Jealousy

That day, after school, Tan Yang returned home, entered her room without paying much attention, tossed her schoolbag onto the chair, and settled onto her bed to read a magazine borrowed from a classmate.

The rich scent of ink, the half-literary, half-colloquial sentences—Shanghai at this time was a place where every school of thought found its place. Tan Yang was engrossed in her reading when a crisp, unhurried ring sounded from within the room, startling her. Following the sound, she saw it emanated from beneath the newspaper covering her desk.

Tan Yang walked over and lifted the newspaper. An extravagantly ornate bronze telephone, almost comically so, was impatiently ringing. Tan Yang laughed as she picked up the receiver, but before she could speak, a voice from the other end complained, "My little lady, why did it take you so long to answer?" Tan Yang stayed silent, and Bi Qingtang continued, "Want to see a movie? A new British film, perfect for coaxing tears from ladies and misses. When they cry," he lowered his voice to tempt her, "we’ll eat candied chestnuts, and I’ll feed you." The last words were deliberately drawn out, accompanied by a suggestive chuckle. Tan Yang frowned and held the receiver away from her ear, suddenly understanding the magic of the telephone—words awkward to say face-to-face, tones difficult to muster, could all tumble out unchecked, as though hiding within the slender wires justified the chaos they unleashed.

Tan Yang was unsure how to respond when Aunt Wu entered. Tan Yang resolved to nip this absurd form of conversation in the bud, covered the mouthpiece, handed the receiver to Aunt Wu, and whispered, "Aunt Wu, say my miss hasn’t returned from school yet." Aunt Wu was taken aback but did as her young mistress asked. When Tan Yang listened in again, the other end responded with awkward coughs and, switching to a stiff tone, said irritably, "Aunt Wu, next time you answer the phone, could you say that first?" Tan Yang giggled into the receiver, "Big brother, thank you for installing the telephone for me!" Realizing he'd been tricked, Bi Qingtang grew indignant, "Don't try to act coy with me. The phone wasn't installed for you, it was for myself. I happen to have a peculiarity like Yuan Shikai—I only like talking to old women!"

Tan Yang wondered if she’d gone too far and quickly changed the subject. "Big brother, what's the number for this phone?" Bi Qingtang snorted, saying nothing. "Big brother, I’m asking for the number!" "It wasn’t installed for you—it's for me." "Why can’t I know the number for my own phone?" Tan Yang asked, aggrieved. On the other end, Bi Qingtang’s tone turned earnest. "I'm worried your classmates will keep calling, distracting you from your studies. Your sister Ling is always urging me to watch your academic progress..." Tan Yang rolled her eyes—was that really what Sister Ling meant?

Soon it was Spring Festival. During the winter break, Tan Yang often did her homework at Bi Qingtang’s house, growing familiar with the place. After the New Year, there was to be a ball. Bi Qingtang wanted to take Tan Yang, but she refused, saying she didn’t know how to dance. Bi Qingtang, however, grew more enthusiastic, insisting, "I’ll teach you!" Two days before the ball, that afternoon, Bi Qingtang asked Tan Yang to try on the outfit he’d prepared for her to wear at the ball, intending to begin her lessons. Tan Yang reluctantly set down her book and went upstairs to change.

Women changing clothes always test men’s patience. Bi Qingtang selected a record, started the gramophone, lit a cigarette, and relaxed, enjoying the music. As a song finished playing, footsteps sounded behind him. He turned, and was instantly transfixed—

A bright blue cheongsam adorned with white magnolia blossoms, delicate silver-edged piping framing intricate frog closures. The tailored silhouette hugged Tan Yang’s slender, graceful figure, her feminine beauty emerging in full bloom. The cheongsam, worn by a Jiangnan woman educated in foreign schools, perfectly embodied the essence of Shanghai style—elegant and refined with a subtle allure, never aggressive, always gentle and pleasing. A woman dressed like this was the dream of many Chinese men: the well-read, graceful lady in a cheongsam, smiling softly, speaking sweetly, the ideal wife, the dutiful daughter, the wise and gentle mother. Bi Qingtang plunged into his own dream, utterly willing to surrender.

Tan Yang, holding the banister, looked uneasily at Bi Qingtang. "Big brother, in high heels, I can barely walk!" Bi Qingtang seemed not to hear, staring intently at her. Tan Yang grew embarrassed, lowering her gaze to his knees, and suddenly cried out, "Big brother! Your cigarette, your cigarette!" Her shout startled Bi Qingtang; he looked down and saw the cigarette burning into his trousers, oblivious until now. He hurriedly extinguished the ember, frowning slightly at Tan Yang. "Little sister, if you walk down the street like this, I might not even recognize you."

The sultry, teasing voice of a female singer drifted from the gramophone. Bi Qingtang took Tan Yang in his arms, guiding her through slow dance steps. The sunset cast its glow through the living room’s tall windows, filling the space with a hazy, ambiguous atmosphere. Tan Yang wasn’t tall, but in heels and the fitted cheongsam, with her naturally slender form, she appeared elegant and statuesque. Bi Qingtang’s hand at her waist faltered, unsure of its strength, eventually growing stiff. He gazed at her with an unfamiliar intensity that made Tan Yang uneasy. She whispered, "Big brother." "Hmm?" Bi Qingtang replied absent-mindedly. "Don’t stare at me like that!" He paused, stopped dancing, and looked at her. "Alright," he said, then pulled her firmly into his embrace.

His arms clamped around her, hand resting on her shoulder, their bodies pressed tightly together. Bi Qingtang inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, restraining himself, savoring the moment, afraid to move further. Tan Yang was stunned at first, then, awakened by the pounding of his heart against hers, realized the awkward intimacy and, like a frightened fawn, struggled to escape his hold. Bi Qingtang didn’t want to let go, but seeing her on the verge of tears, his heart softened, and he released her. She fled upstairs in a flurry; Bi Qingtang didn’t dare follow, sitting downstairs and smoking two cigarettes before rising.

Tan Yang sat in the upstairs living room, distanced in a corner of the sofa, head bowed, twilight deepening. She hid in the shadows like a white dove, frightened, curling up to smooth her feathers. Bi Qingtang sat not far away, watching her, moved with pity, touched on the tenderest part of his soul, feeling remorse. He spoke gently, with soft words and a smile; though his words did not directly address what had happened, they conveyed apology and care.

After a long time, Tan Yang finally recovered. Bi Qingtang led her downstairs for dinner, not daring to take her hand, only accompanying her closely. In the corridor, where the light was bright, before descending, his gaze swept Tan Yang’s chest and noticed a dark green pendant tied with red thread. "Little sister, what are you wearing?" Tan Yang paused, looked down. "Oh, the Suffering Buddha." It was something she always wore, exposed only as she had struggled in his arms. Tan Yang was about to tuck it away when Bi Qingtang asked, "May I see it?" Tan Yang hesitated, then took it off and handed it to him.

"Suffering Buddha? What does it mean?" Bi Qingtang examined the thumb-sized pendant.

"It’s Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. He went to hell to save his mother, to deliver all beings from suffering, bearing much hardship himself. See how his back is bent and hunched? He’s carrying the burdens of others."

"Why wear this? It doesn’t sound lucky," Bi Qingtang complained.

"My father gave it to me after my mother passed away. He told me to remember her kindness in raising me, and hoped the Suffering Buddha would bear the hardships I encounter in life."

Bi Qingtang examined the pendant, frowning, holding it to his nose. "What’s it made of? It smells nice."

"Green sandalwood. It becomes fragrant after long use."

Bi Qingtang weighed it in his hand, laughed, "Wood, then? No wonder it’s so light!" Then he carefully put the green sandalwood Suffering Buddha back around Tan Yang’s neck.

On the evening of the ball, as darkness fell, Bi Qingtang and Tan Yang arrived at a villa with a large garden. The car drove straight into the grounds, trees lining the path strung with tiny lights, flashing in exuberant celebration. Tan Yang exclaimed, "How beautiful!" Bi Qingtang glanced outside, dissatisfied. "Beautiful? I say it once a year, eight hundred times already! They shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t do this. If a fire breaks out, or the lights short out, what then? But people just don’t learn!"

They arrived not too late, but the first floor hall was already packed. Groups of Shanghai’s elite chatted and laughed in voices high and low; the massive crystal chandelier reflected off the ladies’ jewels, radiating luxury. The soft, brightly colored Persian carpets set the tone, and those walking across them competed in elegance with their attire and coiffures. Bi Qingtang mingled with guests while carefully looking after Tan Yang. She left twice, but soon returned. Bi Qingtang asked, "What’s wrong? There’s always someone inside?" Tan Yang, a bit embarrassed, nodded.

Bi Qingtang smiled, took her hand, and led her across the corridor, up the side stairs in the corner to the third floor, winding left and right before opening a door and gesturing for Tan Yang to enter. Inside, she saw the bathroom and went in, smiling. When she came out, Bi Qingtang was nowhere to be seen. She walked a few steps and saw, in a room across the hall, the door half open, a large European iron bed inside, Bi Qingtang sprawled out, shoes still on, smoking. Seeing her, he stood up and led her away. Tan Yang whispered, "Big brother, how can you be so casual in someone else’s house?" Bi Qingtang corrected her bluntly, "My house!"

As they descended, a woman’s voice called warmly, "Qingtang, you’re finally here. Hosting a ball in my house and you make such a grand entrance, arriving late!" Bi Qingtang feigned innocence, "Sister Fangya, I’ve been here a while, looked for you upstairs and downstairs, but couldn’t find you." He spread his hands in mock regret. Fangya wore a lotus-pink Western court dress with whalebone supports, her permed hair piled high, adorned with jade hairpins. Her smile was charming, her eyes lively; among all the ladies and socialites, she was the hostess and the center of beauty and elegance.

Fangya circled Bi Qingtang to scrutinize Tan Yang behind him, but he playfully blocked her way. Fangya feigned annoyance, pushed him aside, and after their playful tussle, moved to stand beside Tan Yang, who greeted her with a polite smile and lowered gaze. Fangya looked her up and down, then raised her hand to cover her mouth in surprise. "Qingtang, isn’t this the girl you once brought to the restaurant? She’s almost unrecognizable now!" She shook her head in resigned admiration. "Ah, youth is wonderful. Yesterday she was a budding flower, today she’s fully bloomed—so stunning!" Tan Yang intended to respond politely, but Bi Qingtang was quicker, saying, "Where could she compare? Sister Fangya is the everlasting white peony of Shanghai!" Fangya scolded him for being slippery, but was pleased by his words.

Fangya had refreshments and sweets brought for Tan Yang, took her arm, and affectionately urged her to eat and have fun, her tone like coaxing a child. Tan Yang responded politely, but Fangya lifted her head and, in a semi-commanding tone, told Bi Qingtang, "Qingtang, open the dance with me!" Bi Qingtang lazily replied, "Alright, you’re so nagging." Fangya signaled the band, and the violin led a gentle opening, followed by the piano, and the melody began. Bi Qingtang patted Tan Yang’s shoulder, "Little sister, wait for me here. After the first dance, I’ll come back!" He made a gesture of invitation, and Fangya placed her hand lightly in his, teasing him quietly, "You nag." All eyes turned toward them as they greeted the guests and entered the dance floor; the couples followed, joining the dance. Tan Yang dropped her polite smile, set her plate on the table with a thump, and grew sulky. While others danced and laughed, she became a lovely wallflower.

In the center of the dance floor, Bi Qingtang and Fangya moved gracefully to the music. "Sister Fangya, what age is best for a woman to marry? Must she wait until she graduates high school?" Fangya rolled her eyes. "Depends on the man, doesn’t it?" "What about someone like me?" Fangya stared at him, feigning shock. "You want to get married? To that little girl?" "Little girl? She’s eighteen!" Bi Qingtang corrected, dissatisfied. "Hmph, your father wanted you to find a wife so he could have a grandchild sooner. But you always said you hadn’t had enough fun. An unfilial son—he closed his eyes, never seeing his daughter-in-law!" Fangya sighed, full of feeling. "If you want to marry, do it early. Who knows if we’ll be here tomorrow? Do what you want while you can, or you’ll regret it." Bi Qingtang breathed deeply and nodded. The atmosphere between them grew tense, and after a while, he said, "Sister, let’s talk about something else—it’s New Year’s!"

Fangya forced a smile, looked into the distance, and then genuinely laughed. "What is it?" Bi Qingtang asked. Fangya gestured with her chin, laughing mischievously. "Qingtang, your fiancée isn’t obeying you—she didn’t wait there, she’s off having fun!" Bi Qingtang turned to see Tan Yang dancing at the edge of the floor with a young man in a suit, her smile gentle and charming. Bi Qingtang stopped, his expression stiffening. "Tell them to stop the music—no more dancing!" he ordered Fangya, his tone sharp. Fangya shot him a look. "Stop the first dance halfway? What kind of host does that? It’s just a dance. Why so jealous? You’re even more old-fashioned than your father!" "Will you do it or not?" "No!" Even seeing Bi Qingtang truly angry, Fangya glared and refused.

Bi Qingtang shook off Fangya’s hand and strode angrily toward Tan Yang. Fangya, startled, hurried to grab his sleeve. "Are you crazy? Get back here!"

Bitan Chronicles 1917 – Bitan Chronicles Full Free Reading – 19 (17) Jealousy now updated!