Disappointment

In this era, information and knowledge could be transmitted, but not smoothly; the foreign treatise on pediatrics that Mr. Seidler had mailed to Tan Yang months earlier only reached her hands after a lengthy and circuitous journey.

Tan Yang treasured it as if she had found a rare gem, reading it late into the night by lamplight. As a result, she overslept the next morning and, hurrying out to hail a rickshaw, walked two blocks without finding an empty one. At this hour the streets were crowded, filled with people heading to work or school, bustling yet not noisy; everyone advanced towards their destination along their accustomed paths, following established routines. Anxiously, Tan Yang hurried along, intending to check the time on her wristwatch, only to be even more discouraged—it had stopped again. This watch only worked properly when she was with Bi Qingtang, for he wound it for her every night. Tan Yang had always been a clear-headed and meticulous person, but strangely enough, all her good qualities seemed to vanish when she was around Bi Qingtang; in front of him, she became absent-minded and careless.

Fortunately, before long, Tan Yang happened to run into Hu Liancheng, who was driving to work, and he gave her a ride to the hospital.

The next morning, as soon as Tan Yang stepped out of her apartment building, she saw Hu Liancheng’s car leisurely parked at the street corner. She walked up to the window and bent down to ask, “Mr. Hu, what brings you here so early?” “I’m here to give you a ride to the hospital!” “Why are you giving me a ride?” Caught off guard by her question, Hu Liancheng was momentarily at a loss, then forced a playful tone, “You’re my client—I have to keep you happy!” Tan Yang chuckled softly, “So Mr. Hu, the illustrious lawyer, has a side job too!” Hu Liancheng was stunned again, and Tan Yang continued, “A chauffeur! With all your clients, you must be busy!”

With that, she straightened up and smiled politely, “I won’t trouble you, Mr. Hu. You have other clients to attend to—go on and take care of your business!” Tan Yang tucked her handbag under her arm and turned to leave. Hu Liancheng hurriedly called after her, “Tan, no, I...” He was suddenly tongue-tied. Tan Yang took two steps, then turned back, smiling gently as she looked into his eyes and said, sincere and kind, “Mr. Hu, it’s impossible—truly impossible.”

Watching Tan Yang’s retreating figure, Hu Liancheng slumped over the steering wheel, clenching his fist and thumping it against his leg. Never in his life had he been so clumsy and helpless—he hardly recognized himself.

Love is the world’s most magical spell; it can transform you utterly in the presence of the one you love. The cautious become confused, the ignoble become noble, the eloquent become tongue-tied, and the dull become lively and charming. In truth, you have not changed—it is merely the deeper layers of your self being revealed. It matters little how the other regards this enchanted version of you; what matters is that you love him, and love this uninhibited, genuine self that emerges in his presence.

This law held true for Tan Yang, for Hu Liancheng, and all the more so for Dr. Liu Fazhu, who had at some point lost his heart.

Within a few days, Liu Fazhu sought Tan Yang out again, saying he knew of a fine Western restaurant with a chef recently arrived from England, and wished to invite both Tan Yang and Zhang Xiangning. At the mention of “England,” Tan Yang could not help but smile. “Dr. Liu, I think I’ll pass, but I’ll help you arrange things with Xiangning.” Liu Fazhu’s face reddened slightly, and he coughed, “No, you must come. Otherwise, she won’t agree to go.” After a moment’s thought, a bit embarrassed, he added, “And please don’t give her any hints—I’m afraid she’ll be scared off. She’s rather shy, and if she’s upset, she won’t see me again.”

Tan Yang covered her mouth, laughing—so the always serious and reserved Liu Fazhu had this sensitive side, too.

So, over the next two weeks, Tan Yang dutifully played gooseberry, joining them for meals, movies, and shopping trips. Zhang Xiangning grew from slightly acquainted to playful and teasing with Liu Fazhu, while he, gentle and attentive, indulged her in everything. Observing them, Tan Yang thought Liu Fazhu was truly a worthy match for Zhang Xiangning. Only one thing—having such a privileged, sheltered girlfriend was an expensive affair.

Seizing an opportune moment, Tan Yang claimed to be unwell and encouraged Liu Fazhu and Zhang Xiangning to go out on their own. Worried that Liu Fazhu might be short on funds, Tan Yang resolved to do a good deed to the end—when salaries were paid at the end of the month, she discreetly placed double the usual payment in Liu Fazhu’s envelope.

To her surprise, the next day Liu Fazhu sought her out with the envelope in hand.

“Director Tan, why did you pay me so much more this month than last?”

“The hospital is doing well, and you’ve worked hard.”

“Did Old Wu and his wife get a raise too?”

Tan Yang was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Director Tan, could it be that you think I’m courting Xiangning and might be short on money, so you gave me extra?”

Tan Yang put down her pen, smiling sheepishly.

Liu Fazhu pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. For the first time, he addressed her by name. “Tan Yang, thank you for your kindness. Having you as a friend is a great blessing for Xiangning. But I’m not some green youth just starting out—I’m older than both of you, so I understand what it means to ‘act within one’s means.’ And that applies not just to myself, but to Xiangning as well.”

“You may not know, but my family has some inherited property. If I were just a doctor living on my salary, I wouldn’t pursue the daughter of the Quartermaster General’s family. It’s not that I feel inferior, but as a man, I shouldn’t use love as an excuse to ask the woman I love to endure hardship with me. I couldn’t bear to watch the girl I love, raised in luxury, become a housewife counting pennies for daily meals. When we were young, didn’t we all proclaim that spirit was higher than material things, that love was above money? But perhaps we should understand that if we cannot promise even the most basic financial security to the one we truly love, what right have we to speak of love or spirit?”

Tan Yang pondered his words for a long time before saying from the heart, “Liu Fazhu, how fortunate our Xiangning is to have your love—it is truly her greatest blessing!”

But Liu Fazhu only lowered his head, troubled. “It’s just wishful thinking. Who knows if she won’t end up turning me down?”

In the blink of an eye, more than a month passed. Hu Liancheng came to see Tan Yang several times, growing more discouraged with each visit. He said the court had accepted his filing but was dragging its feet about holding a hearing; he thought the legal environment in the country was a mess, where powerful hands could block out the sun at will.

That’s what he told Tan Yang; what he didn’t say was that his father had furiously berated him, warning that if he continued in this reckless fashion, he wouldn’t care even if his son was shot dead in the street one day. Hu Liancheng, disheartened, realized that this nation, this people did have law and order—but their kind of justice was worlds apart from what he understood.

While waiting for the court hearing, Tan Yang went to see the coroner, only to learn that the autopsy would have to be conducted outside Shanghai. The coroner had several pressing matters at hand and said he could only accompany Tan Yang to Tongli next month. Knowing the results would be delayed until then, Tan Yang actually felt a sense of relief.

That evening, as Tan Yang made her usual rounds before heading home from the hospital, she reached the second floor and saw Zhang Xiangning sitting on the bench outside the surgery room. The orange glow of the setting sun streamed through the corridor’s large glass windows; the freshly painted apple-green wainscoting and snowy white plaster walls were bathed in gold. Zhang Xiangning leaned gently against the wall, eyes half-closed, a soft smile on her lips—the look of a girl in love, like the first whiff of osmanthus in early autumn, sweet and refreshing.

Tan Yang smiled knowingly, not wishing to disturb her, and was about to turn away when Zhang Xiangning opened her eyes and saw her. Tan Yang asked, “Are you waiting for Dr. Liu?” Zhang Xiangning nodded, “Yes, I’m waiting for him to finish surgery so we can go see a comedy! Yangyang, is your cold still not better? Why don’t you join us?” Tan Yang shook her head, “What a pity—Lin Zhiju has invited me to dinner at her house!”

Zhang Xiangning thought for a moment. “Yangyang, are you in a hurry? I have something to ask you.” Tan Yang sat down beside her, smiling, “I’m not in a hurry—tell me.”

Zhang Xiangning, usually so direct and cheerful, now shyly edged closer and whispered in Tan Yang’s ear, “Yangyang, do you think—do you think Liu Fazhu likes me?” Remembering Liu Fazhu’s request, Tan Yang answered evasively, “Someone like you—of course we all like you!”

Zhang Xiangning pressed Tan Yang’s hand, both exasperated and anxious. “Yangyang, are you really confused or just pretending? That’s not the kind of ‘like’ I mean—I mean the other kind!” Tan Yang thought for a moment, then took Zhang Xiangning’s other hand in hers, looking at her intently and nodding solemnly, “Yes, I believe he does.”

Zhang Xiangning gently withdrew her hands, murmuring half to herself, “I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure. He’s so different from the boys who courted me before—he doesn’t flatter me or say romantic things, he just treats me very well, always so thoughtful. His kindness doesn’t feel forced or awkward, just natural—like my father and brother.”

Tan Yang smiled, “Isn’t that a good thing? I think Liu Fazhu’s views on love and marriage are mature, and his attitude is very earnest. Xiangning, you must cherish this—good matches aren’t like trams; miss this one and there won’t necessarily be another.”

Zhang Xiangning nodded, then after a pause, seemed to remember something, her eyes turning sly. “Yangyang, you say that—have you learned this from experience? Do you think you missed your own good match?”

Tan Yang looked down at the beaded flowers on her shoes, glistening and clear, reminding her of the mermaid’s tears in foreign fairy tales, and felt a pang of sorrow. “Yes, I have learned that lesson. But the one who didn’t know how to cherish it wasn’t me—it was him. He thought himself strong enough to do as he pleased. If a person lacks the most basic sense of morality and reverence, Heaven will punish him.”

Zhang Xiangning hastily waved her hands. “No, Yangyang, I didn’t mean to bring this up. I thought—you see, I always thought you hadn’t yet grasped your own good fortune.” She grew serious as she continued, “Ten years ago, we were both so young—especially me, I was playful and naïve, but you were always quiet and decisive, so perhaps you never paid much heed to my opinions. Still, I think love is often clearest to the bystander, not the one involved.”

“As for knowing what kind of happiness suits me, I still haven’t figured it out. But I always knew that if you could accept Xu Zhizhong, your life would be full of happiness, because, perhaps you only saw him as a good man, but you didn’t know how deeply he cared for you.”

“When he first courted you, I helped because I thought you two looked well together, and he was outstanding in character and appearance. Later, I realized how persistent he was—even when you ignored him, he’d still stand behind you, smiling quietly. I asked him why, and he said he believed you were the half of his soul he lost on the Bridge of Forgetfulness, so you seemed familiar and matched, and only by coming together could your lives be complete.”

“Later, when he found out you were already married, and had left school for a time because you were expecting a child, you’d think he’d be discouraged. But every day in class he took careful notes, and after class he’d painstakingly copy them out. I asked him why. He said he understood that you, a lonely orphan, had married such a man, and he feared that if you ever lost your husband’s love, you’d be unable to stand on your own in society. I scolded him for hoping something bad would happen to you and Mr. Bi, but he said, how could he not wish you well? Now he had to take your happiness as his own, and so he feared even more that you might lose it. At that moment, I realized how shallow my understanding of love had been.”

“When we each went off to university, he always wrote to me, asking about you—from National Peking University, to the Whampoa Military Academy, and later when he went to West Point. When I visited him in the U.S., all we talked about was you! I haven’t started a relationship all these years—because of you, because of you two. I always thought that if I couldn’t find a man who loved me as Xu Zhizhong loved you, or if I couldn’t love someone as deeply, then it wouldn’t be true love.”

“You may not know it, but Xu Zhizhong is quite something now—a young general who can lead troops in battle, a graduate of an American military academy, one of the most prominent of the up-and-coming officers. My father says even the Generalissimo holds him in high regard! He’s the model son-in-law in the eyes of many dignitaries, but he’s stubborn—always saying, ‘Not until the Xiongnu are defeated will I think of home.’ No matter how many eligible ladies are introduced to him, he pays them no mind!”

“I met him in Shanghai recently when he came to see my father on business. I asked him, ‘Why aren’t you married yet? Are you still thinking of Yangyang?’ He answered firmly, ‘No.’ I pressed, ‘Then what sort of woman would you marry willingly?’ He thought for a long time and said, ‘At the very least, not until after we’ve beaten the Japanese. And at the very least, I must like her half as much as I liked you! Otherwise, I’d be afraid of letting her down—dying on the battlefield would be one kind of failing, but not being able to sustain a lifelong love because the feelings aren’t strong enough would be another.’”

In matters of the heart, for centuries, stories of heartbreak and betrayal have played out again and again, so people have learned to guard themselves, wearing masks and locking their hearts, wounding others to protect themselves, always reminding themselves—never be the one betrayed! Yet there are some who, having given true love, would rather be betrayed than betray even a stranger they’ve never met. Such a person, whatever else can be said, is at least, within the realm of love, a man of the highest integrity.

End of “A Record of Blue Sandalwood” Chapter 60 (58): Betrayal.