The Incident of 1840 (38)

University entrance exams were not standardized in terms of schedule or content; each institution posted its own notices, handled registration, examinations, grading, and admissions entirely on its own terms. By the time Tan Yang had recovered enough to sit for an exam, most of the universities in Shanghai had already closed their registration.

At that time, it was fashionable for young women to pursue teaching degrees. Though Tan Yang had a solid foundation, her studies had grown rusty, and she failed to gain admission to the Normal College. This result left her deeply discouraged—she was listless all day, ate little, and when Bi Qingtang noticed, he privately asked a friend to recommend Tan Yang for a position at a reputable missionary elementary school, teaching traditional painting. The classes were small and the workload light—not only did this give Tan Yang something to do, it also fulfilled her dream of becoming a teacher. It was, one could say, a thoughtful gesture.

After her first class, Tan Yang returned home and sulked on the sofa. Bi Qingtang asked her what was wrong—were the students mischievous and unruly? Tan Yang took her daughter from Nurse Wu’s arms, her tone prickly. “No, I should be thanking you. Where else could I find such a job? Two traditional painting classes a month, yet the pay is higher than the director of studies! I asked the other teachers, and apparently, the school never had traditional painting before. And, it’s said that a certain businessman recently donated money to the school and renovated the teachers’ dormitory.”

Bi Qingtang laughed heartily from the sofa, crossing his legs and pointing at Tan Yang. “Tut-tut, you’re so ungrateful. If I were you, I’d just pretend not to know a thing!” Tan Yang, quite disgruntled, reproached him, “With all your connections, why fuss over such trivialities? Why not open a school for me and make me the principal?” Bi Qingtang absentmindedly played with their daughter in her arms. “Running a school is a losing business. I wouldn’t do it!”

Tan Yang turned aside. “The child’s about to sleep—don’t get her all worked up again.” After a pause, she added in frustration, “I won’t take that job again. It’s no different from staying home and minding your child, except now I owe you a favor.”

“What kind of talk is that? I don’t like hearing it!” Bi Qingtang scolded. Realizing she had gone too far, Tan Yang pouted and looked down at Xiao Yanqin, muttering, “I just ran into a classmate. She said St. John’s University’s medical school is recruiting five more female students, and today’s the last day to register. I went with her to sign up.”

From the beginning, Bi Qingtang had made it clear: university was fine, as long as she studied teaching, accounting, or literature—nothing else. He didn’t want her picking up bad habits before college was through. Normally, hearing this new plan, Bi Qingtang would have objected, “What nonsense! Not fit for a woman!” But as they’d just quarreled, and since he was a man who knew when to advance or retreat, he merely played along, “Alright, that’s a profound subject. My little sister has ambition.” Deep down, though, he thought with so few places, Tan Yang was unlikely to be admitted.

Every evening, as Bi Qingtang returned from the office, he would take their daughter from Tan Yang’s arms, and she would slip upstairs to study. In those days, in a wealthy Shanghai household, to raise their own child without relying on servants made them exemplary parents. Following the customs of Tongli village, Tan Yang called her daughter “Nannan,” and Bi Qingtang followed suit—the nickname stuck.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Bi Qingtang would wake to find the bed beside him empty, the lamp still lit in the next room. The glass pendants on the lampshade cast a trembling reflection on the red carpeted hallway—a mysterious blend of luxury and loneliness. There, Tan Yang sat wrapped in a blanket by Yanqin’s cradle, one hand gently rocking the lacquered white cradle, the other holding a book, reading by the soft yellow lamplight.

The hidden resilience and tenacity in this gentle woman often astonished Bi Qingtang. So, on a rainy evening in late August, when he came home and hadn’t even changed his rain-soaked shoes, and Tan Yang rushed up to throw her arms around his neck, announcing with delight that she’d been admitted to St. John’s University, he was not wholly surprised. Though not entirely supportive of her studying Western medicine, Bi Qingtang smiled at her, “Little sister, you deserve this—the heavens have eyes.”

A woman’s independence is not achieved by shouting for respect or attention. In any era, regardless of gender, people admire those who are diligent and aspire to improve themselves. Sometimes, a man being willing to support you is one thing, but your willingness to be supported is another. Tan Yang might not have articulated such truths, but she sensed their meaning.

By late August, as the start of the school year approached and the time for the three friends to part drew near, the phone at the Bi residence rang more frequently—Tan Yang’s classmates had arranged to visit her after dinner. In truth, Bi Qingtang knew most of her classmates’ futures: for instance, Zhang Xiangning had been admitted to Soochow University and would study in Suzhou. But there was one person whose whereabouts he both wanted and did not want to know, whom he would not ask about and disdained to inquire after. That very person was among the visitors that evening.

Among the two or three dozen young men and women, Xu Zhizhong lingered at the back. He laughed when others laughed, echoed compliments about Bi Yanqin, but Bi Qingtang could always pick him out at a glance. People are like this: the harder you try to blend in, the more forced it seems. As Bi Qingtang busied himself arranging refreshments, he returned to the parlor to find only Xu Zhizhong and Tan Yang missing. Glancing out the window, he noticed them seated together on the lawn. The classmates inside exchanged nervous glances, embarrassed on Bi Qingtang’s behalf.

In the parlor, Bi Qingtang clapped his hands and joked, “They’re having too much fun. Don’t bother saving them any food!” But as he left the room, his face darkened. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but seeing him approach, both fell silent, which only increased his displeasure. Yet Tan Yang, seeing him, beamed with anticipation, her eyes sparkling. “Brother, is everything ready?” she asked gently. Suppressing his irritation, he asked casually, “What were you two chatting about so happily?” Tan Yang smiled mischievously, smoothing her pale blue cheongsam absentmindedly. “I’m getting hungry—time to eat,” she said, hurrying back inside and leaving the two men alone.

For a moment, neither knew what to say. But Bi Qingtang, ever the diplomat, broke the silence, “So, you’re leaving for school soon?” “Yes, I’ll take the train tomorrow.” “Not staying in Shanghai?” “My uncle lives in Beiping, so I was admitted to the National Peking University.” “Oh? Beiping? That’s far.” Bi Qingtang’s tone was meaningful. “Yes, very far,” Xu Zhizhong replied helplessly.

Later that night, after the guests had gone, Bi Qingtang leafed through their gifts, finding an album inscribed: “I believe that when we meet again one day, all will return to simplicity. With peaceful hearts, we shall enjoy the snow, recite poetry, raise a glass and celebrate, discovering life’s true meaning. May our friendship endure forever. —Xu Zhizhong.” Reading between the lines, Bi Qingtang felt a complex, almost triumphant sympathy—sympathy tinged with the satisfaction of a victor. “With a mighty bow in hand, the crimson notch set tight…” he closed the album, humming softly to himself.

That night, lying in bed, Bi Qingtang pretended to be annoyed, “What were you talking about?” “What do you mean?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” Tan Yang laughed, snuggling up to him. “I can’t tell you. I’m afraid you’d get conceited.” Bi Qingtang, grasping her chin, threatened playfully, “You little minx, trying to tease me? Are you courting death?” “And if I am?” Tan Yang retorted boldly.

He rolled over, pinning her beneath him. “Caught between life and death, I have my ways.” As he spoke, his hand slipped under her silk nightgown, caressing her soft, full curves, brushing lightly over a sensitive peak. Unprepared, Tan Yang moaned softly, clutching at his chest. Bi Qingtang trembled, his breath growing heavy. He kissed her ear, whispering, “Little sister, since giving birth to Nannan, your figure has become even more alluring.” Boneless beneath his touch, Tan Yang responded with sighs and murmurs, her long-restrained passion igniting. Bi Qingtang, no longer gentle, tore off his clothes and entered her. After several deep thrusts, he forced himself to pause, anxious, “Little sister, are you alright? Does it hurt?” Tan Yang clung to him, shaking her head, crying out softly, “Brother, brother.” In that moment, they were the most harmonious of lovers, the most affectionate of spouses…

Afterward, they lay entwined. “Brother!” Bi Qingtang, eyes closed, squeezed her hand, “What is it?” “Will we… have another child?” Tan Yang asked anxiously. His hand stiffened momentarily before he laughed, “That’s up to fate.” “I’m serious! I’m afraid—with school starting again…” He kissed her nose, speaking lightly, “If you don’t want one, then don’t. It’s no big deal.”

Tan Yang, half amused, half exasperated, said, “Oh, as if that’s entirely up to you! I heard from Sister Fang Ya there’s something…” Her voice grew softer, finally murmuring in his ear, “What do you think?” Bi Qingtang frowned, displeased. “You want me to use that? Don’t you know it’s uncomfortable?” Tan Yang sighed, leaning into his arms. “You know I love children, but I’m afraid if we don’t, I’ll get pregnant again too soon. I want to give you a son, but not just yet.” Bi Qingtang patted her shoulder silently, but just as Tan Yang was losing hope, he suddenly said, “Alright, maybe I’ll get used to it and it won’t be uncomfortable.”

Tan Yang’s studies at St. John’s University went smoothly. Western medicine demanded both talent and diligence; thankfully, Tan Yang possessed each in some measure. Two semesters passed quickly. In that year, Yanqin cut her first teeth, learned to walk, and began calling for her parents; Zhang Xiangning’s family arranged her marriage; Xu Zhizhong sent only a telegram saying he was well and did not return to Shanghai during the holidays; Zhao Ling and Li He grew conspicuously busier; Fang Ya opened a dance hall. Each was absorbed in their own pursuits, all of which, large or small, shaped the course of their lives.

On the evening of September 18, 1931, the Japanese Kwantung Army blew up a section of railway in Shenyang, blaming the Chinese army for sabotage and shelling the Northeastern Army barracks, marking the start of Japan’s invasion of China. On September 28, 200,000 people in Beiping held a rally demanding war against Japan and the recovery of lost territory. That same day, over two thousand students in Nanjing and Shanghai petitioned the Nationalist government, storming the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

The fate of a nation was thus altered, yet these sweeping changes seemed not to disturb the happiness of the small family at the Bi residence. One evening, as Tan Yang fed her daughter apple slices, Bi Qingtang glanced at the newspaper and said, “These students are too impatient, eager for war. Do they really take the Japanese seriously? Japan’s such a tiny place—if every one of us relieved ourselves, we could drown them!” Tan Yang, never interested in current events, said nothing. Bi Qingtang muttered on, “Right, no more selling Japanese goods in the department store for now. Best avoid trouble. Once this blows over, we can resume.”

In early October, a letter arrived from Beiping addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Bi Qingtang, signed Xu Zhizhong. Briefly, he wrote that, with the recommendation of President Jiang Menglin, he was heading south to the Whampoa Military Academy. At the end, he wrote: “Resolutely facing national peril, I will fight for the 400 million compatriots. Do not worry.” After reading, Bi Qingtang dismissed it as youthful idealism. Tan Yang stared at the letter for a long time, and only then did she realize that the Japanese invasion of the Northeast was not so distant from her, not so far from Shanghai.

At the end of October, a box of handmade wooden toys arrived from the west, crafted by Old Zhou for his goddaughter Yanqin. Inside was a note saying he might have to head north to deal with the Japanese.

Zhao Ling organized student movements and, when things got dangerous, hid with her child at the Bi residence for two days. Tan Yang had no idea what changes awaited her life, but she began to pay more attention to the news, to those distant yet ever-approaching events.