Strings Bend

At dawn, St. Shish Hospital, close to the Bund, could faintly hear the ferry's horn echoing across the water—a sound reminiscent of ancient poetry, where birdsong makes the mountain seem even more tranquil, highlighting the peace outside the hospital's walls and soothing the heart.

Bi Qingtang, his eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness, stared fixedly at the operating room door. As the first light sliced through Shanghai's sky, the door opened, and a blond Soviet doctor emerged, clutching his cap and yawning.

Bi Qingtang rushed forward, his voice strained, “Doctor, how are they? My wife and—my child?” The Soviet doctor spread his hands, “The mother is safe now, but the fetus is unstable—there’s a risk of miscarriage at any moment.” He scratched his head and continued, “She needs complete rest. Avoid emotional agitation to prevent her blood pressure from rising. If last night’s situation repeats, there’s nothing we can do.” Bi Qingtang felt a measure of relief, though worry still furrowed his brow. “Thank you, doctor,” he said.

At that moment, Tan Yang was wheeled out from within. She lay pale and fragile beneath the hospital’s white sheets, helpless and forlorn. Seeing her, Bi Qingtang’s throat tightened, and silently, he resolved that in this chaotic world, from this moment and for the rest of his life, he would shoulder her suffering, protecting her health even if it meant enduring countless wounds.

Not long after settling into bed, Tan Yang, groggy, whispered that she was thirsty. Bi Qingtang gently fed her a bowl of jujube and bird’s nest soup, and soon most of it was gone. After drinking, Tan Yang broke into a sweat and fell into a deep, restful sleep. Relieved, Bi Qingtang wiped the sweat from her brow, held her hand beneath the covers, and fell asleep at her bedside.

In the haze of slumber, he felt her hand stir in his, prompting him to wake—it was already noon, the sunlight bright and harsh. Tan Yang tried to open her eyes, but the glare made her dizzy. Bi Qingtang shielded her face from the light and drew the curtains. “You’re awake? Do you feel better?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Tan Yang reached for her abdomen, asking anxiously in a faint voice, “The child… where is the child?” Seeing her distress, Bi Qingtang felt a pang; she cared so much for his child—how could she not love him? Yet he knew he had wounded her, disappointed her deeply.

“Little sister, the child’s still here—ours is still here,” he soothed, gently caressing her fingertips. Tan Yang glanced at him, then pushed his hand away. Bi Qingtang panicked, blurting out, “Little sister, I was wrong. Please forgive me—for the sake of our child!” Words crowded his heart, but what came out was the most clichéd plea, and he felt helpless at his own awkwardness. Before her, all his usual methods failed him; he was like a naive youth who’d never been in love.

Tan Yang turned away, her back to him, unmoved. Bi Qingtang felt even more uncertain. “Little sister, whatever you want, I’ll listen—just don’t stay angry with me, please?”

“You’ll listen to me? Then keep your word—let’s sign the divorce papers!” She couldn’t hold back her tears, wiping them silently. Bi Qingtang froze at her words, then declared firmly, “No. Absolutely not!”

“You say no and it’s no? Why must everything between us be decided by you alone?” Tan Yang sobbed.

Seeing her cry again, Bi Qingtang hurriedly said, “Don’t cry, little sister, it’s bad for your health—the doctor warned us.” He pressed her shoulder gently and lowered his voice, earnest, “How can we not be together? I truly love you, little sister—can’t you feel it?”

Tan Yang turned back, tears streaming, and interrogated him, “I believed that once, but is your love so casual—so shameless? Proposing to me after climbing out of another woman’s bed? I thought I’d found a lifelong anchor, but in the end, your love is so unbearable. Rather than settle for humiliation here, I’d rather have nothing at all! Let’s divorce. If we don’t, how will you face me, and how will I face you?”

She broke into loud, breathless sobs.

Bi Qingtang stood numb, realizing things were far worse than he’d expected—completely beyond his control. He understood Tan Yang’s heartbreak arose from her wholehearted love; the deeper and purer her affection, the more loathsome and ashamed he felt.

A nurse, drawn by the commotion, found Tan Yang sobbing uncontrollably and scolded Bi Qingtang for disregarding the doctor’s advice, neglecting the patient’s emotions, and promptly asked him to leave the room.

Bi Qingtang stood absent-minded in the corridor. Old Zhou tried to comfort him, “Why argue with her at a time like this? Just go along with her.” Bi Qingtang shook his head, “No, anything else is fine, but if I go along with her on this, we’ll both regret it.”

Over the next two days, Bi Qingtang continued to try to care for Tan Yang in the ward, speaking calmly about other matters. But Tan Yang seemed determined to divorce him; Bi Qingtang refused to yield, and they argued. Tan Yang lost control of her emotions, and once again, the child was nearly endangered. The day after that crisis, Tan Yang awoke to find a servant bringing her a note: “If you insist on divorce, wait until the child is born. I cannot bear for my own flesh and blood to enter the world with separated parents. Please understand and focus on your health. Qingtang.”

He had agreed to a divorce, yet Tan Yang’s heart remained wounded—but differently than before. After that, she never saw Bi Qingtang again.

Though he no longer appeared before her, traces of him lingered around her. Sometimes, upon waking, the room carried a faint scent of tobacco—his scent. Occasionally, she’d spot his black leather gloves on the sofa across from her bed. Tan Yang refused to return to the Bi residence, and given the child’s previous danger, she dared not be careless, so she remained in the hospital.

One afternoon, as she napped, a sweet aroma wafted through the room. She paused to sniff, rolled over, and heard the sound of a closing door. She opened her eyes to see a plate with a half-peeled, steaming roasted sweet potato. She glanced at the maid standing nearby, “Who just left?” “It was—it was the nurse.” Tan Yang’s gaze returned to the sweet potato on the tea table. The maid hurried to explain, “Madam, I just peeled it for you. Please try it.” Tan Yang sighed and said nothing.

One midnight, with darkness all around, Tan Yang awoke thirsty. Hearing her maid snoring softly, she didn’t want to disturb her and got up herself, feeling her way to the tea table. As she opened the thermos to take a cup, her hand knocked over the fruit plate, sending the glass dish crashing to the floor with a sharp, clear sound in the quiet night. Almost at once, the door opened and the corridor’s dim light outlined a familiar figure, though his face remained hidden.

“Don’t move,” Bi Qingtang said, striding in and lifting Tan Yang in his arms, carrying her to the bed. She heard the crunch of his leather shoes on the broken glass, thinking how much worse it would have been in her soft silk slippers. After settling her carefully, Bi Qingtang asked, “What are you doing? Want some water?” Tan Yang didn’t answer, so he fetched her a drink. After she downed most of the cup, he took it back. At that moment, the maid rolled over and muttered in her sleep. Bi Qingtang, resigned, spoke hoarsely, “These days, the person I envy most is her—she can serve you openly, stay by your side without shame.”

Hearing his words, Tan Yang’s nose tingled and she wept. “What’s the point of saying this? Why bother?” Seeing her cry again, Bi Qingtang flustered, “Don’t cry, you mustn’t cry now! I’ll go—get some sleep.” He hurried out, leaving Tan Yang wide awake.

After a while, the door creaked open. Bi Qingtang crept in, tucked her in carefully, stood by her bed for a long time, then left. Though Tan Yang kept her eyes closed, she hadn’t slept.

The next morning, two capable young maids arrived to take over the previous maid’s duties, rotating in shifts to care for Tan Yang. All the glassware in the ward was replaced with unbreakable silver pieces.

Half a month passed, and with eight months’ pregnancy, Tan Yang grew increasingly lethargic, sometimes sleeping until afternoon. One day, after waking from a nap and stretching, she heard a faint door closing, opened her eyes, and saw Bi Qingtang’s trench coat hanging by the door. After dinner, she glanced out the window and spotted his car parked on the street below. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and a biting wind, threatening rain. Handing the trench coat to her maid, Tan Yang said calmly, “Tell him to go home.” Half an hour later, the car drove away.

Having slept so much during the day, Tan Yang was wide awake at night, tossing and turning. By midnight, she sat up, and the maid, watching her anxiously, asked, “Madam, are you uncomfortable? Would you like some water?” Tan Yang shook her head. “I want to use the bathroom.” “Oh, let me fetch the chamber pot.” “No need. I’ve been feeling much better these days, and the doctor said I should move around more. Since I can’t sleep, a walk might help.”

There was a restroom at the end of the hospital corridor. Seeing Tan Yang determined, the maid helped her dress. Outside, rain lashed the windows. Pushing open the door, Tan Yang froze in place. There was Bi Qingtang, sleeping on a bench at the ward entrance, his trench coat draped over him. The window opposite hadn’t been shut properly, letting in cold wind and rain, making him shiver.

The quick-witted maid called, “Sir! Sir!” Bi Qingtang sat up instantly and, seeing Tan Yang, asked sheepishly, “Why are you out so late?” “Why are you still here?” Tan Yang asked. Bi Qingtang sighed, “I’ve always been here.”

Tan Yang stepped forward, “You don’t need to stay in the corridor—there are empty wards nearby.” Bi Qingtang lowered his head and replied softly, “If I did that, I wouldn’t hear any trouble from inside. If only I’d been alert that day, you wouldn’t have fallen in the restroom.” After a pause, he asked, “So, what are you up to?” Tan Yang said nothing, so the maid answered for her, “Madam wants the restroom—I couldn’t persuade her, sir.” “You!” Bi Qingtang frowned, then sighed, “You’re even less likely to listen to me,” and draped the trench coat over Tan Yang’s shoulders, murmuring, “Be careful. Don’t fall or catch cold,” then instructed the maid to support her.

When Tan Yang came out, Bi Qingtang was waiting. The corridor light was bright, illuminating his exhausted face. In less than a month, he had grown noticeably thinner, his cheekbones prominent, and stubble darkening his jaw, making him look both desolate and haggard—nothing like his usual dignified self. His former poise and spirit had vanished entirely. Tan Yang watched him for a long moment. Bi Qingtang touched his jaw and joked, “I suppose I’m even less likable now.” Tan Yang ignored him, walking back in silence.

Outside, the cold wind howled; spring rain and night brought no warmth. Tan Yang looked at the trench coat by her bed and wrapped herself tighter in her blanket. “Take this to him!” The maid reached for the coat. “Wait,” Tan Yang changed her mind, “Take your blanket out to him. You sleep here with me.”

The rain didn’t stop quickly, and the temperature plummeted. Bi Qingtang remained in the corridor. In the days that followed, Tan Yang sometimes heard soft coughing from the hall—an unfamiliar sound that tugged at her heartstrings. He’d always been robust; in all their years together, he’d never been ill. What was happening now? Tan Yang scolded herself for her weakness, still unable to stop worrying about him.

Spring rain, a cold night. The world outside remained relentlessly chill.