Suffering and Hardship

Leaving the Bi residence in the midst of a raging storm, Tan Yang walked alone through the night, returning to her uncle’s old house in Shanghai. By the time she opened the groaning, creaking front door, dawn was already breaking in the east. The house had been uninhabited for far too long, dust covering every surface. Though misery and sorrow welled in her heart, she felt no drowsiness. Instead, she slipped off her high heels, rolled up her sleeves, and began to clean the neglected home barefoot.

By the time her work was done, the next day’s noon sun was high. Exhausted, Tan Yang collapsed onto the bed and fell immediately asleep. When she woke again, it was deep into the night, her stomach cramping with hunger. Only then did she realize that she hadn’t eaten for two days. The kitchen was empty, and at such an hour, there was nowhere to buy food. She drew water from the well, set it to boil on the stove, and sat on the doorstep. Early summer’s chill seeped into her bones even in the late night. Somewhere nearby, a few scattered blossoms released their faint, sorrowful fragrance. Rain from previous days had pooled in the yard’s low spots, the little puddles reflecting the wan moonlight, filling her with desolation.

Tan Yang told herself she must accept, must face her reality, must summon the courage to keep living. She resolved to rely on her own skills to gain a foothold in this world, to fight for a better life for her daughter. Sometimes grief was not a choice—circumstances simply gave you no time for it. First, you had to fill your own belly, to survive.

Behind her, the water boiled, sputtering in the kettle. She hurried back, poured it into a bowl, blew gently to cool it, and drank it slowly…

At that hour, the Bi residence was ablaze with light. Servants moved about on tiptoe, not daring to make a sound. In the study, Yan Qin had been hiding under Tan Yang’s writing desk since the afternoon, refusing to come out no matter how she was coaxed, clutching the little white cat in her arms.

Bi Qingtang crouched by the desk, holding a porcelain bowl, coaxing softly, “Sweetheart, let’s eat a little, shall we? Come, Daddy will feed you.” He brought the spoon to his daughter’s lips, but Yan Qin turned her face away, pouting, “No, I want Mama!” At those words, Bi Qingtang felt a pang of guilt, cold sweat beading on his back. Forcing himself to sound composed, he said, “Mama has to see patients these days. She’ll be back after a while.” He tried again to feed her, but Yan Qin knocked the spoon from his hand, rice scattering over his shoes and the floor. Frustration surged in Bi Qingtang; he suppressed his anger and scolded in a low voice, “You’re getting older and less sensible!”

Yan Qin’s mouth quivered with grievance. On the verge of tears, she said, “You’re lying! Mama isn’t on call today—she promised to take me out.” She pointed outside, “A-Zhen and the others said you drove Mama out last night!” With that, she began to sob. Bi Qingtang sprang up and turned, glaring furiously at the two maids at the door. The girls, barely in their twenties, were already trembling with fear. Uncle Chen hurried them out, and Bi Qingtang, teeth clenched, growled, “Strip their hides for me!”

Panting, Bi Qingtang looked down to see the little white cat slinking out from under the desk, eyes half-closed, licking up the spilled rice. He nudged the cat aside with his foot. The cat mewed anxiously, unable to reach the food. “Daddy, let it eat!” Yan Qin sobbed. Bi Qingtang grabbed the kitten by the scruff and set it farther away. “If you won’t eat, neither can it!” Yan Qin’s crying only intensified.

Another bowl of rice was brought, and Bi Qingtang tried to feed Yan Qin despite her protests. She sobbed as she ate, choking and coughing in her hurry, her breath catching between cries. Watching his daughter, rice in her mouth and convulsing in sobs, Bi Qingtang felt as if his heart were being torn apart, the raw agony spelling out a helpless love for her and for this home. He gently rubbed her chest to ease her breathing. When she finally calmed, he slammed his forehead against the table edge. Even the lamp on the desk rattled with the force…

By the time he coaxed Yan Qin to finish the rice, it was midnight. Disheveled, Bi Qingtang sat on the floor, gazing at his tear-streaked daughter, then at the empty bowl in his hands, his mind clouded. He wondered, not knowing what she’d eaten that day.

As he sat dazed, Uncle Chen patted him on the back. Bi Qingtang turned, and Uncle Chen nodded at the bowl and chopsticks on the tea table. “Young Master, I had someone make a bowl of noodles for you. You haven’t eaten or drunk anything all day!” Bi Qingtang shoved the empty bowl at him impatiently. Uncle Chen frowned, helpless. “Look at little Miss. She can’t be left alone. If you collapse, what will she do?” Uncle Chen’s voice trembled as he continued, “You can’t be so willful now. You’re a father; you don’t have the right to be reckless anymore!”

Uncle Chen’s words made Bi Qingtang’s nose sting. He looked at his daughter’s tiny, curled-up figure under the desk, sighed deeply, and went to the table to slurp down the noodles.

When we were young and inexperienced, a quarrel with a lover could make us go without food or sleep. But after marriage and children, no matter how great the heartbreak—even divorce or death—we still must eat, sleep, work, and live. It’s not that we’ve grown stronger, or that sadness no longer touches us, but rather that we realize there are greater responsibilities resting on our shoulders…

The next morning, Tan Yang set out early. After a simple breakfast at the alley’s end, she walked to the hospital—a trek of over an hour, for money was tight and her next paycheck was still weeks away. She had to be frugal.

The hospital was as crowded as ever. Her office was packed with mothers and sick children. Patiently, Tan Yang questioned each case, examined the children, and wrote prescriptions. Near noon, the hospital’s deputy director, Ma, came to see her. The chief director, a German, was rarely present, leaving daily affairs to Ma.

“Mrs. Bi, I need to talk with you.” “Director Ma, as you can see, I’m busy with patients. If you have something to say, please say it here.” Director Ma hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking. “The hospital’s finances are very strained. We can’t afford to keep so many doctors. Mrs. Bi, I am truly sorry.” Tan Yang stared at him in disbelief until he grew embarrassed. After a pause, she nodded. “Understood.” Then she bent over her prescription pad, completed it, and handed it to the child’s parent with careful instructions. She called in the next patient, saying to Director Ma without looking up, “I’ll finish seeing my patients before I go.”

Director Ma felt utterly ashamed. He wrung his hands and checked his watch. “Well, you’ll have to hurry. You need to be out by one this afternoon. Mrs. Bi, I really am sorry…”

Packing up her things, Tan Yang paused as she looked at the fountain pen on her desk. After a long struggle, she finally pocketed it. She told herself she was only taking it because she was used to it. After all, it was the pen she’d used for twelve years.

Carrying her belongings, Tan Yang walked quite a distance before Director Ma caught up to her, out of breath. “Mrs. Bi, you are a good doctor. We are truly sorry. I had no choice—please don’t take it personally.” Tan Yang stared at a tiny, nameless wildflower by the roadside, saying nothing. “If you ever have difficulties, come to me privately. Don’t be a stranger!” Tan Yang wanted to say that her greatest difficulty was having no job and no money. But when she looked into Director Ma’s sincere eyes, the words stuck in her throat. She only nodded, forcing a smile.

In the days that followed, Tan Yang visited every Western hospital in Shanghai, only to be rejected at every turn. As her money dwindled, she had no choice but to work as a translator at a German-owned firm. She was let go after only two days. Every subsequent attempt at employment met with either failure or dismissal. Thus, more than half a month slipped by in vain. With her rice jar nearly empty, sorrow welled up unbidden. She longed to reclaim her daughter, but as things stood, she could barely feed herself.

At twenty-six, Tan Yang tasted hunger for the first time. She experienced for the first time the harshness of life, with no one left to shield her from storms. She had to swallow every drop of bitterness on her own. She reminded herself that a mother must be strong. If she wanted to bring her daughter to her side, she had to find a way—any way—to go on living…

A few mornings later, Zhao Ling burst into Bi Qingtang’s office, not waiting for anyone to announce her, her teacher’s voice ringing out, “Bi Qingtang, what on earth is going on with you two? Tell me clearly.” Bi Qingtang glared at her, then motioned to the chair where his daughter lay. Only then did Zhao Ling notice the scene: Yan Qin was asleep in her father’s office chair, covered by his suit jacket. Bi Qingtang, unshaven and haggard, sat on a stool beside her, a pile of ledgers and paperwork before him.

Feeling guilty for disturbing the child’s sleep, Zhao Ling lowered her tone. “Why let her sleep here?” Bi Qingtang tucked Yan Qin’s hand under the jacket and sighed, “Do you think I wanted to?”

Since Tan Yang had left, Yan Qin had been difficult to manage. At six, she could sense the changes between her parents, even if she didn’t fully understand. She kept asking for her mother, becoming especially distressed at night, staying awake for hours. But Bi Qingtang, now engaged in legitimate business, had a mountain of work at the factory and department store. Every morning, when he tried to leave, Yan Qin would cling to his leg, sobbing, “You don’t want Mama, and now you don’t want me either?” He wanted to say he hadn’t abandoned her mother, but the words stuck in his throat, tasting of salt.

Standing by the window, Bi Qingtang lit a cigarette, took two fierce drags, cleared his throat, and asked in a low voice, “Did my little sister come to see you?” Zhao Ling put her bag on the table. “She did. She came last night to borrow money. I asked her what was wrong, and she only said there was a huge problem between you two. When I pressed her, she just cried.” Zhao Ling sighed, anxious. “What happened between you two? What’s the trouble?” Seeing Bi Qingtang turn away in silence, Zhao Ling moved closer, voice low, exasperated. “Did you cheat on her? Did you mess around and she found out?”

When Bi Qingtang still didn’t respond, Zhao Ling impatiently nudged him. “Well, did you?” He turned his face, red-eyed and despairing, and shook his head. “No,” he said simply, tears glistening in his eyes. Before she could see clearly, he turned away again, the sunlight outside so harsh it made Zhao Ling doubt what she’d seen. How could a man like this…? She was at a loss for words, and after a long silence, she stammered, “Why, then? If I knew, I could help talk to her.” Still, Bi Qingtang only shook his head, his voice hoarse. “It’s no use.”

Zhao Ling stood behind him for a long while before finally sighing, grabbing her bag, and saying, “I’m leaving!” When Bi Qingtang turned back, he had regained his composure. “Miss Zhao, however much my sister borrowed from you, go to accounting and they’ll reimburse you.” After a pause, he commanded, “If she tries to borrow again, don’t give her anything!” Seeing Zhao Ling’s confusion, Bi Qingtang said firmly, “Let her suffer a little—it’s only when people are truly desperate that they realize there’s a way back.”

Zhao Ling left without a word, but halfway down the stairs, she made a sudden decision and returned, pushing open the door to say, “Do you know why she borrowed money from me? She wants to go to Germany. She said once she’s established there, she’ll come back and take her daughter away!”

Author’s note: I realize I’ve forgotten how to post songs now. The ones I posted before can’t be listened to anymore—tragic…

End of chapter 53 (51) of The Record of Jade and Ebony: “Bitterness and Suffering”