Heartfelt Sentiments

That morning, after waking up, Tan Yang no longer heard the coughing in the hallway.

At noon, Uncle Chen used the excuse of bringing Tan Yang her meal to visit her. He spoke as if by chance, “Young Master’s cold has gotten worse, he’s running a fever. This morning, I practically had to drag him into the room next door to rest.” Tan Yang said nothing. She held her spoon, idly stirring the soup, creating tiny ripples in the bowl. She appeared distracted, listening only half-heartedly. Uncle Chen went on, “But it’s not so bad. Young Master even asked the doctor for medicine. He said this is when he’s most needed, and he can’t afford to fall ill. But I spoke up for you, Young Madam. I told him you don’t need him, that he shouldn’t think so highly of himself. As soon as I said that, he got mad at me, huffing and puffing...”

Uncle Chen was imitating him vividly when Tan Yang interrupted impatiently, “Uncle Chen! Why are you telling me all this? It’s no use.” She added softly, “It’s no use anymore.” Uncle Chen froze, his mouth opening and then closing again, his face full of disappointed helplessness. In the eyes of the elderly, despair carries a deeper sorrow, making anyone who sees it sink into guilt. After a long pause, Uncle Chen said, resigned, “You should go see him. Even the healthiest can fall ill, and his fever is so high. Most importantly, his heart…”

Uncle Chen shook his head as he spoke, “Last night, I caught him asking one of your maids in private if the coughing in the hall bothered you inside your room, if it kept you from sleeping. The girl said you could hear it, but it didn’t stop you from sleeping. Young Master seemed relieved, then, after a moment’s hesitation, asked if you’d inquired about him. The girl shook her head, and Young Master looked so disappointed. When he turned and saw me, he gave me a smile as empty as a ghost, and asked, ‘Will this really be it for us? Is divorce inevitable?’ I hurried to comfort him, telling him you couldn’t live without him. He slumped in his chair, murmuring, ‘That’s what I thought too, but maybe it’s not so.’ After that, whatever I tried to say, he hardly replied. When I went to him this morning, his fever had worsened; I suppose it’s from a heart in turmoil.”

Seeing that Tan Yang kept turning her face to the window, refusing to respond, Uncle Chen had no other choice but to leave. Tan Yang heard the door close, then grabbed her blanket and buried her face, soaking a large patch with her tears.

That night, halfway to dawn, Tan Yang woke up. She pulled aside the curtain; the moon hung low on the willow branches, its milky light spreading gently, casting a tranquil veil over the spring night. Was he sleeping well? Was his cold any better? Nighttime is when fevers tend to spike—had it subsided? In all of Shanghai, he was the one dearest to her—how could she not worry? After a long time wrestling with herself, Tan Yang finally slipped out of bed.

“Ma’am, where are you going?” her maid asked. Tan Yang motioned for the girl to lie down, “Go to sleep. I’m just stepping out for a bit. There’s no need for you to come along.” She quietly pushed open the door and tiptoed to the neighboring sickroom, thinking, He must be asleep at this hour. If I just look in for a moment, he’ll never know.

She placed her hand on the doorknob. The door was ajar, and opened easily. What she saw inside left her baffled. The lamp was on. Bi Qingtang sat fully dressed on the sofa across from the door, a cigarette in hand, his eyes bright and alert—nothing like a man ill.

Catching sight of Tan Yang, Bi Qingtang sprang up, stubbed out his cigarette, and strode over to the door, overjoyed, grabbing her arm with such excitement he couldn’t speak for a moment.

He pulled the bewildered Tan Yang inside, closed the door, and said with a smile, “Come in, the hallway’s cold.” Seeing his energetic appearance, Tan Yang grew angry at once. “Uncle Chen told me you were ill! You—I can never trust you!” She turned to leave, but Bi Qingtang blocked her way, grinning mischievously. “You make it sound like Uncle Chen and I conspired to trick you. Do you really wish I were sick? In that case, I’ll fall ill just for you, right now!”

At this, Tan Yang laughed instead of getting angrier. “Bi Qingtang, now I truly see what kind of man you are! Have you ever been honest with me? Have you ever been sincere? How laughable that I gave you my undivided, unwavering devotion! Just thinking of it, I feel I’ve wasted myself. How could we ever last? Scheming and manipulation might sustain a marriage for a while, but never for a lifetime!” As she spoke, she began to cry. Seeing this, Bi Qingtang hurriedly tried to wipe away her tears, pleading, “Little Sister, please don’t cry. In your condition, you mustn’t. Can’t you calmly listen to me? I admit I’ve been calculating and scheming, but I truly love you. I married you with all my heart, wanting nothing more than to grow old together!”

Tan Yang impatiently pulled his hand from her face, but suddenly stopped, clutching his hand in surprise. She murmured, “Your hand… it’s burning hot.” A look of aggrieved innocence flickered in Bi Qingtang’s eyes as he held her hand, saying nothing. Tan Yang stopped crying, pulled her hand free, and placed the back of it on his forehead. Clearly startled, she exclaimed, “You have such a high fever—why aren’t you resting in bed?”

Bi Qingtang was overjoyed to hear her finally show concern for his health. He drew her into his arms, proudly explaining, “I was lying in bed until Uncle Chen left at noon. He told me he’d informed you that I was sick, and that you were worried enough to ask about me. So the moment he left, I got up, washed my face, shaved, and waited for you to visit your ailing patient! You haven’t looked me in the eye for more than a month. If you saw me in a wretched, sickly state, wouldn’t you be even more determined to divorce me?” Tan Yang felt a pang of emotion but still retorted, “Divorce is about what you did wrong—not how you look! And besides, it’s already one or two in the morning; why aren’t you sleeping?”

Bi Qingtang stroked her back and spoke gently, “If you didn’t come, I would have waited all night. I guessed you care about your pride and wouldn’t come during the day, but maybe you’d come at night. If I undressed and fell asleep, I wouldn’t know if you’d come, so I waited.” At his words, Tan Yang couldn’t hold back her tears and sobbed in his arms. Bi Qingtang comforted her, “Be good, Little Sister, don’t cry. If you cry, our baby will cry with you. The doctor said you can’t let yourself cry anymore. I have so much to say to you, but every time I start, you start crying, so I don’t dare say a word.”

He took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and gently wiped her tears, smiling helplessly, “You’re always so quick to cry, and never carry a handkerchief.” As he spoke, his tone brimmed with pride and contentment. Of all the people in the world, only he had the right to grumble to her in this way. Even their complaints and grievances were acts of willing affection, unique and tender.

He led her to the bed, made sure she sat comfortably, then held her hand and spoke softly, “Little Sister, everything I say comes from my heart. What I do, what I think—I tell you honestly, not just what you want to hear, so sometimes it may be hard to swallow. Real life isn’t like those sentimental novels you read. Everyone has their own thoughts, their own interests, so things can’t always be as you wish. Of course, if you love someone, you’ll sometimes wrong yourself to try to make her happy. But even that happiness is never complete—seven or eight tenths is already good.”

“I can say sweet words, do things that make you laugh till you can’t stop. But those are just tricks to please women. If I say or do something, it doesn’t always mean that’s what I truly feel. You’re neither a foolish woman nor one who pretends to be. Only in recent years have I realized, for all my supposed skill in dealing with women, the woman I love most is the one immune to such arts. I love you, and maybe you’d fall for those tricks, maybe you wouldn’t be the same person if you did. But with you, I feel real sincerity—a devotion that asks nothing in return. You taught me that if you truly want someone to love you, cunning and calculation are the lowest methods. You must first offer your true heart.”

“I see Zhao Ling and Li He, childhood sweethearts, talking about ideals and principles, falling in love at school, then marrying and raising children after entering society. I envy them. But I wasn’t so lucky. My father was a fugitive, and I didn’t have the environment to study and improve myself, to find a respectable job. If I wanted a stable life, I had to build it myself. So I can’t be your equal. Honestly, because of that, I feel inferior to Xu Zhizhong.”

“Our fathers were different men, so our upbringings were different. I say this so you’ll understand: I can see where you come from, and I hope you can understand me. At sixteen, I killed my first man in the South Seas. In my early twenties, I was working the docks in Shanghai, dealing with all sorts of people. You can’t imagine me, like Li He or Xu Zhizhong, with books under my arm, escorting the girl I love. Most of the women I’ve known were socialites, courtesans, dancing girls. I know I’m not exactly morally upright, but that doesn’t make me an incorrigible philanderer! On the contrary, compared to some I know, I’m not even that keen on women. Of course, compared to Li He, I’m still a scoundrel.”

“To be honest, in this world, almost every man of status thinks the more women, the better. I won’t hide it: I used to think the same way. That’s why, even while courting and marrying you, I kept a mistress like Li Cui. It seemed only natural to me.”

“But things changed. The more I fell for you, the more I cared, the more you filled my heart. But I dared not overstep. I am a man used to women—used to sleeping with women. Sometimes, I felt the need. Every ten days or so, I’d go to the little house, and even then, I’d be thinking of you, missing you terribly. But I told myself: women are all the same once the lights are out.”

“But it isn’t the same. Once we married, and you became my rightful wife, everything changed. With other women, I did as I pleased. With you, your happiness became mine—a special happiness. Since our wedding, I haven’t set foot in the little house or touched another woman. Zhao Ling always says love is exclusive, that it must be one-to-one, devoted. I don’t necessarily believe that theory. I just know I’m content and happy with you in a way I never was with anyone else. So why would I go looking elsewhere? Being with you is enough.”

“I suppose I should add one more thing. Seeing you like this, I know: if I ever fooled around outside, you’d never have me again. Then where would my happiness be? I won’t take that risk. I won’t regret it. I may be older than you, less educated, but I’ve seen more, experienced more. I know what matters most, what is most precious.” Here, he looked at Tan Yang with reverence. “Little Sister, can you forgive my past mistakes? Our lives together are still so long. I’m determined to be a good husband and father. Will you give me the chance? Don’t send me off before we’ve even begun!”

—End of chapter.