Chapter 50 (48): The Price

Bi Qingtang paused briefly at his daughter’s words, then laughed heartily as he ruffled the hair on Yan Tan’s forehead. “What are you talking about?” Little Yan Tan turned her face toward her father, her expression solemn as she explained, “It’s an old wooden grandpa who smells really nice. Mama said that grandpa carried a lot of burdens all by himself so others wouldn’t be sad. Daddy, I want to see that grandpa.” After a moment’s hesitation, Yan Tan hurried to add, “Is that grandpa my grandpa? Mama said the wooden grandpa makes her miss grandpa very much!”

Bi Qingtang’s throat bobbed as he set his daughter down and squatted beside her. The room was utterly silent, as if the stillness itself had become a shackle. To break it, Tan Yang knit faster and harder, the needles clashing with a rasping sound—so sharp it seemed to slice through Bi Qingtang’s flesh, piercing straight into his heart. In an instant, he was like a country child roasting a cocoon on a skewer over the fire, the pain searing through him, and in this awkward moment, the agony seemed endless. For a brief second, he felt as if he might completely unravel, but almost immediately, he was himself again. Looking at his daughter, his soul returned to his body.

Bi Qingtang leaned close to his daughter’s ear and whispered, “Little one, let me tell you a secret. Let’s not tell Mama, all right? Three years ago, when the Japanese attacked Shanghai, our family fled to Wuxi in such a hurry that we left the hunchbacked Buddha in Shanghai—it was lost. I’ve always worried your mother would ask me for the Buddha. If she knew it was lost, she’d definitely be angry. So let’s not tell her, okay? That way, Mama won’t be upset.” Though Bi Qingtang spoke softly into his daughter’s ear, he judged the volume precisely so every word drifted clearly to Tan Yang.

Yan Tan blinked at her father’s words, put her finger to her lips, and with the seriousness of a little adult, made a gesture of secrecy. Tan Yang forced a smile, helplessly tugging at the wool hooked on her little finger. The yarn ball rolled left and right, finally coming to rest in the corner of the sofa—just like the puzzle in Tan Yang’s heart, struggling this way and that, but never unraveling its mystery. She felt somewhat discouraged.

Two evenings later, at dusk, the porcelain-white plates on the dining table reflected the gentle glow of the sunset. The radio played the syrupy, melodious voice of the female announcer, who delivered unhappy news in a lively tone. Those distant wars, with their chaos and smoke, seemed nothing more than a backdrop, highlighting the warmth and harmony of this family of three in their Western-style house.

“Little sister, I heard from Manager Liu that Old Ma is back from Tianjin?”

“Oh? Is he? He hasn’t come to visit us!”

“That old fellow is so old-fashioned, not the sociable type. Let’s invite him out for a meal—I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“Yes, it’s been a long time since we saw Uncle Ma, over a year at least,” Tan Yang echoed, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“All right, I’ll make the arrangements!” Bi Qingtang said, getting up to make the call.

“Thank you, big brother.” Tan Yang smiled gratefully and nodded.

The following evening, they dined at an old established Shanghai restaurant, a traditional place close to Old Ma’s house—perfect for a reunion of old friends. That was Bi Qingtang’s way: whenever he arranged something, every detail was considered, nothing left to chance. In the ten years Tan Yang had known him, there had been no exceptions. Such a man—if he wished to keep something from her, she’d be left in the dark forever, Tan Yang mused wearily.

At first sight, Bi Qingtang smiled broadly and clapped Old Ma heartily on the shoulder. “It’s been so long! You’re still as robust as ever—no trouble if you help me make money for another twenty years.” Old Ma shook his head repeatedly. “No, Boss Bi, I can’t work anymore. I actually wanted to tell you I plan to retire and go home.” Bi Qingtang listened, smiling without a word. Old Ma turned to Tan Yang. “Miss, have you been well this past year? I’ve really missed you—it’s been so long.” Tan Yang squinted her eyes in a smile and nodded, “I’m well, Uncle Ma, everything’s fine!” “And the little miss? Why didn’t you bring her?” “She caught a chill this morning, so we didn’t dare bring her out tonight.”

During the meal, Tan Yang and her husband chatted with Old Ma about the joy of reunion, both she and Old Ma tacitly omitting their meeting a few days earlier, instead reminiscing with smiles about old times in Tongli.

After dinner, they left the restaurant to find night had fallen completely and rickshaws were nowhere to be seen. Bi Qingtang and Tan Yang decided to escort Old Ma home first. The car stopped at Old Ma’s courtyard gate, and at the sound of the engine, Old Ma’s grandson dashed out first. Old Ma got out, exchanged a few words with Bi Qingtang, and was about to lead his grandson inside when the boy looked up curiously and asked, “Boss Bi, will you have the big car bring Grandpa home again tomorrow?” Bi Qingtang smiled, about to reply, when the boy quickly added, “You will, right? Grandpa came back in your car yesterday and today. Tomorrow, let the big car bring him home again—I like watching the big car!”

Old Ma, flustered, gave his grandson a slap on the back and scolded, “What nonsense are you talking, mixing people up! Aren’t you embarrassed to say such things?” The boy, feeling wronged, began to wail, “I’m not wrong! I know Boss Bi! I know her too!” He pointed at Tan Yang sitting inside the car. “The day Grandpa returned from Tianjin, he came home with this lady!”

The elaborate charade of reunion the adults had maintained all evening was laid bare by a seven or eight-year-old child. Each of the three adults was left with their own worries—awkward, anxious, and suspicious.

On the way home, Bi Qingtang and Tan Yang sat in silence, neither questioning nor confessing, a tacit understanding between them. The only sound was the faint tapping of the tires on the gravel, and the beams of streetlights flickered through the car window as they drove, casting intermittent shadows. Husband and wife, each with their own thoughts, sat together under a heavy silence that seemed to foretell a coming storm.

As soon as the car entered the Bi residence, Uncle Chen rushed over, anxiously reporting, “Master, Madam, little miss has a fever and red spots! Should we take her to the hospital?” Upon hearing this, Tan Yang hurriedly opened the car door and, stumbling in her high heels, rushed inside. Bi Qingtang, distressed and agitated, slammed the car door behind him. “How can so many people fail to look after a child properly?”

Tan Yang unbuttoned her daughter’s clothes, pressed her forehead to the child’s, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s chickenpox,” she said, glancing back at Bi Qingtang. He frowned deeply. “Let’s take her to the hospital just in case.” Tan Yang looked at him with exasperation. “Have you forgotten? Your wife has studied medicine all these years—my specialty is pediatrics!” Bi Qingtang touched Yan Tan’s forehead uncertainly. “So… so we don’t need to go to the hospital?” Tan Yang, seeing his expression, was caught between laughter and tears. “You don’t even trust me to treat our daughter?”

Bi Qingtang sat close beside her on the bed, stroking his chin, both troubled and sincere. “To be honest, little sister, I trust you with anyone else, even myself. But…” He glanced meaningfully at their daughter in Tan Yang’s arms and shook his head. Tan Yang laughed instead of being angry. “Don’t worry, big brother. If I can’t cure your precious daughter, you can punish me as you see fit!” Bi Qingtang tapped the nightstand with his finger. “That’s just it—how could I punish you? No matter how I think about it, I’d always end up suffering in silence!” Tan Yang gave him a playful, reproachful look. “Big brother, you really are something!”

Despite the banter, Bi Qingtang did everything his wife asked—serving tea, fetching water, and sending someone to the hospital for her medical kit. Late into the night, the chickenpox rash broke out. Yan Tan, feverish and itchy, wept for her parents—sometimes for her father, sometimes her mother. The two took turns holding and soothing her, gripping her hands tight so she wouldn’t scratch herself and leave a scar. Raising a daughter is no easy task—she must be fed, clothed, kept healthy and happy, her future happiness, grace, beauty, and safety all meticulously planned. Dangers and ill-intentioned people must be guarded against at every turn. No wonder, as Westerners say, if you want to torment a man, let him have a daughter—he’ll worry over her for a lifetime.

Watching over their sick daughter, husband and wife stood united, facing the ordeal together. All thoughts of Shandong, Xu Feihu, the Suffering Buddha, Old Ma—everything else faded into insignificance. In the eyes of loving parents, no calamity could compare to the sound of their child’s cough.

Four days later, Yan Tan’s rash had run its course and her fever subsided. At dawn, she awoke hungry. Tan Yang, not wanting to wake the servants, hurried to the kitchen to make porridge for her daughter. She used the finest rice, cooked until it was soft and glutinous, added chopped ham and scallions, and brought the steaming pot to the bedroom. The room filled with the aroma of food. Tan Yang fed her daughter spoonful by spoonful until the bowl was empty, yet Yan Tan claimed she was still hungry. Both Tan Yang and Bi Qingtang were surprised. Tan Yang quickly served another bowl, but after a few bites, Yan Tan was done.

Bi Qingtang laughed as he held his daughter, “Little one, Mama’s porridge is so delicious you ate so much! Even I’ve never tasted Mama’s cooking.” As soon as he spoke, Tan Yang offered him a spoonful, smiling, “Try some and see.” Bi Qingtang opened his mouth, tasted it, and nodded repeatedly. “Good, good!” he mumbled in praise. Tan Yang, laughing, fed him the rest of the bowl and teased, “Big baby, are you full? Should Mama feed you another bowl?”

The three of them, sated, lay down together on the bed—daughter in the middle, Bi Qingtang and Tan Yang face to face. Tan Yang gazed at his stubbled chin, pressed her hand against it, and said with concern, “Look at you, your beard’s grown so long!” Bi Qingtang smiled, stroking her forehead. “Have you seen yourself? Your eyes are ringed with exhaustion. Now that little one is better, you should get some sleep.” He tugged the quilt up to cover her.

Tan Yang held her daughter’s hand, smiled and nodded, and closed her eyes. The first rays of dawn crept through the white gauze curtains, illuminating mother and child. To Bi Qingtang, the sight of his sleeping daughter and his wife’s peaceful face was the most beautiful painting in the world. Smiling, he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Tan Yang’s ear.

In that moment, as she drifted toward sleep, Tan Yang quietly decided that as long as her daughter grew up healthy and she and her big brother remained as close as ever, whatever else was left unresolved, she would no longer concern herself with it.

At the same time, wide awake, Bi Qingtang made a silent vow: he would protect his family, his wife and daughter, and defend his home and happiness—whatever the cost.

That night, in the garden outside the house, Uncle Chen and Bi Qingtang had a seemingly casual conversation.

“When you talked to him, what did he say?”

“He said he’s taken plenty of money from you, but he doesn’t want it. His son works in Shanghai, his grandson goes to school here. He really doesn’t want to leave. He also said you can rest assured, he’d rather die than tell Miss anything.”

Bi Qingtang sneered, lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a ring of smoke, squinting at the cigarette in his hand. “He won’t leave? He’d rather die than tell?”

Three mornings later, on the banks of the Huangpu River, a laborer saw the body of an old man floating face up in the water. The face was deathly pale, the eyes wide open, hands curled like chicken claws, his head of silver hair drifting in the cold morning current, tangled with bits of wood. The laborer shouted in terror. He had seen death before, but this old man had died so wretchedly…