Could you please provide the text you would like translated?-The Tale of Jade and Sandalwood(Wen Zhouzhou)

As soon as Fang Ya finished speaking, Bi Qingtang snapped the account book shut with a loud slap. Seeing his posture, Fang Ya resigned herself, furrowing her brows and waiting for his fury to erupt. Yet, after a long moment, Bi Qingtang only bowed his head in silence, saying nothing at all. Unsure what to do, Fang Ya leaned closer, her tone warm and earnest: “If there’s anything else I can help with, just say the word.”

Bi Qingtang shot her a sidelong glance. “Help? What, drug him again?” Fang Ya blinked. “Listen to yourself—am I so lacking in skills? If you like, I can look into that officer’s background.”

With a sigh, Bi Qingtang took a cigarette from the case, placed it in the holder, and spoke absently. “His name is Xu Zhizhong. He was Little Sister’s classmate in secondary school, went to military academy, studied abroad, now serves as Chief of Staff with the Shanghai garrison, one of the young military faction, a protégé of President Chiang. He also has an uncle in Beiping who’s a high-ranking official—treats him better than his own son.” Here, he added helplessly, “If he hadn’t insisted on coming to Shanghai, he would already be a division commander.”

Fang Ya whistled in surprise. “Well, well, quite a character! So you already had him figured out. What do you plan to do with him? With a background like that, it won’t be easy.” Bi Qingtang smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Background is one thing, but the key is this: If you want to get the better of someone, to make him yield, you have to know what he wants. The greedy, the lustful, the power-hungry, the cowardly, the ones who crave comfort—so long as he desires something, I, Bi Qingtang, have my ways. But this man? The one thing he wants most is my wife.”

Fang Ya thought for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “If gentleness won’t do, use force. Haven’t you and your father always done just that?” Bi Qingtang gave a helpless smile. “Ah, you women. Think what time we live in? We’re at war with the Japanese! For the sake of jealousy, to leave a pro-war general dead on the streets of Shanghai? I’ve taken many lives, gained a notorious reputation, but to become a sinner condemned for all time by the nation, that’s something I will not be.”

Hearing this, Fang Ya felt a sudden, inexplicable sorrow. She blinked her beautiful, clear eyes—now lined with fine wrinkles—and, lost, asked, “Then what about the child? You always tell her that Mama will come back.” Bi Qingtang’s throat tightened, but he forced a light tone: “Don’t worry. As long as Little Sister holds me and our child in her heart, even ten Xu Zhizhongs, a hundred Hu Lianchengs, are no match.”

On that windy autumn night, as the cold whistled outside, he comforted others—and himself.

It was raining, a persistent drizzle that made the late autumn evening fall early into darkness. Neon lights gleamed in many colors through the mist, and in front of the four-story Tianchan Theater, cars and crowds thronged. Ladies and young misses in bright cheongsams, arm in arm with their companions, tiptoed across the muddy street in high heels, faces lit by the theater’s golden glow—smiling, full of excitement. On both sides of the street, cigarette girls and snack vendors hawked their wares with all their might. Above the theater, two great red signboards read “Ma Lianliang” and “Zhou Xinfang.” On a pair of long red banners in gold script, a renowned hand had inscribed: “The grace of the southern Qilin, the glory of the northern Ma, both gather at Tianchan for a splendor unmatched.”

Fang Ya, impatient, pulled aside the dark red velvet curtain of the second-floor box. Seeing Bi Qingtang inside, absorbed as he gazed below, she began to complain: “A perfectly good evening, and you call me over without even asking if I’m free. And for what? To watch opera! Back in the day, when I accompanied your old man, it was opera, opera, from morning till night. The sound of the drums always gave me a headache, and you know it—so why drag me here?”

Bi Qingtang glanced at her, pulled over a chair, and sat lazily, gazing at the audience below. “Ma Lianliang and Zhou Xinfang sharing the stage in Shanghai—a once-in-a-century event. I wanted you to see it.” Fang Ya rolled her eyes. “How considerate of you.” Bi Qingtang sighed, feigning nonchalance. “Uncle Chen caught a chill these past days and can’t come out. Watching alone is no fun.” He spoke with his back to her, so Fang Ya could not see his expression, but a note of desolation seeped from his words, making her heart ache.

Without a word, Fang Ya sat obediently. Then, deliberately cheerful, she began to chat idly with Bi Qingtang, who responded in kind. Glancing at the table, Fang Ya saw four dishes: sugar-roasted chestnuts, hawthorn cakes, osmanthus candy, and one empty plate. She picked up a piece of osmanthus candy, tossed it into her mouth, and grimaced. “Where did these rustic snacks come from? They’re terrible.” Bi Qingtang replied absently, “If you don’t like them, have someone fetch what you want.”

Just as he spoke, Bi Qingtang suddenly stood, craning his neck to peer downstairs. Fang Ya followed his gaze, then snickered, teasing, “After knowing you for over twenty years, I never realized you were such a lovesick fool!”

Recently, the weather had turned cold, and pneumonia was spreading through Shanghai. Tan Yang, after helping Dr. Wu En with patients at the hospital, hurried to the theater. By the time she arrived, the main floor was already crowded. Tan Yang, clutching her handbag and a brown paper bag in one hand and a ticket in the other, carefully searched for her seat. Dodging past a few people, she found it in a not-so-great spot near the side and rear. Elderly gentlemen sat on either side—companions who, hard of hearing, spoke loudly over her head. Tan Yang smiled politely, moving aside as best she could, always the picture of well-mannered thoughtfulness before elders.

From his vantage above, Bi Qingtang watched Tan Yang and smiled knowingly. He sat down, picked up the sugar-roasted chestnuts, and began peeling them, dropping the shells into the empty plate. Fang Ya, quick as ever, snatched a peeled chestnut and popped it into her mouth with a grin. Bi Qingtang glared at her, but Fang Ya laughed, scolding, “What are you staring at? If you won’t eat the peeled chestnuts, and neither will I, should we offer them to the gods?” Bi Qingtang sighed, tossed a half-peeled chestnut back, and turned away to watch the stage.

Fang Ya smiled as she pushed the chestnuts and the empty plate before him. “You’re hopeless. It’s become a habit—go on, peel them all, and I’ll take them down for you!” Bi Qingtang nodded, laughing in agreement. “My father always said, there’s no woman in the world as considerate, perceptive, and loyal as you, Xiao Ya!” Fang Ya scoffed, “Hmph, you only flatter me when you need something!”

Watching Bi Qingtang lower his head to peel chestnuts with practiced care, Fang Ya sighed helplessly. He heard her and, without looking up, explained, “In most things, Little Sister is diligent and attentive, but when it comes to caring for herself, she’s careless to a fault. No matter how much she likes something, if it’s troublesome, she’ll barely eat a bite before setting it aside.”

Fang Ya sat upright, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “Your Little Sister has truly enjoyed ten years of good fortune at your side. In those ten years, her steak was always cut, her crab shelled, her sweet potato peeled—even the chestnuts were peeled and set by her hand. I remember when she was pregnant with the child and we were chatting, you sat there picking watermelon seeds out with your chopsticks. I was amazed—those hands, made for handling guns, could do such a thing?”

Her tone grew ever more earnest. “So, Qingtang, as a woman, I can guarantee your Little Sister will never forget you—not in this lifetime. Unless she never eats these things again, each time she does, her heart will ache anew, feel another pang of loss. Even if someone else does the same for her, it simply won’t taste the same.”

Bi Qingtang froze, lost in thought for a long while, before his voice came, hoarse: “Sister Fang Ya, thank you. Thank you for your words.”

Upstairs and down, the Tianchan Theater was abuzz with excitement. As Fang Ya glanced about, she suddenly murmured, “Why is he here too?” Bi Qingtang set down his chestnuts and looked up. Not far away, at the corner box, Xu Zhizhong stood with arms crossed, smiling as he watched the audience below.

At that moment, Deputy Li squeezed into Tan Yang’s row, stopping by her side and greeting her with eager politeness. “Miss Tan, the Chief of Staff reserved a box upstairs. Let’s watch the show from there.” Tan Yang was surprised to see him. She glanced upstairs, but the lights were dimming before the performance, making the boxes impossible to see. She remembered how, in years past, whenever a famous performer came to Tianchan, she would sit in the box with his arm around her, listening intently. The memory left her suddenly wistful. She looked at Deputy Li and smiled. “No, thank you. I’m fine here. The boxes are too stuffy.”

Deputy Li could only retreat upstairs to report, but soon returned with two soldiers. The seven or eight people around Tan Yang were all invited up to the boxes. Shortly after, Xu Zhizhong came downstairs and sat beside Tan Yang, smiling. His adjutant and bodyguards, rifles in hand, filled the seats around them.

“What brings you here?”

“Brother Fazhu said he saw you on the phone with a lady who often visits your hospital, asking if she could help you get opera tickets for Ma Lianliang’s show at Tianchan. You even said price was no object!”

“So now he’s moonlighting as an informant?”

“If you wanted tickets, why not ask me?”

“You don’t even like Peking opera.”

“I didn’t before—never had a good teacher to guide me. But from now on, maybe I’ll start.” Xu Zhizhong saw Tan Yang smile without replying, so he bowed his head and humbly asked for her guidance. Though he’d never watched Peking opera, the famous scripts like The Peony Pavilion and The Romance of the Western Chamber were so beautifully written that he’d memorized them in his youth. Though inexperienced, his questions weren’t too far off. Tan Yang, knowing he was a scholar at heart who prized the lyrics above the singing and recitation, began to recite for him the best lines from Ma Lianliang’s upcoming performance, “Qingfeng Pavilion.”

The main floor was packed and noisy, so Xu Zhizhong leaned in to catch her words, sometimes interjecting with questions, which only encouraged Tan Yang, the opera enthusiast, to talk all the more.

Though Bi Qingtang knew they often spent time together, this was the first time he’d witnessed them side by side. For all their years of marriage, he’d never realized his wife could be so talkative. In the past, he’d always been the one to speak, to make her laugh, while she simply listened, quiet and demure. Now, Bi Qingtang’s heart ached; his fists clenched tightly.

In that moment, Xu Zhizhong said something that made Tan Yang shake her head, laughing. Then she took a pen from her bag and wrote a note on the back of a ticket. Xu Zhizhong glanced at her words, took the pen from Deputy Li, and wrote just two characters. Tan Yang paused, then the two of them exchanged a knowing, joyful smile—so genuine that it could not be feigned.

With a crash, Bi Qingtang slammed his fist on the table, sending the chestnuts and candies jumping. He shot to his feet and strode out. Fang Ya hurried to restrain him. “Where are you going?” Without a word, Bi Qingtang shook her off, shouting, “Damn it! To seduce my wife so openly—does he think I’m dead? If I don’t teach him a lesson, he’ll never know who runs Shanghai!”

Hearing him rant about “my wife” and “seduction,” Fang Ya knew he’d fallen into a jealous rage. She didn’t dare reason with him, only held him back and soothed, “Come now, our Little Sister is clever—she won’t be so easily taken in. If you cause a scene now, you’ll only play into that little scoundrel’s hands!”

Seeing Bi Qingtang hesitate, Fang Ya pressed on, “They’re just watching a show, and downstairs at that. We’re up here in a box! If you make a fuss in public, it’s Tan Yang who’ll be humiliated. You know her temper—if you fight and fall out now, will you ever see her again? Don’t let someone else take advantage!” She shook her head in exasperation. “Honestly, you’re usually so shrewd—why do you lose your head when you’re jealous?”

Bi Qingtang glared below, fuming. Just then, the house lights went out, and they could no longer see Tan Yang. Fang Ya breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The stage lights blazed, the curtain rose, and the clang of gongs and drums signaled the start of the opera.

In the darkness, Xu Zhizhong watched Tan Yang’s hopeful, nervous expression as she gazed at the stage. He leaned in and whispered, “Actually, this Ma Lianliang—” But Tan Yang shushed him, “Let’s watch the show. Talk later!” Xu Zhizhong nodded obediently, “All right, all right.”

Bi Qingtang stood in the box, staring at the stage. After the martial lead had sung just two lines, he could bear it no longer and turned to leave. Fang Ya, bewildered, asked, “Now where are you going?” “Home.” “What? You, an opera fanatic, don’t want to watch anymore?”

After one act, during intermission, Tan Yang remembered Xu Zhizhong had wanted to say something earlier. Embarrassed, she asked, “By the way, what were you about to say just now?” Xu Zhizhong smiled gently. “After the show, let’s go backstage and meet Ma Lianliang. I’ve arranged it.” “What?” Tan Yang was incredulous. “Oh, I know Ma Lianliang. When I was in Beiping, my uncle sometimes invited him to sing at family gatherings.” Seeing Tan Yang’s eyes light up with delight, Xu Zhizhong turned back to the stage, murmuring contentedly, “As long as you’re happy.”

Hearing this, Tan Yang’s joy slowly ebbed, weighed down by something unspeakable. She sighed softly. “You really know how to please others.” Xu Zhizhong caught her meaning and joked, “Of course. That’s how I rise through the ranks so quickly!” Tan Yang shot him a look, nervously glancing at his subordinates on either side. “Must you joke about everything? Aren’t you afraid of gossip?” Xu Zhizhong laughed heartily, “Why should I be? I didn’t join the army for office or rank. The day we drive the Japanese out will be the day I shed this uniform.”

That night, after the show, they sat together in the car. Xu Zhizhong pointed to the brown paper bag in Tan Yang’s hand. “What’s that? You’ve been carrying it all evening!” Tan Yang opened the bag. “Sugar-roasted chestnuts—I bought them outside before the show.” Xu Zhizhong glanced inside, puzzled. “You hardly ate any.” “I was so absorbed in the opera, I forgot all about them.” Xu Zhizhong shook his head fondly. “Yang, are you really such an opera fanatic?” Tan Yang smiled sheepishly and nodded, then took out a cold chestnut and peeled it slowly. At last, she placed the peeled chestnut into her mouth, savoring it. Outside the car window, streetlights cast streaks of light across her face, like time brushing silently over the long road of life.

In this vast, silent world, feelings run deep yet unspoken.

Author’s Note: “Snow on the Cold River”—I especially love Chu Lanlan’s Peking opera singing in this piece; I never tire of it. Being hopeless with technology, I won’t try to attach the song, but here are the lyrics.

Chu Lanlan:
Snow on the cold river, how pitiful the lady in her humble home,
Spring’s glory traded for silver butterflies,
All this because of your departure.

Chorus:
Snow on the cold river reflects a lonely parting,
Tonight the cold wind blows, no bright moon,
Who will untie the knot in my heart?
Who will fill the emptiness within?
My heart is broken by the storm you left behind,
Longing for you day and night,
Waiting for the season of reunion,
Till the cold river’s snow reflects the bright moon.

Chu Lanlan:
At the sound of wind and snow outside the wooden door,
Is there someone returning for me?
Tonight, who waits for whom to appear?

Snow on the cold river, how pitiful the lady in her humble home,
Spring’s glory traded for silver butterflies,
All this because of your departure.

Chu Lanlan:
At the sound of wind and snow outside the wooden door,
Is there someone returning for me?
Tonight, who waits for whom to appear?

Snow on the cold river, how pitiful the lady in her humble home,
Spring’s glory traded for silver butterflies,
All this because of your departure.

Chorus and Chu Lanlan (together):
At the sound of wind and snow outside the wooden door,
Is there someone returning for me?
Tonight, who waits for whom to appear?
Snow on the cold river, how pitiful the lady in her humble home,
Spring’s glory traded for silver butterflies,
All this because of your departure.