A Flower’s Shade (31 page)

A brand-new wooden wheelchair was being pushed into the Great Hall, but the figure seated in it was not the familiar Naixiang; instead, it was—her expression rigid, mask-like—Miss Yu. All present were flabbergasted; no one could believe their eyes. Young, beautiful, arrogant, headstrong Miss Yu, Miss Yu—like a gorgeous but poisonous mushroom—had turned, in the twinkling of an eye, into an invalid like her brother. Now, just like Naixiang, she sat in a wheelchair, unable to move. The piercing creak of the wheelchair as it proceeded covered the gasps of amazement.

In the most absurd fashion, the engagement ceremony went on according to the original plan. Huaifu climbed the creaking ladder and, reaching the top, put his hand behind the wooden board, removed the letter, and descended slowly. When he had got his footing on the ground again, Seventh Grandfather made a gesture and Huaifu energetically ripped open the envelope, removing the folded letter inside. He looked at it, after a moment raising his head, and, without looking at Seventh Grandfather's expression—looking instead at Naixiang, seated there like a man of wood—he read, without expression:

"Yuan Xiaoyun."

"Xiaoyun?" said Suqin, blanching in bewilderment where she was seated next to Naixiang. This conclusion was completely unexpected. In the wake of the spreading news that Miss Yu had become a vegetable, Liangzhong had—like the first time he had jilted Miss Yu—disappeared without a trace, refusing to make an appearance. Although he had long coveted the Zhen property, it was still a little much to expect him to marry a living corpse. The fact that Liangzhong had absconded diluted Suqin's joy, for she understood that all her dreams had come to naught. The evidence could not be denied: Liangzhong did not really care for her.

It was all so unexpected. Excepting the two siblings with their rigid stares, and Huaifu's gloomy look, everyone else wore expressions of profound confusion. The bulging stare of Seventh Grandfather had a comical aspect. Xiaoyun's name echoed through the Estate. Those who did not know Xiaoyun were all asking who he was, and those who knew him were all asking where he could have gone off to.

Three days before, Xiaoyun had carried his maimed passion away from the little town. Xiaoyun would never know that he had actually been the man of Miss Yu's choice. He had already decided never to return to this little town, apparently so tranquil. Tranquility is another way of saying stagnancy. Perhaps leaving the small town was in the end his own wish; ever since he had come back to the small town, he had been figuring out how to leave again. He loathed this rotten town, just as he loathed the rotten Zhen Estate. Perhaps remorse would not allow him to return with any dignity. Regardless of whether Miss Yu really loved him, he realized that he, in any event, he really had loved Miss Yu. Many years before, out of hatred, and many years afterwards, out of love, Xiaoyun had destroyed the happiness of the two siblings. Xiaoyun never regretted anything; this too, he did not regret.

That day at daybreak, after a whole night of pouring rain, the temperature had grown cooler. On the river piers, the first trading vessels were beginning to cast off. Someone had seen Xiaoyun standing, his head high, his chest thrust out, at the bow. The sun was just rising, and the rosy dawn cut through the moist morning mist as the boatmen were raising their sails. Xiaoyun took a pair of sunglasses from his pockets, and put them on with an air of pride. There was a paper umbrella by his feet, an old suitcase, and a little birdcage. The ship set sail, braving the wind and waves, and forged straight ahead.

Xiaoyun left and did not return.

Xiaoyun would never return.

U
nexpectedly, Huaifu had become the new real master of the Zhen Estate. This was an enviable, yet completely unforeseen conclusion. No one, including Huaifu himself, had anticipated this conclusion. Huaifu had never hoped for anything more beyond his love for Miss Yu, he had never sought to hold power over the Estate. In the past, this power had always been held by men, an order Miss Yu had overturned. But now, because of Huaifu, it was gradually reestablished. The woman's story had concluded, and the rest of the story would be acted out by men alone.

Huaifu received guests in the Great Hall, met the delegations from the clan, listened respectfully to Seventh Grandfather's instructions. As the real holder of power, Huaifu was now at full liberty to resolve any issue. He could do as he pleased.

Female servants of great beauty once again appeared in great numbers in the Estate.

Rather than Miss Yu in the bathtub, it was now Huaifu.

Huaifu now ordered people about with a flick of his hand.

When the next long rainy season began, Huaifu—filled with love and remorse—pushed Miss Yu's wooden wheelchair slowly through the walkways. Miss Yu's expression was stiff, and she looked with indifference on everything that passed before her eyes. The wooden wheelchair passed over the blue flagstones, emitting its heavy, ear-piercing creak. For Huaifu, it was a cruel ending, but it was also the best ending he could have hoped for. He had got his beloved, he had got her forever. There were no longer the carnal impulses, nor the dread of incest. He had obtained a pure, hardened love.

The bicycle Xiaoyun had once ridden now lay in a corner of the wall. Exposed to the elements, it was unrecognizable. Some birds cheeped, perched on the high walls with the peeling red paint. Grass was growing between the cracks in the stone, and butterflies in brilliant colors would alight upon it. The years came and went. Images of bygone things passed before the eyes like a series of screens. Xiaoyun seemed to be standing at the end of the walkway, just as when he had first appeared, with his sunglasses and his student's apparel, a birdcage in his hand, and no expression on his face.

Amidst Miss Yu's lively laughter, now a thing of the past, Huaifu pushed Miss Yu's wheelchair around a corner, crossed the moss-covered courtyard, and slowly pushed her into what had once been his room. It had been left much the same, with Miss Yu's dust-covered calligraphy hanging all about. Miss Yu's writing was bold and masculine, unconstrained but poetic, stubbornly expressing the demeanor with which she had written the characters. Times had changed; these things remained; but the person was no longer the same. Huaifu pushed her wooden wheelchair about the narrow room in a sad pointless circle. Miss Yu's calligraphy, arranged evenly around the room, rippled in the breeze. In the presence of these black lines on white paper, these characters of the past, Miss Yu's face was eternally fixed, indifferent.

May 8, 1994

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 by Ye Zhaoyan

Originally published in 2008 in China as
Flower's Shade
by Yilin Press

Published by arrangement with Yilin Press, Ltd

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ISBN 978-1-4767-7500-5 (ebook)