of firecrackers sounded outside.

Zhong ran in. “Who’s setting off firecrackers?”

Li, Gou, and Zhou all ran to the balcony, but Zhong said, “Dahai, you go check it out. It would be too obvious if all three of you were out there. Everyone in the Department of Culture is watching us, you know.”

Gou went to take a look and came back to say, “The second window on the west side of the third floor. When they saw me looking down, some people held up a newspaper that said ‘Bravo to the Magazine.’”

Zhong’s face darkened. “Those people never liked Jing Xueyin and questioned how she was qualified to be promoted to mid-level leadership, but the department ignored them, so they’re using us to vent their anger.” He told Gou to go down and stop them before they caused any more trouble. Li offered to go instead. He quickly returned, looking pale, as he told everyone that Wu Kun had taken his bureau chief to watch the fireworks display, raising a fuss about the current state of the Department of Culture. Wu Kun even complained that the previous editorial committee had been disbanded in vain, since the new team had failed to promote stability and unity. Zhong was outraged.

“Even if the magazine is shut down, that fucking Wu Kun has no chance of landing on his feet. Give me a cigarette.”

Gou Dahai didn’t have one to give him, so he went to the door to pick up a cigarette butt, but they were all soaking in dirty water.

. . .

Niu Yueqing went to Wang Ximian’s house for the cash. Wary of walking around with that much money, she asked Liu Yue to go with her. As a precaution, they changed into old clothes. Niu Yueqing put the money under some cabbage leaves in a shopping basket; Liu Yue walked three steps behind, gripping a rock so tightly that her palm was sweaty. They walked down East Avenue, past the post office near the clock tower, where a billboard advertised “The latest issue of Xijing Magazine , with an exclusive exposé of a secret affair by the celebrated writer Zhuang Zhidie.” Niu Yueqing stopped, crouched down, and set the basket between her legs. She told Liu Yue to buy a copy. She began reading and was soon breathing hard, her face dark. Not knowing what was in the magazine, Liu Yue knew better than to ask. They went home, but Zhuang was still out, so Niu Yueqing went to bed alone, so rattling Liu Yue that she didn’t know what to cook. She went in and asked Niu Yueqing.

“Anything,” was the answer.

What exactly was anything? Liu Yue decided to make fried millet cakes, her best dish — stir-fry some shredded potatoes and add half a pot of rice with dates. Night had fallen when she was finished, so she sat down in the living room, but was quickly bored. She stepped outside for some fresh air, just as Zhuang rode up on his scooter.

He was returning from the camera store, after passing the two-hour wait for the film to be developed by watching four old women play cards by the side of the road. All of them were wearing glasses, and they interrupted their play by talking to someone across the street, a big-boned woman with high cheekbones and a pointed mouth. She was drying persimmons on the mat in front of her door. They smelled bad to Zhuang, lacking a sweet aroma. When one of the old women saw Zhuang looking across the street, she blinked and said: “You don’t think she looks like much, do you? But she’s a rich lady who plays cards in her free time with money she keeps stuffed in her bra. She has piles of money in there.”

“What does she do to have so much money?” Zhuang asked.

“She’s from Mount Zhongnan. She rents this storefront to sell dried persimmons dusted with talcum powder that she passes off as a powdered sugar.”

“That’s terrible,” he said. “Won’t that cause diarrhea?”

“No one stops her. Want to ask her about it? Ma Xiangxiang,” she shouted across the street, “this comrade wants to talk to you.”

The ugly woman stopped to look at Zhuang. “Want some dried persimmons?”

“The sugar on your persimmons looks awfully white. Could it possibly be talcum powder?”