Five Officials Nine (57) Lawsuit

Hu Liancheng was momentarily stunned, then stepped aside to invite Tan Yang to sit, even pulling out a chair for her. Half a year had passed since her return to China, and upon their reunion, Hu Liancheng wisely refrained from mentioning the lawsuit Tan Yang had sought him for. Instead, he asked if the person who had approached her was indeed a hospital director, and which hospital it was—was it privately owned? Tan Yang explained briefly, and Hu Liancheng listened intently, occasionally chiming in, and finally praised her, “Tan, what I admire most about you is this: even as Mrs. Bi in grand Shanghai, you didn't cling to comfort but instead ventured abroad for your studies. Now that you’ve returned, you’re bound to accomplish great things.”

Tan Yang sighed, “Accomplish what, really? I’m just trying to find a livelihood. As for you, Mr. Hu, in just half a year, your legal practice has become quite the talk of the town.”

Hu Liancheng frowned at her words and shook his head helplessly. “Since we’re among old friends today, I don’t mind if you laugh at me. Whatever skills I have, they all rely on my father’s backing. Without him, which of those high-ranking officials would I dare to challenge? You don’t know—this society has no justice, no fairness, no law! Money, status, and connections are everything! That’s why, after doing just a little, I’ve become famous in Shanghai within months! If I could do something truly meaningful, then, Tan, I hope I can help you. I hope that things which ought to be natural aren’t mere fantasy in our country—like workers receiving their wages, murderers paying for their crimes, and mothers being able to see their children!”

His words were humble and heartfelt, and Tan Yang was deeply moved. She couldn’t help but marvel that if such intelligence and eloquence couldn’t win a case, then no one could.

Hu Liancheng explained to Tan Yang that to take on someone like Bi Qingtang, one must first stir up public opinion so ordinary people feel justice is on their side. Let the streets buzz with talk and pressure the authorities—that way, the lawsuit will be easier to win. Tan Yang understood that this was Hu Liancheng’s gentle way of asking her to share the reasons for her divorce from Bi Qingtang. He was cautious and indirect, not wanting to wound her too much. She appreciated his kindness, but didn’t want to lay bare all those old wounds.

How to put it—after all, the pain one can speak of is no real pain. True pain is hidden away in a dark, lonely corner, where one spends a lifetime quietly tending to it.

Tan Yang stirred her coffee gently with a silver spoon, the foam swirling in the white porcelain cup. She tapped the spoon in the center, and said, both vague and resolute, “Deceit. He deceived me for many years!” Hu Liancheng nodded deeply, but seeing she had nothing more to add, waited a while before asking, “Tan, could you tell me more?”

Tan Yang sighed, lowering her gaze to the coffee.

Seeing her reluctance, Hu Liancheng said, “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk—I can guess, that sort of man!” His words were openly disdainful, and Tan Yang caught it. She looked up and asked, “Mr. Hu, there are things I truly don’t wish to discuss. Perhaps by withholding them, I’ve made things difficult for you. I wonder what you’ll say to others about it.”

Hu Liancheng gave a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, I promise the whole city will stand up for you.”

Tan Yang’s expression grew serious as she looked at him. “Mr. Hu, no matter how you present my case, I hope you don’t insult Bi Qingtang’s character or reputation. What he most egregiously did, as you know, was to prevent me from seeing my daughter—that alone is enough!”

Hu Liancheng stared at Tan Yang in disbelief, his emotions rising as he tapped the table. “Tan, what’s with you? You still care about his reputation? What reputation? All of Shanghai knows he’s a thug—a notorious gangster!”

Tan Yang looked at him calmly. “I knew what people said about him before I married him. If I could ignore their judgments then and marry him wholeheartedly, and now, after leaving him, join in their ridicule and tarnish his name, then I’ve lost not only my marriage but also my integrity. Besides, even if his sins are unforgivable, he is still my daughter’s father. If a child constantly hears her mother publicly disparaging her father, no matter how much love or luxury we give her, her little heart will be filled with fear and sadness. That is the last thing a mother wants to see. Mr. Hu, do you understand?”

After she finished speaking, the room fell silent for a long time. Hu Liancheng leaned forward, staring at her intently. In that gaze, he shed his usual urbane mask and sly inner self, and, with rare sincerity, said, “Tan Yang, so this is who you truly are! I have indeed underestimated you. To have a wife like you, Mr. Bi should be grateful and cherish his fortune. Divorcing you—he will regret it someday, and deeply so.”

With that, Hu Liancheng slowly stood and walked to the window, where a row of gold-trimmed nesting dolls stood, arranged from smallest to largest. The midday sun cast dazzling golden light on them, blending with their vibrant colors, a riotous display of mundane noise that stung the eyes.

Hu Liancheng removed his glasses, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tan, I understand you well. My father began his career in government relying on my grandfather. Later, he rose to prominence. My mother was his first wife, but not the only one. I am her only son, so she told me much about my father that I shouldn’t have heard at my age. Those words left me lost and, at times, deeply saddened. Though I am the eldest son of the Hu family, I have never been an easy person to make happy.”

He put his glasses back on and turned to Tan Yang, speaking solemnly. “So, Tan, rest assured. I will help you, and in the way you feel is best.”

Tan Yang nodded gratefully, wanting to smile, but tears welled in her eyes.

Just as they were about to leave, Tan Yang hesitated and asked, “Mr. Hu, do you know any experienced and skilled coroners?” Hu Liancheng thought for a moment and nodded, “There’s a good one, studied abroad, and has worked as a coroner in China for seven or eight years. Why, do you need something?” Tan Yang pondered for a long time, steeling herself to say, “Yes, there are things. Please help me get in touch with him.”

Hu Liancheng was efficient in his work. A few days later, he delivered several articles to Tan Yang, intended for the newspapers. The articles were written as a Chinese version of “A Doll’s House,” with Tan Yang as Nora—divorcing the mighty Mr. Bi to pursue independence and freedom, studying in Germany, returning to China to open a Western hospital and becoming a celebrated modern woman. This narrative was perfectly suited to the tastes of the young, especially those student women clamoring for freedom and democracy. At the end, the article sorrowfully recounted how Mrs. Tan’s old-fashioned husband could not understand her actions and forbade her from seeing her daughter, so that although mother and child lived in Shanghai, they could not meet, leaving Mrs. Tan in deep melancholy.

As he was leaving, Hu Liancheng wanted to invite Tan Yang to dinner, but she said the doctors at her hospital had already arranged to dine together after their evening rounds, and she declined his invitation.

Half a month had passed since the hospital opened, and they had no shortage of patients. Sometimes, after seeing patients late into the day, the four of them would find a nearby eatery for dinner. Tan Yang chatted with Lin Zhiju and his wife about the day’s events, while Liu Fazhu buried himself in his meal, occasionally exchanging a few words with Wu En. After eating, he would simply wave goodbye and return to the hospital to read, having made the hospital his home. Tan Yang realized he was indifferent to worldly matters, caring only for medicine and little else, so his life was quite carelessly lived.

One weekend, Zhang Xiangning and Tan Yang had arranged to go out together. Hand in hand, they descended from the upper floor of the hospital. There were few patients that day, and the corridors were empty and dim, the air faintly tinged with disinfectant, adding a sense of solemnity. With her usual clear and lively voice, Zhang Xiangning cheerfully recounted her recent battles with her father. Suddenly, she stopped, laughed, and pulled Tan Yang, saying, “Oh, Yangyang, look at that person ahead—he’s wearing two different shoes!”

Tan Yang had no choice but to look up, and unsurprisingly, the person ahead was Liu Fazhu. He wore a conventional black suit and mismatched shoes—one deep black, the other dark brown. What made Tan Yang despair was that Zhang Xiangning, in her excitement, had forgotten to lower her voice, and Liu Fazhu had heard everything. He glanced back indifferently, then stopped, turned around solemnly, and waited for them.

Zhang Xiangning realized her faux pas, bit her lip, and glanced at Tan Yang. Tan Yang had to put on a brave face, dragging Zhang Xiangning forward and smiling, “Dr. Liu, what a coincidence, you’re at the hospital on the weekend too.” Liu Fazhu said nothing, but looked at Zhang Xiangning. Tan Yang quickly introduced, “This is my classmate from middle school, Miss Zhang Xiangning. Xiangning, this is our hospital’s surgeon, Liu Fazhu.”

Before Tan Yang finished her introduction, Liu Fazhu extended his hand to Zhang Xiangning, saying seriously, “Miss Zhang, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” Zhang Xiangning smiled apologetically and shook his hand, formally apologizing, “Mr. Liu, I’m truly sorry, I tend to speak without thinking—please don’t hold it against me.” When she withdrew her hand, Liu Fazhu’s hand lingered for a few seconds before slowly pulling back. He checked his watch and said earnestly, “Then, Miss Zhang, please treat me to lunch as compensation. It happens to be lunchtime!”

Such a forward request would have put off most women, but Zhang Xiangning, always as bold as a man, took it in stride, laughing, “Alright! I’ll host, and you pick the place, Mr. Liu!”

Liu Fazhu took a rickshaw ahead, with Tan Yang and Zhang Xiangning following in another. They traveled a long way, crossing half of Shanghai, before Liu Fazhu stopped at an elegant Hunan restaurant. Getting out, he asked Zhang Xiangning, still sitting in the rickshaw, “Miss Zhang, is this place alright?” Zhang Xiangning jumped out, laughing and exclaiming, “Of course! This is the best Hunan restaurant in Shanghai! My father is from Hunan, and our family chef specializes in Hunan cuisine. I grew up in Shanghai eating Hunan food!”

Outside was the bustling Bund, but the restaurant seemed to dwell in the pages of “Dream of the Red Chamber”—a brand-new old mansion. The doors and windows bore redwood carvings, with glass panes carefully shaded by pleated white silk curtains. The private room had blue-and-white porcelain screens, and a clock of cloisonné enamel on the corner table, all reflecting the late Qing aesthetic, exquisite yet tinged with decay.

As it was a Hunan restaurant, Zhang Xiangning eagerly played hostess, introducing the dishes and sharing stories of Hunan customs she’d heard from her father. Liu Fazhu and Tan Yang listened patiently. Tan Yang thought of another Hunan native she knew—Old Zhou—but the Hunan of his tales was worlds apart from that of Zhang Xiangning’s father.

The meal was lively, even Liu Fazhu was unusually charming and talkative, a far cry from his usual reserved self at their dinners. Afterward, Liu Fazhu paid the bill before Zhang Xiangning could, and she protested, “How can that be? I was supposed to treat you, Mr. Liu, as an apology!” Liu Fazhu laughed lightly, “Then next time, Miss Zhang, you can treat.”

Seeing this, Tan Yang understood. But when she looked at Zhang Xiangning, the latter was still oblivious, cheerfully insisting, “Alright, next time it’s my treat. If you try to pay again, I’ll be cross!”

A few weeks later, in the early summer morning, daylight flooded the Bi mansion on Fuxu Road. Servants moved quietly, preparing breakfast and cleaning, scarcely daring to breathe. The mansion had many servants, but even a dropped pin would be heard. Soon, hurried footsteps and a man’s voice echoed from upstairs, “You little rascal, come back, put your shoes on!” Hearing this, the servants knew the master was awake and relaxed, returning to their tasks.

In a flash, a little girl appeared upstairs, her hair in soft curls, dressed in a pale blue silk nightgown, her bare feet on the plush red carpet. She clung to the redwood pillar at the stair landing, tilting her head to look down. Bi Qingtang followed, wearing a robe, holding a pair of pale blue silk shoes and a matching child’s robe draped over his arm.

“Daddy, Mommy still didn’t come home this morning!” Yan Qin looked back at her father, speaking softly, her disappointment overflowing and tugging at the heart. Bi Qingtang didn’t respond, deliberately avoiding his daughter’s face. He squatted, lifted her foot to put on her shoes, wrapped her in the robe, then carried her downstairs, stroking her head as he said, “Look, the oleander in the garden hasn’t bloomed yet. When the flowers open, Mommy will be home.”

At the long, wide dining table, draped in white linen, only Bi Qingtang and Yan Qin sat. The little girl’s head barely reached above the table. Thankfully, it was only breakfast, so the scene’s coldness was still bearable.

Yan Qin, still at a playful age, drank half a glass of milk and claimed she was full, wanting to run off to play. Bi Qingtang coaxed her back, fed her half a bowl of porridge, then she wriggled out of his arms like an eel, searching the house for her white kitten.

With the child’s commotion, the adults lost their appetite. After some milk and a hasty slice of bread, Bi Qingtang lit a cigarette, took a drag, and began flipping through the morning’s newspapers. Suddenly, he slammed the paper shut, glanced at the headline, and threw it to the floor, cursing furiously, “Bold as lions and leopards, they write whatever they please. It seems this paper wants to be shut down!” He grabbed the rest of the newspapers, impatiently rifling through them. Halfway through, he slapped the table hard, shouting in rage, “Someone find out which damn bastard wrote this!”

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