67 (65) 7 Making Friends

Xu Zhizhong was an exceptionally difficult patient; whatever Tan Yang said to him, he would agree at once, obedient and swift. Yet, when Tan Yang left the room for a while and returned, she would find several confidential documents hastily hidden beneath his pillow. If she entered the room quickly, he would even shove an uncapped fountain pen under the quilt. Caught in the act, Xu Zhizhong would look at Tan Yang with a face full of shame, smiling in a clumsy, childlike manner, trying to please her, afraid she might punish him, but even more afraid she might be so angry she would not bother to punish him at all.

After this happened several times, the next day at noon, when Tan Yang went to check on her patient after lunch, she found Xu Zhizhong bent over his desk, eating heartily while flipping through a stack of documents and jotting notes. Seeing him repeat his old tricks, even Tan Yang, with her gentle temperament, could not help but get angry. "Xu Zhizhong! How can you be like this? I told you to rest in bed, and just while I was eating, you ran down here? Do you realize, if your wound flares up again and doesn’t heal, it could cost you your life!"

Xu Zhizhong, upon seeing Tan Yang, awkwardly pushed the documents farther away, and farther still, mumbling, "There are some urgent matters... urgent..." "You always say that: urgent matters, important matters! If you keep brushing me off like this, I’ll..." Tan Yang trailed off, not knowing how to finish her threat. As a doctor, how could she scare this patient—this man who had admired her since his youth?

Xu Zhizhong, hearing her words, immediately stood up, nervous and earnest. "Yang Yang, no, I won't do it again, never, please don’t..." He didn’t even know what she intended to say, yet he was already thrown into confusion, for she held too much over him: a glance more, a word less—these trivial details, to him, were matters of utmost importance.

Later, they reached an agreement: every morning for one hour, every afternoon for another, he could handle important official business; at other times, he would rest, under her supervision.

That afternoon, the sky was overcast. Xu Zhizhong lay in bed, and Tan Yang urged him to take a nap. Xu Zhizhong knew she was reluctant to stay in his room for long; she wanted him to sleep so she could leave. He muttered, "How could there be so much sleep? If I sleep now, I’ll be staring at the ceiling all night, waiting for dawn." He paused, suddenly thinking of something, casting a glance at Tan Yang, as if about to speak but hesitating.

"What do you want? To review documents or write secret letters?" Tan Yang closed her book, her tone cool. Xu Zhizhong hurriedly waved his hand, smiling, "No, no, Doctor Tan, I wouldn't dare! I just wanted to ask you to read me a book!"

Tan Yang smiled and nodded, "That’s a good idea. I don’t know your reading habits. I see Lieutenant Lin outside; let him read to you, and I can take a little break." She stood up to call him, but before she could leave, Xu Zhizhong spoke deliberately from behind, "A German book." Tan Yang turned, her brows furrowed, looking at Xu Zhizhong. He explained, feigning casualness, "The German original biography of Marshal August von Mackensen, which I bought years ago but never had a chance to read. It’s in the downstairs study, west side, fourth shelf down, first book on the right!" Xu Zhizhong's request caught Tan Yang off guard, but she could not refuse.

When Lieutenant Lin opened Xu Zhizhong’s private study, and saw the towering bookshelves lining the four walls, Tan Yang couldn’t help but gasp. Whether a person reads or loves books is easily seen in their study. Those who merely pretend to be cultured treat the study as decoration: polished rosewood shelves, crystal-clear glass untouched by fingerprints, filled with neatly arranged sets of books—such books are rarely read. Xu Zhizhong’s shelves were rough, long planks nailed together, unpainted, stacked with books of all sizes and thicknesses, old and new, organized by subject, regardless of appearance, with many books marked by slender paper slips.

Lieutenant Lin, noticing Tan Yang’s expression, explained, "The Chief of Staff loves books—wherever he goes, he buys them. Even after reading them thoroughly, he won’t part with them, and takes them everywhere. There’s a joke in the army: when officers are transferred, their belongings fill trucks. Colonel Liang fills his with gold and jewels, Deputy Colonel Li with women, but the Chief of Staff fills his with books!"

Tan Yang glanced quickly; the collection was vast, mostly history, military, and literature. By language, half were in Chinese, half in English, and, besides, there was a whole shelf of German books. Xu Zhizhong was meticulous: every book’s front page bore the date and place of purchase. Tan Yang pulled out the biography he requested; the purchase date coincided with the year she studied abroad in Germany.

When Tan Yang brought the book back, the sky was truly darkening. Heavy clouds pressed low, blocking out the sun, making day as dark as night. Tan Yang sat at the desk, opened the book, turned on the lamp. In the dim light, the lamp’s glow was soft and inviting, like orange mist veiled in silk. The lamp’s green glass shade matched the blue-green of her qipao, both adorned with ink bamboo, creating an antique elegance. The pale golden light shone on her long curled hair, outlining her profile in a gilded halo. Under the lamp, her face was porcelain-white and delicate, beautiful as jade, its beauty nurtured by time, soothing to the soul. Even her slender wrist, turning pages, carried an intuitive grace. Xu Zhizhong, seeing it, felt a moment of déjà vu—a scene so familiar, as if it occurred in every twilight and night of their decade-long acquaintance.

Tan Yang silently read each chapter, then translated it into Chinese for Xu Zhizhong. Her command of Chinese was exemplary, and, having served as Mr. Seidler’s interpreter, she read and translated smoothly and beautifully, no less than any official translation. Naturally, Xu Zhizhong listened with delight. When inspired, he would tell Tan Yang stories: tales from beyond the battlefield, strategies from those who fought Germany, and similar wars from ancient China—truly blending East and West, making the lecture fascinating. When Tan Yang was young, her scholarly father loved to tell her such anecdotes and war stories, which she adored. Seeing her engrossed, Xu Zhizhong was greatly encouraged, speaking with even greater brilliance.

Talking, listening, the afternoon slipped into evening unnoticed. Outside, thunder and rain raged, but inside, they were oblivious, even forgetting dinner. It was only when Lieutenant Lin timidly asked if they wanted food that they checked the clock—it was already past nine. Tan Yang, annoyed at herself for neglecting her duty to supervise her patient’s rest, hurried off, ate a little in her room, then washed and went to bed. Xu Zhizhong, by contrast, ate dinner slowly, full of contented smiles, and lay in bed so excited he did not sleep a wink all night.

The next day, when Tan Yang finished translating the last section and closed the book, she remarked, still fascinated, “I never thought you’d be so eloquent; your stories are wonderful.” Xu Zhizhong smiled at her, “Why are you only realizing it now? In school speech contests, I was always first place!” Tan Yang was surprised, then smiled apologetically. Xu Zhizhong sighed, speaking meaningfully, “You didn’t know because you never came to our study club. So, Yang Yang, all these years, is your knowledge of me limited to my name—Xu Zhizhong, that I play a little flute, then went to military school and became a soldier?”

Tan Yang hadn’t expected him to say this; her hand sweated as she held the book, and she set it aside, trying to change the subject, but Xu Zhizhong continued, “But I know so much about you. I have all your Chinese essays from middle school; I know every event in your school days, even your favorite flavors, what books you read at different times. So why don’t you try to learn something about me? From what I know about you—and myself—putting aside everything else, at least, we should be very good friends.”

He paused, then added, “What I feel for you is my own affair, and has nothing to do with you, but that doesn’t stop you from having one more friend. Just imagine—if there were no romantic feelings, if we were even the same gender—wouldn’t you cherish me, just as I cherish you now?”

As he spoke, Xu Zhizhong became more excited. “But you always keep me at a distance, avoiding me—what is that? Why have I been unable to let go of you all these years? Because you rejected me without knowing anything about me, and I’m unwilling, so I keep hoping. Yang Yang, could you give yourself a chance—to know me, to make me your friend? If, after that, you find something about me you dislike and reject me, I’ll accept it. But for now, just be my friend—can you?”

Very sincerely, Xu Zhizhong extended his hand to her. Tan Yang, seeing his solemn face, thought helplessly: Yes, if everything else is set aside, Xu Zhizhong would be her most sympathetic confidant—so what reason did she have to refuse one more friend? If she persisted in refusing, might it not mean she still harbored illusions? The dead cannot be revived; everything was already irretrievably lost the moment Bi Qingtang resolutely pulled the trigger time and again in the Bi residence…

Tan Yang forced a smile, reached out, and touched fingertips with Xu Zhizhong. Outside, after the rain, autumn sunlight illuminated the world in dazzling brilliance…

On Saturday at noon, after changing Xu Zhizhong’s dressing, Tan Yang was anxious to leave. Xu Zhizhong asked, “You’ll come again next Monday, right?” Tan Yang replied ambiguously, “Actually, this week your wound has healed very well, but to be safe, another week of care would be fine.” Xu Zhizhong laughed, “If you don’t want to come, it’s alright. It’s tiring to travel here from so far.” Before Tan Yang could respond, Xu Zhizhong couldn’t help but laugh, “Last night Xiang Ning called, and Brother Fazhu happened to be nearby. He said I could stay in your hospital; he’s reserved a room for me! Anyway, I’ve handled most army affairs lately, so I can leave for a few days now and then—it’s not a big deal.”

Tan Yang, hearing this, grumbled, “Brother Fazhu, Brother Fazhu—when did you all become so close? The three of you scheming together against me! Don’t bother, I’ll definitely come next week, otherwise if Liu Fazhu catches me breaking my word and starts arguing, I fear his persistence.” Xu Zhizhong burst out laughing, “Actually, that was Fazhu’s idea, too. Who would have thought he’s such a talent!” Tan Yang shook her head, amused, “What am I supposed to say to you all? If he weren’t talented, would he be able to keep Xiang Ning in check? But you’re the true genius, able to use both of them!”

Tan Yang then asked when the car would arrive. Xu Zhizhong said Lieutenant Lin had just gone to prepare it, soon, and asked why she was in such a hurry. Tan Yang laughed, “I miss Nannan—it’s been two weeks since I saw her!” Xu Zhizhong, hearing this, felt guilty, “Sorry I kept you from seeing your child so long.” Tan Yang replied with relief, “This is already very good; I’m satisfied. I once thought I’d never see my daughter again in this life!” Xu Zhizhong asked, puzzled, “How could that be?” Tan Yang smiled lightly, pretending to be relaxed, “When we first divorced, her father wouldn’t allow it.” “He treated you like that?” Xu Zhizhong asked, his emotions rising.

Tan Yang was about to answer when Lieutenant Lin knocked to say the car was downstairs. Tan Yang, eager to return, hurriedly bid Xu Zhizhong farewell and left. Alone in the room, Xu Zhizhong's face darkened, silent.

At the same time, at the Bi Residence on Fuxu Road, Bi Qingtang stood alone at the gate, hands behind his back, looking out onto the street, a few cigarette butts scattered at his feet.

Uncle Chen slowly approached, “Young master, come back inside. It’s still early; the young mistress has never come so early.” Bi Qingtang said nothing, stubbornly standing there. Uncle Chen, seeing this, could only call again, “Young master!” Finally, Bi Qingtang turned around, lazily saying, “Don’t bother with me; I can’t bear to stay inside.” Uncle Chen smiled wryly, shook his head, and was about to leave when Bi Qingtang spoke softly, “Don’t know why, but this time I feel especially uneasy. All these years, as long as she was in Shanghai, she was the only one who couldn’t see me, never the other way around. If I wanted to see her, there was always a way. This is the first time—half a month without a trace.”

Bi Tan Ji 6765_Complete Free Reading of Bi Tan Ji_67 (65) Friendship update finished!