Chapter One:
Qiao Fei
April. The National Specialised French Examination had just finished, and we were all waiting for our grade.
The sunlight was good, and it was a bright and beautiful spring day.
Looking out from the bright large window of the library, one can see the dark blue sea, the waves that flutter in the spring wind, and the seagull that opens its wings, enticing one to slack off.
I was sitting in the library, and I’ve studied so much that I’m a little sick of it. I flipped at pages of the dictionary out of habit. I saw a word, “fatalité,” a feminine noun; destiny, fate, karma.
Someone patted my shoulder. It was Xiaodan, a friend who had the bunk above mine. I left the reading room with her as Xiaodan asked me why I was still here—the lecture was about the begin, and that I needed to pack up and leave with her.
I blanked out for a moment, and then remembered that there was a very important lecture this afternoon. An uppercla.s.sman who were returning from studying interpreting aboard at Paris III would be talking. I must have been dazed by the sunlight to have forgotten something to important. I hurriedly packed up my books, and run with Xiao Dan to the French lecture hall.
The uppercla.s.sman who would be lecturing was Cheng Jiayang, and he was well-known in our language school which was the best in the country. His parents were both high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, both graduated from this school, starting their careers as high-level interpreters. His father, French, his mother, English. From when he was young Cheng Jiayang grew up in an environment of three languages. Other stories about Cheng Jiayang, other than his extraordinary circ.u.mstances, spoke of his intelligence, diligence, modesty and work ethic. Unfortunately, by the time that we had entered the school, he had already gone to study abroad at Paris III. When teachers spoke of him in cla.s.s, girls would daydream, and boys would say, “Teacher, those are old stories. We should look to the present for distinguished students.”
When Xiaodan arrived, the lecture hall was overflowing. What made me angry was that there were already not enough seats for us French majors, but students from other majors were there. The girls from the English Department opposite of us had already arrived, and I had reason to believe that they had an ulterior motive. These starry-eyed idiots!
I heard an indistinct voice call out me and Xiaodan’s name, and in the crowd, I saw our roommate Bobo on the other side of the lecture hall, calling us over. What a good friend, who had shamelessly saved us seats. But the people here were packed tighter than the meat in a meatball, how were we supposed to make our way through?
The lecture hadn’t started yet, and without any other choice, so I grabbed Xiaodan and jumped onto a table, forcing my way through from up high. Other people made surprised and disgruntled sounds. I am a language student and I know that language is rich, and none more so than our great motherland, with people bringing languages and dialects from their hometowns.
This path was difficult and slow, and before we reached our destination, the noise stopped and it went quiet, very quiet. Then applause sounded. I know what has happened. The star who was giving the lecture, the Cheng Jiayang who everyone had eagerly been awaiting, had arrived. But the rows of seats of this lecture theatre sloped down, the two of us were still high enough to attract attention. We lowered our heads, bent down, and were practically crawling.
We hurried over, and in the end, almost threw ourselves on top of Bobo. I hurriedly sat down, straightened my clothes and smoothed down my hair, calmed myself, and then opened my eyes to look at the star, full of conviction.
So this was Cheng Jiayang.
In my heart, I had sketched out his appearance. A modest gentleman, an intelligent learner, a mature scholar, or a handsome man. But his appearance went beyond my expectations.
The man in front of the podium was very young, tall, skinny, and wearing a casual soft white shirt and black pants, yet he had an elegant aura. His skin was very pale, and I stood far away from him and couldn’t see all his facial features, and could only see a pair of subtly smiling bright black eyes. His hair was black and curly, and went past his ears. Like this, he looked gentle and reserved.
Like most of the girls in this lecture hall, I didn’t want to blink my eyes, and my heart had floated away.
Then I heard him say, “Do I say Mandarin or French?”
His voice was deep and crisp, like the water in a deep pond.
I heard someone mutter, “Whatever you want to, Xiao Gege.”
It was me, Qiao Fei who had just seen Cheng Jiayang for the first time.
For that lecture, under the request of the foreign legion, Cheng Jiayang did his talk in Mandarin. He gave a presentation on his experience studying abroad at Paris III, his intense studying, examinations, extra-curricular training on etiquette, diplomacy skills, and his internship interpreting at several large conferences in Brussels and Strasbourg. Afterward, there was a Q&A session with the students. The first few questions were standard questions about the cla.s.s structure at Paris III, how to go study abroad, and interpreting techniques. But not long after, under the direction of some starry-eyed idiots, the direction moved from living in Paris to local customs and lifestyle, and subjects that travel programs had well and truly worn out. And in the end, someone in the sea of people shouted out, “Uppercla.s.sman, did you take the chance to find a French girl for a girlfriend?” I was really angry, but at the same time, I was extremely curious inside, and thought, Cheng Jiayang, you can’t not answer.
Cheng Jiayang smiled, and took the microphone with his other hand.
He finally said in French: “If I said no, would that be a letdown?”
Everyone laughed, and started talking again. The girl next to me, who learnt Spanish, said: “What did he say? What did he say?”
I looked at this busybody, and said: “Why should I tell you?”
Then I thought, Cheng Jiayang came from a high-cla.s.s background, was a graceful temperament, and was a man as fresh as the white snow, and really made one yearn after him.
When I thought of him like that, I was sitting in front of a large mirror, putting on makeup.
I whitened my face, added length to my eyebrows until they almost touched the hair on my temples, and dabbed my lips with a bright red. My hair was so black it was almost blue, and it was tied up high, showing the neck. Foreigners liked this type of Asian girl.
I changed into a gold skirt that wrapped tightly around my youthful body. I smiled at the mirror, and then again; my appearance was charming.
Pushing open the door, I saw lanterns red and wine green, flickering lights and pa.s.sing shadows— blurred scenes of pleasure-seeking and partying.
This was the most popular nightclub in the city, “Qing Cheng.” I am one of the many flirtatious girls here, and called Feifei.
In a private room called “Casablanca,” some customers requested girls to drink with, so I went inside. There were four to five men around thirty years old, and in the middle was a golden-haired foreigner. He was quite pleased at seeing me, and waved his hand to gesture me over. I thought that my luck today was quite good. I liked young customers, they weren’t vile, thought highly of themselves, and wouldn’t resort to dirty tricks.
I like to sing, and get particularly engrossed in it when I’m half-drunk. Like Faye Wong, I sing about fleeting time, like Karen Mok, I sing about the fruits of midsummer. It’s all so vivid, and when the emotions become thick, I knit my eyebrows together. A customer says that there’s something weighing on that girl’s heart. I glance over at him, but don’t speak. A man with money is here for one night will have you in sights. Although I didn’t go up on stage, I earned a good amount in tips.
One night a week, I work at Qing Cheng a hostess, and the money will be enough for my day-to-day expenses, and I’ll be able to send some back home.
I think that I’m not the only female university student who is living this sort of lifestyle. In reality, people like me aren’t uncommon, and I think this type of lifestyle is plentiful—I know how to defend myself, and my misfortunates aren’t too bad. My keywords here are “too bad.”
I provide for myself, and I love living.
Chen Jiayang
Since I came back from France, my Father and Mother have gone to Morocco on business, and my elder brother’s phone has been turned off as usual. Even a house as large as this cannot gather a family.
I went back to school to do paperwork and do a talk. Because I had already gotten a diploma from France, as long as I handed in my Master’s thesis to my academic advisor before June, I could graduate. I trust that the campus has been good since I have last been here. The lowercla.s.smen greet me enthusiastically, and I recall a time when I was their age, and how I had been infatuated with a certain someone.
Did she know?
Teacher Fu Mingfang’s English Intensive Reading cla.s.s was in Building 3 in Room 402. When I arrived, there weren’t many students, and sat in the back room in seats near the window. Students came in one after the other, and I think some of them recognized me. The girls looked at me and whispered into their ears of their companions. I smiled at them, and they happily said: “h.e.l.lo, Uppercla.s.sman Cheng Jiayang.” They didn’t look like English majors, but more like Korean or j.a.panese majors.
I said, “Hi.”
Before the bell rang, Mingfang, Fu Mingfang walked into the cla.s.sroom.
Now she had straight hair that fell past her ears, and was wearing a light blue knit with cream trousers. It really was to her style, and made her look even slimmer. She used English to ask her students, “You’ve finished reading ‘The Old Man and the Sea.’ Did you like it?” Then she finally saw me.
After she finished cla.s.s, we went to a small café on campus.
“I heard students talk about your lecture, Jiayang. You’ve always been a popular figure. How are your studies going? Is it difficult?”
“Not difficult. I can still cope. Mingfang, my teachers in France gave both my my thesis and graduation interpretation experience an A.”
“I know, I’m not surprised. Since you were young, you have always been the best student in every group.”
“You never replied to my emails.”
“Which email did you send them to? Right, Hotmail changed and I forgot my username so I stopped using that one.”
“You only gave me that gave me that email.”
Mingfang smiled, her fair face almost transparent under the sunlight.
“I also sent letters to you.”
“Didn’t I reply?”
“Yes. I wrote ten letters, and you replied to one, and it that wasn’t longer than a postcard.”
“Let it go, Jiayang. It’s like you’ve become a child again. I was concerned that you had too much schoolwork. Isn’t it fine now, you’ve come back and we can see each other often. That’s right, how’s the matter of your job coming along, I heard from my father that your father has already arranged for you to go to the interpreting department at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?”
“Where else could I go? Other than interpreting, there’s nothing else I know how to do.”
In my two years in Paris, because I had a heavy load of coursework, and was busy with my internship, I didn’t return home. I sent countless emails to Mingfang, but it was like tossing a pebble into a sea, with no replies. In two years, I wrote ten thick letters to her. Last Christmas, she replied to one of them, urging me to focus on my studies and take care of my body. It wasn’t more than 200 words long.
It’s not that she doesn’t know how I feel, but she’s simply this stingy.
But a good thing is that I’ve returned, and Mingfang is also here. Facing her now, I forget how I felt wronged in the past, and a sense of soft feeling fills my heart. Seeing her hand on the table, I press down on it.
“Mingfang.”
“Hm?”
Mingfang.”
“Hm?”
“I just want to call you.”
Her soft laughter really was beautiful. “Jiayang, come to my house for dinner tonight.”
“Okay.”
My father and Mingfang’s father were schoolmates who went to study abroad together. They took the same place, the same ship, and rented the same house. After they came back home, my father stayed in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs while Mingfang’s father held a position in the Ministry of Education. The friendship they had in their youth lasted their entire life, and pa.s.sed into the next generation of me, my elder brother, and Mingfang.
Knowing that I was coming, Mingfang’s mother specially told the housekeeper to make my childhood favourite of celery and simmered carp. Her father was overseas on business, but I think, at least Mingfang’s mother wasn’t as busy as my mother. Compared to my house, this place was much warmer.
The food was delicious, and I ate a lot.
Mingfang’s mother knew that there was only me and the housekeeper at home now, so told me that I might as well come over ever day to eat, and I said okay. I looked at Mingfang, and she left the dining room to take a call. I don’t know who it was, but she talked for quite a while, and I heard her gentle laughter come from the balcony.
I said goodbye just after 8pm.
Mingfang showed me out, and told me to drive carefully. As I ignited the engine, she suddenly knocked on my window: “That’s right, I forgot to tell you. Jiayang, I’m about to get married.”
April. A warm breeze should be blowing through the spring night. I didn’t drink, so why did I feel cold, and like my hands—which had tightly grasped the steering wheel—were trembling?
My first reaction was to loudly ask her: “What wrong with you? Why are you getting married? You’re not even that old?”
“Why must there be something wrong?” She still smiled softly. “You forget, I’m older than you by 4 years. I’m already 29, isn’t that old enough?”
I quickly ignited the car, and I saw Mingfang dodge away.
I drove at lightning speed, my mind completely blank.
I don’t even know how I got home. I sat blankly in the dark study.
Mingfang said, “That’s right. I forgot to tell you that I’m getting married.” She deliberately didn’t make a big deal out of it. I wish that my reaction just then wasn’t completely transparent, and that the next time I see her, I would be able to calmly deal with the situation, or else I’d let Mingfang down.
But, I could only feel a throbbing pain in my heart. There must be a way to stop the pain, right?
I returned to my own room, and found a small packet of special cigarettes in the depths of the wine cabinet; brown cigarette paper, slender like the fingers of a woman. I lit one, inhaled deeply. My mouth, internal organs, and head became enveloped in fragrant smoke, and it was as if the pain has disappeared.
As if I had returned to the past, a past that could not be returned to, where Mingfang stroked my hair and gently kissed my forehead.