Chinese Stories in English
Ordinary People 11
Stories published in 《百姓人家》(2023), 秦俑/赵建宁选编
Page citation and link to online Chinese text noted after each story.
1. Guiren Mung Bean Cakes 3. Responsibility 4. Dandelion
2. Killing a Cow 5. Double- Yolk Egg
1. Guiren Mung Bean Cakes (归仁绿豆饼)
Mo Zhongbai (墨中白)
The town of Guiren was the northern gateway to Sizhou City (in today’s Jiangsu Province) during the Ming and Qing Dynasties. Every year during flood season in summer, officials were stationed on Guiren Street to inspect and reinforce the Guiren levee. They didn’t hold an official government rank, but they were still important people in the eyes of Guiren Town’s people.
The Honorable Mr. Dong was stationed in Guiren during flood season for some years. He led inspection tours on the levee during the day, but at night he liked to go patrol on the streets. Watching the locals coming and going before him, and smelling the fragrance of onions wafting from side alleys, made him feel that the day's running around was worthwhile. He just liked the smell of this world’s fireworks.
Guiren Old Street stretched a long way from north to south and was home to many shops, taverns and restaurants. Mr. Dong didn't like eating in taverns -- he preferred home-style dishes cooked by people from the street. He made his own breakfasts and dinners but had people come in to cook his lunches. Despite his offers to pay the cooks, they refused the money. This made him feel guilty, but the cooks said giving him timely hot meals was a labor of love for them.
Sometimes he had a few drinks with the cooks. The type of alcohol was Drunken Sage’s Grand Medley, brewed by people from the street. Mr. Dong liked to drink, but he didn't drink too much and certainly never got drunk. It often happened that, after three glasses, the cooks would bare their souls about happenings on the street. The stories described the lives of men on Old Street, and women, too. Mr. Dong enjoyed the stories and just listened most of the time.
The place where Mr. Dong ate his noon meal consisted of two thatched huts. One hut had two earthen stoves, and the other had a small square wooden table. Mr. Dong, his attendant and the cook sat on one side of the table to eat, leaving the opposite side empty. The three people had four dishes and one soup. The number of dishes was always the same, but the cooks and the style of cooking varied.
Two of the four dishes were always the same as well. One was fish pot stickers. Mr. Dong’s attendant caught the fish with a net, and whatever kind of fish he caught was used in the pot stickers. The cook steamed the fish in one pot, and it was of course very fresh.
The other dish was mung bean cakes. Mr. Dong made these small round cakes himself from mung bean flour. Each cake was about the size of a copper coin. All the cooks had noted that the pot he used to make cakes was supported directly above the fire by flat-bottom legs. While mung bean flour was the cakes’ primary ingredient, the other ingredients often changed.
Mung bean cakes can be made in many different ways, including stir-frying, pan-frying and stewing, and Mr. Dong liked them all. The taste can also depend on who cooks them. Perhaps dishes have souls -- every cook's soul is different, so the dishes they make have their own characteristics.
Seasonal vegetables made up the two dishes that complimented the pot stickers and cakes. The cooks apparently agreed to pick eggplants, beans, cucumbers and tomatoes from their home gardens. Only three people would be eating, so they didn’t have to bring too many. As the cooks saw it, it was better to say they were sharing a meal and not just cooking for Mr. Dong. Since they only brought vegetables grown in their own gardens, while he supplied pot stickers and cakes, they were actually coming out ahead. Very few people ever accepted payment from Mr. Dong.
Truth is, Mr. Dong really loved to cook. He also said that people live by their mouths, so they should eat well and not cheat themselves. The people of Guiren knew that when Mr. Dong said “eat well”, he didn’t mean eat a lot of fish and meat; he meant we should make simple meals taste good.
As with the mung bean cakes, Mr. Dong could make taro porridge in several different ways. He also made noodles from taro mixed with cornmeal, or from taro leaf and buckwheat. And he cooked porridge from taro vines and red beans. In short, he could cook whatever ingredients he had on hand in a variety of ways. He often said that cooking is a great pleasure and life is short. If you don't cook well, you won’t get the most out of your life.
Guiren dike was quite long, and Mr. Dong was famished every time he returned from an inspection tour. While eating the lunch they’d prepared with great care, he let the summer breeze wash over his face and felt refreshed. At the same time, the people of Guiren felt relieved when they looked at the long dike, knowing it was secure. Forget about making lunch, they’d have been more than happy to provide three meals a day for him.
Mr. Dong didn’t just cook his mung bean cakes. He made them from scratch. He grew the beans on the wide, thick levee and, after the harvest, he ground the beans into flour himself. He let the flowing water help him grind the beans. People said his stone mill was so big that five people together couldn’t get their arms around it. No one had actually seen the mill, but they’d heard a lot about it. Finally he also took on everything from kneading the flour to forming the cakes.
Bottom line, Mr. Dong’s mung beans had a pure, unadulterated flavor. In a word... delicious. Cooks who ate his cakes praised their flavor.
One summer after non-stop rains, the river almost broke through in two places on the part of the levee that Mr. Dong inspected. Fortunately, the near-breaches were discovered in time and reinforced, so that the water from upstream continued to flow smoothly and safely into Hongze Lake. Guiren’s people were relieved that a flood had been avoided, but many families were afraid that their crops would be completely lost due to waterlogged fields.
Mr. Dong was a compassionate fellow and truly hated to see people starving. Life was indeed good, but it was criminal not to have enough to eat. He told his attendant that the flooding had passed and there was no need to worry for the time being, so they had time to look for any farm families who might be short of food for the winter. The attendant followed orders and, when the autumn harvest came, those whose crops had failed at least had enough mung bean cakes that they no longer worried about starvation.
The leaves fell, then it snowed. Eventually the river got warmer and lotus leaves sprouted, and it was again the time of year when Mr. Dong would normally return to his station on the dike. One year, however, it was not Mr. Dong who came. The Prefect sent a replacement inspector.
Guiren’s residents knew nothing about the new inspector except that his surname was Huang. He moved into the two thatched huts on Guiren Old Street and tried all the taverns, big and small. He loved fried mung bean cakes. The people of Guiren often ate mung bean cakes, too, but almost no one ate them fried.
No one called the newcomer "Honorable Mr." They all called him “that guy Huang” behind his back. Rumor had it that, when it was time to go inspect the dike, he’d send his attendant to take a walk along the river. Meanwhile he lay on his bamboo bed in his quarters, thinking about which tavern to go drinking in that evening.
People on the street began to miss the summers when Mr. Dong was there, especially those who had cooked for him. They wanted to have a drink with him and talk about the latest happenings in the town.
They heard from people in Sizhou that Mr. Dong got into trouble because he hadn't understood the rules. A dike inspector’s duty was to take care of that long stretch of the dike. What reason would he have to care whether the local populace had enough food to eat?
Lots of people in Sizhou remarked on Mr. Dong’s conduct, but most people on Guiren Street just talked about the delicious mung bean cakes he’d made. They said every time he’d returned to Sizhou, he’d taken some for the people in the government office. Even the Prefect praised them and said they were "good eating."
That guy Huang was told that Mr. Dong had ground mung bean flour with a small stone mill that he dragged along with him while patrolling the dike. He didn’t believe it. He just shook his head and said, "How could that be?" He never found the legendary large stone mill, either, even though he inspected the entire dike. So, where had all the mung bean flour come from? He couldn’t figure it out.
Chinese text from《百姓人家》at p. 279. Also available here.
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2. Killing a Cow (杀牛)
Wu Zhongzheng (伍中正)
Richie Jiang felt excited as the lunar calendar’s December drew nearer. He didn't want to tend his cow anymore.
He’d worked from dawn to dusk for the last five years, watching the animal grow from a calf to a fully grown cow, from gaining weight slowly to being fat and plump. The more he watched, the more he liked the creature.
Now his legs and feet were no longer agile, and he wanted to slaughter the cow he’d raised for five years. There’s a time to hold and a time to sell, and the month before New Year’s would be a good time. It’d be a satisfactory conclusion to his five years of experience raising the animal.
Richie, a slow talker, first told Village Director Germaine Zhao about his intent to kill the cow. He spoke hesitantly, but Germaine understood what he meant and at once advised him not to be in such a rush to slaughter the animal. Continuing to tend it might pay benefits in the future!
Richie understood clearly at first but then got a little confused. "What benefits?" he asked.
Germaine stuck to his guns and laid it out chapter and verse. “Bottom line,” he concluded,” there will be benefits, even if I can't say right now what benefits will present themselves.”
Still doubtful, Richie haltingly told his son about his intent to slaughter the cow. The young man, who had a job outside the village, understood at once what his father meant, but he’d always had his own way of thinking and didn’t agree with killing the animal. He insisted that keeping the cow might pay off in the future, while killing it could be risky.
Richie was still a bit confused. "What payoff?" he asked. “What risks?”
“I can’t tell you right now what the payoff might be,” his son replied. “But you won’t have anyone to talk to if the cow isn’t around.” He got so sad that he almost cried as he said that.
Richie was still determined to slaughter the cow. "Don’t worry about it even a little, son,” he said. “Just keep your cool working outside the village. Be good to your wife and take care of my grandson. I’ll find someone to talk to!"
Richie told someone else about his intent to slaughter the cow. That person was Crabapple Qiu.
Crabapple had been Richie’s woman when he was young, but she’d became someone else's woman ten years ago. He didn’t hate her after the divorce, and she didn’t hate him, either. When they got together, they could still talk things over and cooperate.
She was dead set against Richie's decision to kill the cow. She said he’d have nothing left if he did it, nothing to talk to or keep him company. Continuing to tend the cow might pay dividends in the future. She couldn't say what the dividends might be, but killing the cow wasn’t safe and could be dangerous.
The Village Director was against it and his son was against it, but still Richie said, "Don't oppose me in this, Crabapple. I'll give you a big piece of shank meat after I slaughter the cow." When she heard that, she stopped trying to talk the stubborn fellow out of it.
Richie didn’t tell anyone else about his plan to kill the cow. He knew that anyone he told would disagree with his idea.
December was fast upon him. Feeling rushed, Richie went to see Proficient Liu the next day. Proficient, a butcher in his early sixties, was known for two things: slaughtering cattle, and not being able to find a wife.
Richie walked into Proficient's house carrying two bottles of liquor and a carton of cigarettes. He put the booze and smokes on the butcher's greasy wooden table and got straight to the point. "I want to ask you to kill a cow at the start of December."
Proficient refused. He said sadly that he’d been killing cows for half his life and hadn’t found even one woman who was willing to marry him, so he’d put down his butcher’s knife and would never slaughter another cow. Richie kept at him. "I only ask you to kill a cow once every five years. You need to do it to save face. So just kill it!"
Richie was so insistent that Proficient couldn’t resist. Eventually he said, "All right, I’ll do it!"
Proficient appeared at Richie's threshing ground to ring in December with a knife clanging in his hand. Richie hadn’t slept at all that night. He warily led the cow to the threshing ground but, just as Proficient was putting his well-used noose around its legs, the cow went crazy and ran away. Proficient hadn’t expected that, and Richie was even more surprised.
The cow ignored Richie's desperate shouts and angry curses. It had no intention of stopping and ran wildly through the village.
Richie stopped cursing and shouting and stared, wide-eyed and nervous, when Village Director Germaine appeared at the threshing ground. Germaine said he was going to call the police right away and have them shoot the animal.
When a policeman arrived from the station, the tired cow was lying down at the edge of Crabapple’s field, gazing at the December sky. Richie, who still hadn’t quite calmed down, told the cop feverishly, "The cow won’t run away anymore. Wait for me to bring it over, then you can kill it!"
Richie was almost staggering as he walked slowly towards his cow, and was panting heavily by the time he reached the edge of Crabapple’s field. The animal stood up and went wild again, jabbing hard at Richie with its horns. Even at a distance, everyone could hear the sound of the cow goring him.
Richie couldn’t escape and collapsed. The people watching were all agitated, especially the policeman. He raised his gun and shot at the cow.
Bang! Bang! After two shots, the cow slowly fell to the ground. Blood flowed from its head, soaking Crabapple's field. Crabapple’s wailing echoed darkly throughout that December.
Germaine arranged for some villagers to carry Richie’s dead body to his home. Crabapple sat beside his body and wailed again, although this time her howls weren’t as loud as they’d been before in the field.
Proficient used his knife skillfully to skin the cow at the edge of the field. Soon, the animal was all hide and meat.
Relatives, friends and neighbors who came to pay their respects to Richie ate the beef and offal Proficient had butchered. Cuts of meat and beef soup were brought to the table steaming hot.
Richie's son said, "All my relatives, friends and villagers, please eat as much beef as you want. If you don't, my father won’t be able to rest in peace!"
Crabapple sat at the table but didn't eat a single bite of beef. Just looking at the meat sickened her. Germaine didn't eat a single bite either. He felt like vomiting when he looked at it.
After they buried Richie, Crabapple said to his son's face, “Your father wouldn't take my advice. I told him to keep tending the cow, but he just wouldn't listen.”
Germaine also told Richie’s son, “Your dad would’ve been better off if he’d kept tending the cow instead of thinking about killing it in December.”
Richie's son answered, "I gave him the same advice, but he just wouldn't listen." Then he burst into tears. His tears soaked that entire December.
Chinese text from《百姓人家》at p. 282. Also available here.
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3. Responsibility (担当)
Listening to Orioles [Tan Xuhua] (麦浪闻莺[谈旭华])
The Xiongnu general Shi Le quartered at Hundred Li Camp on the banks of the Han River during his eastward expedition. Carefully planned for both offense and defense, the camp’s triangular arrangement had deep trenches and fortifications on all three sides. Archers, swordsmen and infantry vehicles in formation were stationed on standby under lofty observation towers. If orders came to fight, the sounds of drums, horns and war cries would immediately shake the sky, and dust would fly up to cover the sun. The legs of anyone watching would grow weak and their hearts would tremble with fear.
Shi Le leapt onto his horse and brandished his whip.
"Mr. Yifu, do you have any advice for me, now that you’ve watched my army drill?"
Yifu was the courtesy name of Wang Yan, the Western Jin Dynasty’s Grand Marshal and Minister of the Chancellery. His face had turned pale and ashen when he was captured by Shi Le’s forces, as if he were mourning his deceased parents. He'd long lost his usual calm and composed demeanor.
Wang Yan was born to a renowned family in Langya [near Qingdao in today’s Shandong Province]. He was exquisitely handsome in his youth. Refined and well-versed in the philosophies of Laozi and Zhuangzi, he was an expert in metaphysics. Without exception, people of his time admired him and followed his example.
Now he raised his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his brow as he praised his captor. "The general’s heroics are surely known far and wide! I’ve witnessed your long-distance forays on this expedition and your marvelously unpredictable use of troops. In contrast, the Jin Dynasty’s army is poorly equipped and the soldiers lack training. They’re no sturdier than a pile of sand. How can they hope to resist you?"
Shi Le, astride his horse, laughed wildly at the man’s flattery. Sima Fan, the Jin Dynasty’s King of Xiangyang, who had also been captured, stood nearby with his hands tied. His eyes opened wide and he shouted: "My Lord Wang, what are you saying? We were defeated today, but why are you wagging your tail and begging for mercy? Why do you slander the 200,000 soldiers of the Great Jin who’ve died fighting against the rebellion? Are you afraid of being beheaded? I spit on you!”
Wang Yan couldn’t take the humiliation. He argued, “Am I not telling the truth?”
Shi Le laughed loudly and lashed out with his whip. “You’re quite the man, aren’t you, Sima Fan? Quite the King of Xiangyang! Do you claim you’re the only one not afraid to die? Well, I’ll grant you your wish! And I’ll execute my other captives as well: King of Rencheng Sima Ji; Minister of Personnel Liu Wang, Governor of Yuzhou Liu Qiao....” Before long, the ferocious Hsiongnu soldiers had hung ten or more bloody heads on poles.
The events I’m speaking of happened in April of the fifth year of Yongjia (311 AD).…
After Sima Yan reunified China and founded the Jin Dynasty, he enfeoffed members of his family as “kings” in various places. His successors were weak due to the monopolization of power by ministers, and the Sima kings fought each other for years. This era is known as the "Eight Kings Rebellion". The ultimate goal of these princes was to ascend to the imperial throne and rule the world.
Nomadic tribes in the north took advantage of the situation and led their troops south to plunder. The army led by Shi Le, a member of the Jie tribe, marched to Xiangyang in the first month of 311, intending to occupy Jianghan first and then take Luoyang.
When he realized that barbarians were invading, Sima Yue, the King of Donghai, sent all the soldiers in Luoyang to intercept them. He died of illness in March, and people encouraged Wang Yan to take command and continue to resist the invasion. Wang Yan was afraid of failure because he believed that the soldiers and the populace were exhausted, so he repeatedly refused to take the position. Everyone else refused as well, and Wang Yan had no idea what to do. He mistakenly decided to take Sima Yue's coffin back to Donghai for burial before deciding on a strategy to resist the enemy. As chance would have it, he was intercepted and killed by Shi Le's army on the way. Only a few of the 200,000 people with him survived.
But back to our story. Shi Le jumped off his horse, stepped up to Wang Yan and took his arm as though they were close friends. “You’re frightened, sir! But you’re well known as a scholar these days, and I have many questions to ask you!” He took Wang Yan back to the camp with him.
The central command tent was a completely different scene. The barbarian ladies danced gracefully, the wine was fine and the aroma of delicious food filled the air. Wang Yan was momentarily confused about where he was.
Shi Le held a glass of liquor and was chewing on a leg of lamb. “I used to be just a rough warrior from Shangdang District,” he began. “I’ve always admired your talent and learning, though, and I respect your disregard of material wealth. But what puzzles me is that you serve in so many important positions: Minister of the Imperial Household, Commander of the Central Army, Minister of the Secretariat, Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs, and Minister of the Interior. I imagine you must be overburdened by government and military concerns. How can you have the leisure time to spend whole nights discussing and arguing about the philosophies of Laozi and Zhuangzi?”
Wang Yan coughed twice. “I really had no say in the matter. I was born with an interest in abstract and mysterious things, but my life changed during the transition from the Wei Dynasty to the Jin, when the Sima family took over Cao’s regime. They continued the foreign war, but also vigorously eradicated dissidents within the court, creating an unprecedented atmosphere of terror. People wearied of real life and even became pessimistic because of the dangerous environment and painful psychological trauma. That’s when my interests shifted and I focused my attention on the natural world.”
Shi Le nodded but then shook his head. The two men had a great conversation that night. They drank as they talked, and somehow ended up discussing the old days of the Western Jin Dynasty.
Wang Yan stood up and bowed. "To tell you the truth, General,” he said, “I didn't like taking part in politics when I was young, and only got pushed into it by ultimatums from on high. However, the rise and fall of the Jin Dynasty is determined by fate, and I haven’t the power to change things. On the other hand, you were born with godlike power. You’re governor of Bingzhou and Duke of Ji District. You have a large army and are threatening to take Chang'an with a thunderous force. You’ll pacify the world and ascend to the throne just in time to save countless people from disaster!"
Shi Le pondered for a while. “In that case, sir, will you come to my side and assist me in my cause?”
Wang Yan's heart skipped a beat. “Despite Shi Le's saber rattling,” he thought, “for the moment it’s still impossible to know who’ll win the battle for world domination. It might be best to wait and see!” He bowed to She Le and said, “I’m just a man who spouts nonsense and has been honored by the world for no good reason. I’m old now, and I just want to spend my days in leisurely diversions....”
Shi Le could restrain himself no longer. He stood up and drew his sword with a whoosh. "A cunning hare has three burrows to which he can run! You rose to a position in the court when you were young and strong, and shouldered important responsibilities until your hair turned grey. How can you deny that you were an important part of the imperial government?
“You enjoyed the emperor’s largess but ignored the duties of a king, showing no concern for the needs of the people despite your important position! Now you’re trying to save your life by encouraging me to rebel and usurp the throne. It is you and criminals like you who have brought disaster to the country and the world! Do you want to see how sharp my sword is?”
His counselor, Sun Chang, stepped up to dissuade him. "General, killing such a person will just dirty your sword, right?" That night, Wang Yan was pushed against a wall and crushed to death. He was fifty-six years old.
Historical records state that Wang Yan turned to look at his executioner as he was about to die and said, "Myself and my kind are not equal to the ancients, but if we had not impetuously failed to follow their teachings, if we had instead used our abilities to investigate and rectify the wrongs in the world, we would not have come to this day."
Translator’s Notes: The author’s full pen name is Listening to Orioles in Waves of Wheat. While the broad outlines of his essay are based on historical records, we cannot verify the details.
Chinese text from《百姓人家》at p. 286. Also available here.
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4. Dandelion (蒲公英)
Wang Xiaodong (王小东)
The Space Launch Hall in Triangle Plaza was filled with people bidding sad farewells.
The launch hall was in the plaza’s southwest corner. Light blue, capsule-shaped aircraft lined up in the middle of the hall. The next day, at noon, people would bid adieu to mankind’s heroes, and the heroes would enter their tailor-made aircraft to start their long journey into the universe. The aircraft, a distillation of the latest technology, would protect the heroes as they crossed the strong particle radiation belt, fought against the extreme environment, and finally landed on a new, habitable planet. Humans were facing an existential crisis, and each of those new worlds could serve as a backup place for people to plant their feet.
The staff at the launch hall command center once again checked the devices implanted in my body. These devices would ensure that information about my status was monitored at all times. When the inspection was completed, the staff signaled to me that I could leave. I walked through the bustling crowd and out of Triangle Plaza.
The main road at the head of the plaza was paved with neat granite flagstones. It extended monotonously into the distance, both sides covered with low clusters and clumps of plants I couldn’t name. My mother complained that these plants weren’t attractive at all. They’re unbearably overgrown now, but in ancient times they were delightfully delicate. I heard that one kind of these plants could grow alone on open patches of ground. They’d bloom seasonally with tiny yellow flowers and produce parachute-like seeds.
The Big Data Center office building stood tall among the forest of structures. I was afraid the place was full of people who could work without being distracted in the midst of an existential crisis. The receptionist was warm and thoughtful, though. After confirming my reservation, she smiled and took me to the space booked for me.
The staff in that area finished some necessary preparations, then expertly plugged all the instrument cables into my body. I looked like a mutant octopus. With such a huge database in the Big Data Center, it wasn’t difficult for them to filter out any unsuitable candidates.
One thing I regretted a bit: I only had one short day before the staff got my custom-made suit into its accelerated monitoring mode. When everything was ready, I looked calmly at the red switch in front of me. I knew the switch was all that stood between the real world and virtual reality.
It didn't take me long to adapt when I plopped down in the virtual environment. Everything around me felt so real. A beach covered in white sand sparkled with a silver glow in the sunshine. When I walked barefoot on it, I left a line of footprints behind me, some deep and some shallow. I faced a deep blue sea and its breaking waves, and mountains rose and fell in the distance, leading one to mistake them for frozen waves. The sea breeze swept by and the wet, salty smell refreshed me.
A man sat on a bench by the sea. He only showed his profile, but I could see fluffy, curly black hair covering his ears and a fair, distinctly angular face. When I customized the parameters of my service, I’d made a special request that we not reveal each other's true appearance. I’ve always felt that appearance is a killer of love.
I glanced at the timer and knew what would happen in ten minutes. Everything was new for me, a person unfamiliar with love affairs, and I got panicky for some reason. It felt like a flame had been ignited at one end of my body, and when I suppressed it, it flared up again at the other end.
The service staff at the Big Data Center was quite considerate. Although I’d chosen the accelerated mode, my experience didn’t get shortchanged. This stranger and I went through all the experiences that a couple should have. For example, we were tender one minute and quarreled the next. After the quarrel came romance, and after the romance more tenderness. It happened over and over, and we always circled back to where we’d started.
The man's profile charmed me. His skin was as white as a clean sheet of paper waiting for someone to write on it. I rather regretted that I’d chosen not to see the other person's true appearance. I thought his face must be flawless.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, the timer’s annoying sound made my heart sink. I was reminiscing about how I’d walked hand in hand with him down Oak Street just now. "Let's go to Oak Street again," he said.
As soon as he said it, I revealed how embarrassed I was at having my secret thoughts seen by another. I nodded in panic, then hesitated and shook my head no. Since we would inevitably separate, what was the point of going there again?
I raised my slender arm to show him my tattoo of a lush, green plant. Its yellow flowers and green leaves complemented each other. I told him this was a plant destined to grow alone, and he looked at me with a vague understanding. He stroked the tattoo with his slender hands, as if the plant was growing in his heart.
The countdown alarm sounded again. Our time together was at an end, and we were silent. Neither of us was willing to press the red button first, but we could do nothing about it.
I felt lost when I walked out of my reserved space in the Big Data Center office building. The staff excitedly told me, "Your affinity with the man is close to the highest level, which is very unusual. He’s applied for an offline meeting so you can date in real life."
The ultimate goal of the Big Data Center’s virtual love service is to screen suitable men and women to help them achieve marriage. Maybe that man and I really were a match made in heaven. But I shook my head apologetically and walked out of the room.
The next day, I went to board the light blue, capsule-shaped aircraft again. I wore a facemask in accordance with the customized confidentiality parameters of my agreement. The people who’d come to the square to see me off looked reluctant. I knew none of my relatives had come. I’d told my mother that I was going on a business trip and would be gone a long time. She didn't know I was embarking on a dangerous journey to the unknown. Along with the other heroes, I waved goodbye to everyone on the electronic display screen in the hall. The ancient plant tattooed on the fair skin of my arm was clearly visible.
A man stood in one corner of the hall, silently staring at the electronic screen. He was staring at the tattoo on one hero’s arm. The yellow flowers and green leaves looked so real.
Many years later, the man happened to see that legendary plant in an ancient book. The book said the plant was called “dandelion”, and it grew in patches in the fertile fields of old. How he wanted to tell the girl in person that dandelions never grew alone.
Chinese text from《百姓人家》at p. 289. Also available here.
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5. The Double- Yolk Egg (双黄蛋)
Li Shimin (李士民)
The big yellow chicken laid a massive double-yolk egg just as it was about to leave us. My mother placed the egg on the stove carefully. She was beaming, lively and warm, as if a distinguished guest were calling on us. The big yellow chicken was going to Willow Cove Village, where my aunt lived, not far from us.
My aunt was always kind to Mom: When Mom wanted her embroidered shoes, for example, she took them off her feet right then and there, without a second thought; and when Mom wanted her goat, she immediately untied it from a tree and gave it to her without embarrassment. She even said that if Mom wanted her head, she’d cut it off and give it to her.
So Mom couldn’t stand by and do nothing when my aunt got sick. She’d had an operation a while back and was still weak. My family couldn't afford to give her anything valuable, but Mom was going to send the big yellow chicken to her to make chicken soup. To our surprise, that chicken was so loyal to us that it laid a double-yolk egg at the last moment before being sent away.
The next morning, I was still under the covers roaming through the Land of Nod when Mom woke me up. She put a cooked double-yolk egg next to my pillow and told me to share it with my little brother, one yolk each. I jumped out of bed and nodded several times, as excited as if I’d found a dinosaur egg.
I yanked my brother out of bed to discuss how we should eat the thing. He usually looked like a fool, but in any argument about food, he was as slippery as donkey doo-doo. He suggested that I eat the egg white and leave the yolks for him. I said no, let's have a contest, winner take all. He clenched his fists and agreed to a game of hammer, paper, scissors.
I won two out of three, and my brother turned turtle. Spoiled child that he was, he burst into tears, slid to the ground, rolled over and kicked his legs in the air. I told him I’d forget the last game, and instead we could have a long-distance race to the Teardrop River. As before, the winner would get the entire egg.
I held the egg in my hand and shouted, "Three, two, one, go!" and we started running toward the river. I’d cheated, of course -- my little brother was obviously no match for me in a long-distance race. I left him behind in just a few minutes, and a few minutes later, I couldn’t even see his shadow through the crops.
I ran to the riverbank without stopping for breath, holding high the fruits of victory -- the double-yolk egg. My heart pounded in tune with the rippling water. Truth be told, though, I couldn’t eat that egg. I planned to give it to Shadow Cui.
Shadow was an actor with the Willowwood Piano Opera Troupe who’d been performing in the village recently. Her waist was like a willow swaying in the wind, and she looked like the Drunken Concubine.* Noisy children would stop crying when she appeared on stage, and when she spoke, the audience wouldn’t even cough.
In fact, I was going to give her an egg the previous year when she’d come to the village to perform with the opera group. To my dismay, though, my ever-hungry brother left me with nothing but an empty shell. I was angry at the time, but I had to keep my temper under control and couldn't say anything about my anguish. This time, though, no way was I going to miss out again.
I knew Shadow would come to the river to practice her voice early in the morning. Sure enough, there she was by the river, taking small steps, twisting her body and singing the opera song "Old Donkey Ma Changes Relatives"**:
“When I saw the buyer, my tears wouldn't stop flowing.
“In an instant, I felt a chill in my heart.
“How will this May-December marriage end?
“I was born under an unlucky star, and only grief awaits me….”
Next to Shadow, however, the actor who played the role of Old Donkey Ma was also practicing his voice. He wore a donkey facemask and his voice sounded like a donkey's bray:
“The child 's mother got sick and died young,
“Leaving behind two sons and a daughter.
“The eldest son is forty-nine this year,
“And the second son forty-seven.
“The daughter is younger,
“Only forty-one this spring….”
I hid behind a tree and watched surreptitiously with clenched fists. My teeth ached and my feet itched with hatred.
As luck would have it, I spotted Shadow’s cloth bag hanging on a tree branch not far away. I tip-toed over and stuffed the double-yolk egg into her bag.
No one could have figured the donkey-faced actor would get the runs and head for the cornfield to relieve himself. The important thing was, as he turned to go around the tree halfway to the cornfield, he reached into Shadow’s bag and took the egg. The guy was so proud of himself that he bared his teeth like a donkey that had been whipped.
That’s when my brother arrived. “You see that donkey-faced actor?” I asked him. “He stole our egg and is going to hide in the cornfield.” My brother’s face filled with hatred. He took his slingshot from his trouser pocket, along with a handful of beans, and headed for the cornfield like a rabbit.
It wasn’t long before I heard a cry, and the actor jumped out of the cornfield pulling his pants up. My brother's bean must’ve hit his face or butt. My brother ran in front with the actor chasing him, howling.
I took advantage of the opportunity to run into the cornfield. When I found the double-yolk egg where it’d been dropped on the ground, I turned around and ran back to the riverbank. That’s how I was able to put the egg into Shadow's bag again.
My brother kept running, and the actor kept chasing. When he was about to get caught, my brother climbed up a big tree like a monkey. From his perch he made faces at the actor, and the actor stood below with a hangdog expression on his face. He threatened, “I’ll be waiting for you down here. We’ll see if you can fly away.”
My brother didn't fly away, but the actor kicked his hooves and ran towards the village when gongs and drums sounded on the stage. He had to go perform.
On the third day after that, early in the morning, I was still in the Land of Nod when Mom woke me up. She put a double-yolk egg next to my pillow and told me to share it with my brother, one yolk each.
She also told me that she’d given Shadow a small handkerchief the previous night, and Shadow gave her the egg. Mom was also an opera fan and a fan of Shadow’s in particular.
While my brother and I were eating the double-yolk egg, his face turned red and mine turned green.
*The lead character in a Peking Opera of the same name. See here.
** See here.
Chinese text from《百姓人家》at p. 292. Also available here.