Sorrow

Author’s Note:
I was correcting typos! This isn’t a fake update.
Work’s been hectic lately, so I can’t reply to every message from you all—hope you understand. But I’m always so happy to read your comments. My gains here aren’t material, they’re all spiritual. Isn’t that noble? Hehe.
There’ll be another chapter this week. I originally planned for the story to be a hundred thousand words, but it looks like it’ll go over—maybe two hundred thousand. I promise, every pit I dig I’ll fill! Even if I ever stop writing, I’ll leave you with a few complete stories!
Also, why does everyone seem to be looking forward to some angst? Hey, I said this was a warm and gentle novel. Even if there’s hardship, it’ll be kept within bounds!

Zhang Xiangning was like a meat bun thrown to a dog—gone, never to return. Tan Yang stood holding her schoolbag, stranded in place. It was a flowery cloth bag, the sort girls carried—who knew what might be inside? Careful as ever, Tan Yang wouldn’t hand it off to Xu Zhizhong; she simply waited alone. Thus, with Xu Zhizhong folding his arms and chatting beside her, it almost felt as if he were keeping her company, helping pass the time.

Just then, Bi Qingtang arrived at the perfect moment. He nodded slightly to Xu Zhizhong in greeting before turning to Tan Yang. “Do you know where Miss Zhang lives?” Tan Yang nodded. “Let’s take her things to her house then. She probably has something urgent and won’t be back anytime soon. With all these people coming and going, waiting here isn’t a solution.” As he spoke, Bi Qingtang gave Xu Zhizhong a glance, making him look away a bit embarrassed.

Seated in the car, they passed three or four schoolgirls walking side by side, chatting animatedly. One girl laughed as she playfully chased and hit her friend. Bi Qingtang pointed outside and asked, “Can you guess what they’re talking about?” Tan Yang shook her head. “They’re talking about love—falling for someone by their own choice! Young girls always have their heads full of dreams, but reality is nothing like that.” Tan Yang blinked and softly replied, “Free love is progress for society. When two people are truly fond of each other, it’s always more solid than a match made by a go-between.” She slipped her arm through his, whispering in his ear, “Brother, aren’t we in love by choice, too?” Bi Qingtang smiled, a little proud, and pinched her nose. “Who’s in love by choice with you? Ours is an arranged marriage—arranged by me!”

Tan Yang had nearly spent two years at Jingye Secondary now, practically a senior student; her school activities were increasing. The department store was thriving, and Bi Qingtang had poured a great deal of effort into it, without neglecting his business in the chamber of commerce. He was the type to enjoy his good fortune and bear his hardships, busy with endless affairs, always rushing out early and returning home late.

One evening, Tan Yang and a few female classmates attended a lecture on the new woman at Zhizhi University. By the time she returned, it was past eight. As soon as she entered, Uncle Chen took her schoolbag, which surprised her. “Uncle Chen, you’re home so early? Has brother come back?” Uncle Chen nodded and gestured toward the living room, signaling her to go in quickly.

It was dark; the living room ceiling light was off, only a wall lamp glowed in the corner. Bi Qingtang sat on the sofa, face clouded. “Brother, I’m home!” Tan Yang called cheerfully. Bi Qingtang only grunted in reply. Muttering about the lights, Tan Yang reached for the ceiling lamp’s pull cord, its golden tassels smooth beneath her fingers. She walked softly over, leaned on the back of the sofa, and whispered by his ear, “Brother, you just got back? Have you eaten?” Suddenly, Bi Qingtang turned sharply. “Where did you go? Why are you back so late?” Tan Yang quietly sat down beside him. “There were some school activities I joined.” Bi Qingtang pushed two tickets across the tea table without a word.

Tan Yang picked them up—it was for a six o’clock film called “The Flying General.” Bi Qingtang cleared his throat. “I heard this afternoon that the Summer Peck Cinema was showing the first ever Chinese talkie tonight. I rushed to get two tickets, canceled my appointments, and went to pick you up at school. I was late; everyone had gone. I came home—no one here either. I checked with Zhao Ling, Zhang Xiangning, Sister Fang Ya—everywhere I could. Do you know how anxious I was? I don’t object to your education, but what girl grows wilder the more she studies?”

Tan Yang held the tickets in silence, lips pressed tight, not meeting his gaze as she leaned into the sofa. Seeing her mute, Bi Qingtang turned to face her, smiled faintly, and stroked her cheek. “All right, as long as you know you were wrong. I’ll get us tickets for tomorrow, and we’ll go see it then.” At critical moments, Bi Qingtang could be magnanimous—letting bygones be bygones. He was the one who lost his temper, and the one who now offered the olive branch. He held the reins. The charm of a mature man lay in his self-control; yet that control could be terrifying.

Tan Yang glanced at him, lowered her eyes, and said quietly, “I have so many school activities because I don’t want to come home every day after class, waiting by the phone to see if you’ll be home for dinner. Sometimes the call never comes; sometimes, after a long wait, you say you have business and will be late. You waited for me one evening and were so anxious. But for the past half year, I’ve been waiting for you like this every day. Just because you know how to look after yourself, does that mean only you worry about me, and I don’t worry about you? In truth, the worry is the same.”

Bi Qingtang was surprised by her words. He held her close, voice full of emotion. “Little sister, I want to do honest business. I want to give you a life of abundance and peace. That’s why I’m so busy outside. Can you understand?” Tan Yang pressed her face to his chest and nodded. “Brother, I understand. That’s why, even though I worry when you come home late, I never dare let you know.”

On this late spring night, a pair of newlyweds living in comfort found themselves, for no reason, sharing the mutual sympathy of those who have weathered hardship together. In truth, the quality and sincerity of emotion bears no necessary relation to material wealth. Poverty does not guarantee true feeling; riches do not ensure shallowness. What matters is, whatever the outward circumstances, whether you truly care—whether the joy and sorrow of that person tugs at your heart.

As the two embraced, savoring the sweetness of love and being loved, the telephone on the table beside the sofa suddenly rang loudly and inopportunely.

Bi Qingtang reached for the receiver. The moment it touched his ear, he heard Zhang Xiangning and another girl chattering away. He smiled helplessly and passed the phone to Tan Yang.

“I just got home—what’s up? Mm, mm, is that so? I heard about that event, but I won’t go.” Tan Yang glanced at Bi Qingtang as she spoke, her tone serious. “Really, my brother wants me to focus on my studies. You don’t need to talk to him. It’s my own choice not to go. Don’t make up stories. I don’t play well anyway; everyone listens to piano and the new phonograph music now. The ruan is practically an antique—no one wants to hear that.”

Bi Qingtang held Tan Yang in his arms, watching her on the phone, absentmindedly winding a lock of her hair around his finger in a lingering, intimate gesture. When he heard her say that, he snatched the phone away and spoke into the receiver. “Miss Zhang? What’s the event? A poetry recital? Wonderful! Why wouldn’t I let my little sister participate? I support new women in public activities, haha! All right, I promise for her; I can speak for her!” As Bi Qingtang made these promises, Tan Yang quickly reached for the phone, but he deliberately ignored her and hung up.

Tan Yang stamped her foot in frustration. “Brother, why did you agree to that for them?” Bi Qingtang replied calmly, “If you like having things to do outside, then go. I was just anxious when I couldn’t find you. As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters. Friends are better than sitting at home alone, lost in thought.”

But Tan Yang turned away, unhappy. “Brother, you don’t even know why I didn’t want to go!” Bi Qingtang frowned. “Oh? Why?” “The event was organized by Xu Zhizhong. They tried to drag me along today—I went to Zhizhi University on purpose to avoid them!” Bi Qingtang froze for a moment. Tan Yang pouted, troubled. “What should I do? Should I call and say I have something else?” Bi Qingtang thought and then waved a hand. “No need! I said I can make decisions for you. It’s just a program—what’s the harm?” “Brother, it’s a poetry recital with musical accompaniment. There will be rehearsals!” Bi Qingtang raised an eyebrow. “Rehearsals? Then practice at our house, right under my nose. I’ll watch. If he misbehaves, I’ll show him a lesson—teach him some respect!”

In no time, summer crept quietly into Shanghai. Several days of endless rain soaked the garden’s earth, and suddenly the lawn in front of the Bi residence was a fresh, vivid green. The day after the rain cleared, those involved in the event couldn’t wait to gather at Tan Yang’s home for rehearsal. Bi Qingtang, knowing their plans, set aside his other business and returned home early, playing the part of a “hospitable” host.

Because Tan Yang couldn’t let the school know she was married, Bi Qingtang instructed the servants to call her “Miss” when her classmates visited, not “Madam.” After dinner, the four—two boys and two girls—arrived together. Besides Zhang Xiangning and Xu Zhizhong, the other two were a student couple, not openly affectionate but clearly close; they would recite the poetry. Zhang Xiangning, chattering as ever, insisted she was the director.

Bi Qingtang, arm linked through Tan Yang’s, smiled. “Little sister, you’re quite unnecessary here. The main roles and the director are already taken—what do they need you for?” Zhang Xiangning quickly protested, “Mr. Tan, please don’t say that! Most poetry recitals either have no music or just use gramophone records—we’re going to play live! That makes Tan Yang’s ruan absolutely essential; it’ll be the highlight of our program!” Bi Qingtang laughed and modestly replied for her, “Oh, she’s not up to much—our little sister here doesn’t even dare speak in crowds.”

Xu Zhizhong, who had been standing quietly at the back, spoke up. “She can do it, Mr. Tan. You must believe in her and give her a chance!” Bi Qingtang blinked. “I think so too, but if I say it myself, it sounds like I’m just putting on airs.” Xu Zhizhong, still inexperienced in society, looked a little lost at Bi Qingtang’s half-joking, half-serious tone. Zhang Xiangning, oblivious, hurried everyone into place to begin rehearsing.

In the garden, the European-style iron lanterns glowed just right beneath the early summer dusk. Bi Qingtang lounged on a white wicker chair, legs crossed, watching them bustle about. Zhang Xiangning handed Tan Yang several sheets of paper. “We chose ‘Alley in the Rain.’ Take a look—see how it feels to you.” Aunt Wu brought over the ruan case, and Tan Yang carefully took out her instrument, glancing at the papers on the stone table. “Oh, isn’t this from Dai Wangshu’s collection, ‘My Memories’? I think this modern poem is wonderful. It doesn’t follow the strict rules of classical verse, but it captures all their grace and atmosphere.”

Her classmates stared at her in surprise. Tan Yang, puzzled, asked Zhang Xiangning, “What’s wrong? Did I say something odd?” Zhang Xiangning shook her head, smiling, and pushed Xu Zhizhong toward her. “The first time I showed this poem to Xu Zhizhong, he said exactly the same thing!” Tan Yang looked annoyed. “Xiangning, don’t say nonsense.” Xu Zhizhong, standing before her, smiled gently and flipped through his papers. “Here’s the score I found—called ‘Melody of the Rain.’ I think it’ll suit the poem. Would you try it?” Tan Yang’s fingers rested lightly on the ruan’s strings. “How did you find sheet music for the ruan? It’s such an obscure, old-fashioned instrument.”

Xu Zhizhong’s gaze lingered on the ruan. “My mother, when she was alive, was skilled in all kinds of string instruments, especially fond of the ruan. My grandfather was a great scholar, with a vast library at home. My mother researched and copied out a collection of pieces suitable for the ruan.” Tan Yang’s eyes lit up. She glanced instinctively at Bi Qingtang, then lowered her head. Xu Zhizhong paused, then added, “I can play a little flute, too. I brought it today—let’s see if we can accompany each other and make a proper background for their recital.”

“Talented indeed—almost as much as my little sister,” Bi Qingtang remarked, drooping his eyelids with awkward humor. Hearing this, Xu Zhizhong turned to him politely, “Please don’t say that, Mr. Tan. I don’t know much. I only learned a little as a child in my hometown of Wuxi—besides private lessons, I followed my mother in dabbling with these things, really neglecting my proper studies. I only came to Shanghai for Western education in my teens, started from elementary, and have struggled along—still the oldest and slowest student in the class.”

At these words, Bi Qingtang looked at him, then at Tan Yang, his brows tightly knit in silence.

[End of “Bitan Chronicles” 31(29). All updates complete!]