Tongli

In the early spring of the thirteenth year of the Republic (1924), in the small southern town of Tongli, a black-canopied boat was moored at the dock. The middle-aged boatman leaned forward and said cautiously toward the cabin, "Sir, we've arrived at the Tan family residence. You see, it's that big gate, the one with two stone lions at the entrance."

A man in his thirties stepped out of the boat, wearing a black felt hat and a brown wool overcoat. Beneath, he wore a double-breasted black suit—the most fashionable men's attire in Shanghai that winter—and on his feet, a pair of gleaming black leather shoes. His appearance was strikingly out of place amid the simple charm of this water town with its small bridges and flowing streams. As the boat came to a stop and the boatman reached out to assist him, he leapt lightly ashore on his own. Two young men followed in his wake, both in their early twenties and more casually dressed, yet each had an unnatural bulge at their waist—a sharp-eyed observer would know at once what that meant.

After a few steps, the man looked up at the wide-open main gate, the modest stone lions, and the two characters inscribed on the doorpost—"Tan Residence." A white mourning cloth was tied in a knot upon the doorframe, and the sound of chanting floated from within the courtyard. The man hesitated briefly, then strode inside.

In the front courtyard, a group of monks chanted sutras in a low, resounding chorus. As he was about to enter the main hall, a young attendant stepped forward to block his way, asking politely, "May I ask your name?" The man glanced into the hall, where a dark coffin rested at the center. He replied absently, "My surname is Bi."

"Master Bi is here!" the attendant announced in a loud voice. Following the call, the man entered the hall. Someone handed him an incense stick, which he lit, then bowed three times with solemn reverence before placing the incense in the burner. According to custom, he approached the bereaved family. There was only a single girl in mourning, her head bowed so her face was hidden, but judging by her figure, she was still young. He said formally, "The departed has gone; please accept my condolences." The girl pressed her hands to the floor and bowed her head gently.

Ordinarily, after offering his respects, Master Bi should have taken his leave, but instead he remained standing beside the girl. She looked up at him in confusion—and he was struck by her delicate and lovely face, the gentle, fair beauty unique to southern women. Her eyes were as clear and deep as a spring, their depths unfathomable. In all his years in cosmopolitan Shanghai, having encountered many women and many kinds of beauty, he had never seen such an effortless, ethereal loveliness.

The girl was very young, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, innocent and unworldly. Noticing Bi's gaze, she grew flustered and ill at ease.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he looked around. "Are you the only one left in your family?" The girl nodded slightly, tears welling in her eyes though she stubbornly refused to let them fall. Bi sighed, turned away, and tossed back, "Take care of yourself, Miss." With that, he left without another word.

Just as he reached the courtyard, he stopped once more, pulled out a silver cigarette case, took a cigarette, and tapped it on the case. His attendant quickly struck a match, bringing the small flame to the tip; the cigarette glowed red. Bi waved his hand to dismiss the attendant, then took a deep, forceful drag, the cigarette tip flaring again. After half-smoking it, he tossed the remainder to the ground and ground it out with his shoe before returning to the hall.

"Miss Tan, I have something to discuss with you. May I have a word in private?"

In the small rear hall, Bi sat with one leg crossed over the other, turning a fine porcelain teacup in his hands but not drinking, only examining it. After a moment, Miss Tan entered. Bi inclined his head slightly in greeting. "Master Bi, may I ask what you wish to say to me?" Her official Mandarin was tinged with the soft lyricism of the Wu dialect, gentle to the very bone. Bi set down his cup and, after a moment's thought, said, "My surname is Bi—Bi Qingtang. I'm not used to being called 'Master.' If you wish, just call me Mr. Bi." The young lady nodded obediently and addressed him, "Mr. Bi." Bi Qingtang smiled in satisfaction.

"Our families were old friends. Your father and mine did business together in Shandong years ago. Later, your father settled here in Tongli, while mine first went to the South Seas for trade and only came to Shanghai a few years back. Busy as he was, our families lost touch." Miss Tan listened quietly, nodding but not interrupting, waiting for him to continue.

"My father passed away three years ago. Even at the end, he hoped to see Uncle Tan one more time, but it wasn't to be. I searched for you and your father for three years, only to hear that Uncle Tan has left this world." Bi Qingtang watched Miss Tan's eyes and saw a flicker of sorrow and resignation before he went on, "I only meant to offer incense and pay my respects, but to find you here, alone and bereft, guarding your home—I could not just walk away. My father would reproach me for being so cold. I think you should gather your things and come with me to Shanghai."

As Miss Tan bowed her head, Bi smiled, "Shanghai is a wonderful place—tall buildings, wide avenues, dazzling neon lights, beautiful dresses. Young ladies love it there!" As he spoke, he glanced around at their surroundings: the Eight Immortals table, the four noble plants—plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum—an ink painting of a tiger descending a mountain on the east wall, and on the west wall, a fresh piece of calligraphy: "Sword-gallant, zither-hearted," signed, "Little Sister." He smiled knowingly. "I can even send you to school—a foreign-style academy, with girls in blue shirts and black skirts, studying Western languages and painting oils. Wouldn't that be nice?" At this, her eyes lit up, and Bi Qingtang knew he was halfway to success.

She studied the man before her with care—his features resolute and decisive, his brows sometimes knit in thought, a mind that ran deep. He was certainly handsome; when he stood with solemn dignity, he exuded a distant, forbidding air, but when he smiled, it was as gentle as a spring breeze. It was impossible to tell which was the real him.

"Oh? If I go to Shanghai, will I be under your protection, Mr. Bi?" she asked shyly, tilting her head. Bi Qingtang laughed heartily—this girl, he thought, was not as naïve as she seemed. "Of course. If you don't mind, you can be my adopted sister. We'll hold a proper banquet, and you'll have someone to rely on." At this, his attendant chimed in, "Miss Tan, with a patron like Master Bi in Shanghai, you'll be the envy of all! Such good fortune!" Bi Qingtang laughed again, "And if you wish, you may live in my home—there's no shortage of rooms. If you find that inconvenient, we have other residences, or you can board at a girls' school."

At the mention of a boarding school, the young lady's interest was clearly piqued. She played with the end of her long black braid, a jade bracelet gleaming softly on her fair arm. Bi Qingtang waited a while, growing impatient, tapping his fingers in turn on the armrest of the grand master's chair. Finally, he shifted as if to leave. "Then it's settled. Your father will be buried tomorrow. In five days, I'll send someone to fetch you. Please be ready."

"Mr. Bi," she said suddenly, "I will go to Shanghai, but you needn't trouble yourself. My cousin lives there. I will stay with him—he'll be here tomorrow to fetch me." Bi Qingtang froze, glanced at his attendant, who whispered in his ear. He nodded slightly, "Miss Tan, as an outsider I shouldn't say this, but your cousin has a habit of smoking opium. In recent years, he's gambled away most of his family property. I suspect your father has helped him out more than once. Are you sure it's wise to seek refuge with such a man? Perhaps you don't realize—when a man becomes addicted, he loses all sense, spares not even his own kin. When the craving comes, he'd trade even his wife and children for a pipeful. You should think carefully."

Miss Tan looked worried, but insisted stubbornly, "It was my father's arrangement before he died. I must obey." Bi Qingtang looked at her, sighed, and said, "Very well. Then I shall take my leave. Take care, Miss."

After Bi Qingtang left, the old maid who had brought the tea whispered, "Miss, I too have wondered why the master would entrust you to such an opium fiend. What Mr. Bi said makes sense—he seems a proper gentleman. I think it would be more reliable to go with him." Miss Tan tossed her braid back, stubborn as a child, "Wu Ma, you're being foolish. Just because someone looks respectable doesn't mean they're a good person. He claims to be an old family friend—what proof does he have? I don't even know him. Besides, doesn't he realize what my father did in Shandong? What kind of friends could he have made back then?" She pursed her lips, "And the way he tries to coax me to go with him—he's just like a human trafficker." Wu Ma laughed, "All right, all right—then wait for your cousin to come fetch you."

Miss Tan replied dispiritedly, "I want to go to the foreign academy, but will my cousin really send me there?"

That night, in a half-sleep, Miss Tan heard a sound at the window. She thought it was only the wind and got up to close it, but as she opened her eyes she was startled half to death—a shadow leapt into her room by moonlight. She cried out hysterically, "Help! Thief!" The intruder, surprised to be discovered, hesitated for a moment before leaping back out the window and disappearing into the night.

The Tan household’s five or six servants were thrown into chaos. Crying, Miss Tan said, "We've really become destitute—what is there left to steal? It’s not time for the rents, and apart from this old house, what else do we have?"

Seven days later, at dawn, after sending off the servants and leaving only an old man to watch the house, Miss Tan set out for Shanghai with Wu Ma and her cousin, traveling by boat.

Early spring on the river was shrouded in mist and bone-chilling cold. Miss Tan wore a dark green long jacket and skirt, her long braid draped before her, adorned only with a small white flower in her hair and pearl earrings in her ears—elegant and understated, as if she had stepped from a painting. She sat on a bench on the deck, gazing absently at the water for a long time. Then she returned to the cabin, took out a small ruan, cradled it, plucked a few strings to tune it, and began to play slowly—a zither melody transcribed for ruan, "Fishermen’s Song at Dusk." Compared to the pipa, the ruan’s tone was gentler and more delicate, lending the piece an ethereal, lingering quality, tinged with a subtle sorrow.

In the misty, early spring waters of the south, with music drifting like the songs of immortals, it was as if one had left the mortal world behind.

He leaned against the cabin door, lifting the curtain to watch the young woman playing ruan on the opposite boat, lost in thought. When the song ended, he turned and asked, "What was her name again?" "Boss, Miss Tan’s formal name is Tan Yang, but her family calls her—" "Little Sister, right?" Bi Qingtang interrupted. The attendant nodded, "How did you know?" Bi smiled as if it were nothing, murmuring to himself, "Little Sister? Tan Yang, Yang, Yang..."

Another attendant, seeing Bi Qingtang deep in thought, remarked, "That girl may be young, but she’s truly beautiful. After seeing all the gaudy women on the Bund, meeting her is like a breath of fresh air. No wonder you’re smitten, sir." At this, Bi Qingtang shot him a cold look. Realizing he’d spoken out of turn, the man quickly lowered his head.

End of Chapter 31.