87 (85) Predicament

“What did you say?” Tan Yang was stunned by Uncle Chen’s words, unable to react for a long while. Once she understood, she fumbled anxiously to open the car door. Uncle Chen pressed hard against the door. “Young Madam, if you go ask the Young Master now, he won’t admit it. He didn’t want me to tell you!” Uncle Chen shook his head helplessly. “He’s watching us from upstairs. You’d better go back for now. Come again after ten tonight, once the little miss has fallen asleep—I’ll open the door for you.”

Tan Yang drove off, her heart in turmoil. Turning a corner at the street, she almost crashed into a tree. She parked by the roadside and sat, hollow-eyed, on the curb. Early winter stretched bleak and desolate; the cold wind rattled the bare branches, amplifying the loneliness, painting it vivid.

He had professed his love for her with sincerity, yet ruthlessly destroyed everyone dear to her. In his world, love could be severed from everything else, but she couldn’t, nor could she understand. On one side, love as deep as the sea; on the other, enmity irreconcilable. She survived in this perilous, desperate state, angry, aggrieved, helpless, wracked with guilt. If not for her firm nature, she might have been driven mad or to her death long ago. With lonely courage, she pressed on with all her strength, just as hope appeared, he used his stubborn, domineering love to cut off every path of escape.

In the cold, deep night, Uncle Chen quietly opened the back door of the Bi residence. Tan Yang stood outside the courtyard wall. Uncle Chen saw her thin wool coat and, moved by pity, asked, “Young Madam, how long have you been here?” “I never left,” she replied absently, gazing past him.

“How long has he been smoking?” Tan Yang asked with difficulty. Uncle Chen sighed. “Over a year now—since last autumn, when he learned you were ill. If anyone knows what opium does, it’s the Young Master. At first he tried to control it, even to quit. During the time you cared for the little miss when she had pneumonia, he smoked the least—I thought he’d finally quit. But after you left, it got worse. He really lost all restraint this spring. I kept asking why; he said he probably had no more chances, that even the one chance he had was missed. A few months ago, his craving grew desperate—he smoked as if his life depended on it. I couldn’t get the reason, but I suppose you two had another falling out.”

Tan Yang walked forward in silence. Watching her go, Uncle Chen frowned, muttering in resentment, “If I’d known it’d come to this, thirteen years ago in Tongli, that night, I should have…”

Uncle Chen led Tan Yang to the bedroom upstairs, then left quietly. It took all her courage to turn the doorknob. The room was dim, lit only by a wall lamp. Bi Qingtang lay on the couch in pajamas, his back to her. She could see the smoke he exhaled—thick, strange, like a candle burning human fat for ages.

Hearing someone enter, Bi Qingtang said impatiently, “Uncle Chen, go to bed. Leave me alone!” Tan Yang wanted to speak but found no words. Sensing the person hadn’t left, Bi Qingtang turned, annoyed, about to speak—then froze at the sight of Tan Yang. A moment later, coming to his senses, his first reaction was to hide the opium pipe behind him, but how could Tan Yang not see? Knowing it was pointless, he gave a self-mocking smile, got up, and faced her. She stood in the dim light, her eyes bright with tears, full of compassion and pain.

Bi Qingtang dared not meet her gaze, quickly looking away, forcing a teasing smile. “Little sister, sneaking in this late—can’t sleep alone? Looking for me to keep you company?” He drew close, reaching to embrace her, his voice low and seductive. “Come, let big brother lull you to sleep—so well you won’t get out of bed till noon.”

He had just pulled her into his arms when she pushed him away. Her voice trembling, she confronted him, “What are you doing? Don’t you know opium is poison?” Bi Qingtang turned away, indifferent. “It’s just for fun—it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

Infuriated by his attitude, Tan Yang pressed on, “You call this fun? After all those years trading opium with your father, how many lives has it ruined—how can you not know?” Bi Qingtang snorted, “That’s other people. I have plenty of money—even if I smoked till a hundred, I’d never have to sell my children!” “At this rate, you think you’ll live to a hundred?” The words barely left her lips before she broke down, sobbing.

Bi Qingtang gave a scornful laugh, repeating mechanically, “Live to a hundred.” “Just quit, while it’s still early.” Tears shimmering in her eyes, Tan Yang pleaded. Bi Qingtang paced to the couch, glanced impatiently at the opium pipe, and said, “I know what I’m doing. Don’t meddle. Women who meddle too much are tiresome.” Seeing his stubbornness, Tan Yang, desperate, spotted the pipe on the couch. She lost her composure, rushed over, seized the tray with the pipe and lamp, and shouted impulsively, “Let’s see you smoke now!” She went to the window, ready to throw it all out.

Bi Qingtang was stunned, then burst out, “Stop! Put it down!” Startled, Tan Yang hesitated for two seconds. In that instant, Bi Qingtang lunged forward; as she flung the tray, he snatched something from the corner—firmly grasping it in his hand. Despite the chaos, Tan Yang saw it clearly: a ring, the diamond ring he’d brought from Hong Kong all those years ago, which she had worn for eight years.

Many yearn for love as enduring as gold or stone, only to end in emptiness—that is sorrow. But for them, the gold and stone remained, the love endured, yet they could never be together. That was the sorrow within sorrow.

Tan Yang collapsed on the sofa by the window, gasping between sobs, utterly desolate. Bi Qingtang had always been unable to bear her tears; seeing her cry now was like having his heart gouged out, especially as he understood the cause. Hesitating for a moment, he sat down beside her, pulled her firmly into his arms, and before she could struggle, whispered urgently and resolutely in her ear, “Just for a while—just for a while.”

Her heart tightened and she stopped resisting. His warmth, his scent, even the texture of his pajamas—these were all achingly familiar, things she dared not face or admit she missed. Bi Qingtang, looking at her in his arms, spoke in a muffled voice, “You were so cold just now, yet you pushed me away, wouldn’t let me hold you.” His tone was aggrieved, with a bittersweet tenderness steeped in sorrow. Holding her, his heart was wracked with emotion. Two years—just a fleeting moment in a lifetime, yet the hardest years he had ever known.

Tan Yang wept softly. Bi Qingtang, helpless, gently stroked her shoulder and back, his fingers trailing down her spine. When his hand slipped to her waist, she flinched involuntarily. Bi Qingtang, sensing her reaction, held her tighter, then lowered his head to kiss her temple. The moment his lips touched her, she abruptly stopped crying, startled, then turned her head, trying to break free. He only tightened his hold, kissing behind her ear, and whispered, voice filled with aching tenderness, “I know what you want.”

His words left her stunned, then she burst into tears, shaking her head in stubborn denial. Seeing her like this, Bi Qingtang was moved with love, finally loosening his hold, rising to hand her a handkerchief. She refused it, so he gently wiped her tears himself, sighing with gentle reproach. “Always crying, and never carrying a handkerchief—ten years and you’ve learned nothing.” He paused, handkerchief in hand, and added with a soft sigh, “To be honest, it was only after meeting you that I got into the habit of carrying one. I love your crying face, yet can’t bear your tears. Ever since I first saw you at Uncle Tan’s memorial, it’s been like this—over ten years now, and still a strange habit.”

After a while, her sobs subsided. Bi Qingtang looked at her, teasing affection in his voice. “Go look in the mirror—crying and sniveling, you look like an opium addict! Even if I smoked for thirty years, I wouldn’t look as bad as you.” Hearing this, Tan Yang could only implore him earnestly, “You know being an opium addict isn’t a good thing. Please stop. Our daughter is growing up—how sad she’d be, how much she’d hurt for her father. You don’t want her to have a father who hugs an opium pipe all day, do you? I beg you, for her sake, please quit. Just think of your daughter—if not for me, do it for her.”

Bi Qingtang’s brow knitted; he didn’t want to hear more. He cut her off roughly. “For our daughter, of course—it’s all for her. If not for her, do you think I’d be afraid to die?” Tan Yang froze, unable to respond for a long time…

That night, she pleaded with him, through tears, to give up his addiction. But she truly didn’t know what position or reason she could use to beg him. So she wept and begged, pitifully, unbearably. And so, near dawn, Bi Qingtang finally relented, promising he would quit, telling her to rest easy. Afterwards, Tan Yang went to Yan Tan’s room and lay down for two hours; when the child woke, seeing her mother first thing, she was overjoyed.

When Tan Yang led her daughter downstairs, Bi Qingtang was at the table, smoking and reading the paper. Breakfast was set out—simple, homely fare. After eating, he told her the car was ready and warmed. When she opened the door, a wave of heat greeted her in the chilly early-winter morning. She knew he’d had someone light a stove in the car for her. As she drove away, she saw her daughter waving at the window, and Bi Qingtang, already dressed to go out.

If, just if, none of those things had happened, then every day of their lives would have begun just like this morning—calm, peaceful, tender.

That morning, Tan Yang returned to the military hospital. Xu Zhizhong, just back from the front, had brought with him Deputy Li, gravely wounded. To survive, the man would have to lose both legs below the pelvis. Nearly forty, he wailed in agony, “Leave me! Let me die! Let me die!” Xu Zhizhong gripped his shoulder, teeth clenched, scolding fiercely, “To save you, I led the brothers through a minefield under fire—how can you talk of dying? Do you think that’s fair to us?” But for the first time, under his commanding officer’s sternness, Deputy Li was unafraid. “Who asked you to save me? I’d rather die than live as a cripple!”

Xu Zhizhong’s expression grew solemn. After a long pause, he spoke earnestly. “Brother Li, you came to war to give your family a good life, and they’re waiting for you to come home—your mother to watch opera with you, your wife to play cards, your child to be picked up from school. They want you, alive, however you are—not just a death notice. A happy family like yours is a dream many can never achieve. So I say, as long as you have such a family, you must not give up, must not abandon yourself.” He paused, then added slowly, “Hope gives us courage.”

Hearing this, Deputy Li stopped struggling. He still wept, but these tears were of heartfelt emotion—a different state of mind. Xu Zhizhong released him and said firmly to Liu Fazhu, “Give the anesthesia. Let’s operate.”

Xu Zhizhong said, only with hope can one have courage and strength, never give in to despair. Every word was a needle in Tan Yang’s heart, making it tremble with pain.

She turned away, looking out the window. Sui Wanting stood outside, dazed, watching stretcher after stretcher bearing the wounded. A girl raised in a greenhouse, she had fallen deeply in love—but fate was cruel; her beloved died saving her father, and even the hope of bearing his child was denied her. With not a shred of hope left, she lost her mind, showing everyone Zhang Xiangsheng’s photo, telling their story over and over to anyone, whether they knew her or not.

In that moment, Tan Yang felt a pang of jealousy toward Sui Wanting. The man she loved had died to save her father, but her own beloved had killed her cousin, even her father, for money. Though their love was deeper than Sui Wanting’s, even if he smoked himself to death, she had no right to go mad, to openly grieve for him.

Xu Zhizhong came to her side and saw her face streaked with tears, stunned. Just then, a subordinate urged him to a meeting with the commander. He followed her gaze outside, saw Sui Wanting, then glanced at the operating room where Deputy Li was undergoing amputation. Suddenly, he seized Tan Yang’s hand, pulled her in front of him, and said resolutely, “Yangyang, I must win this war, end all this as soon as possible! All the blood and tears here must be repaid by the invaders!” With that, before she could reply, he strode away.

Deputy Li’s operation was a success; Liu Fazhu managed to preserve half his femur. In this war, with dozens of surgeries daily, Liu had grown rapidly in skill—operations taking others four or five hours, he could complete beautifully in under two. His reputation as “the finest scalpel in Shanghai” spread throughout East China, even reaching the Japanese.

But the battle for Songhu was rapidly deteriorating. The Japanese pressed in on Shanghai, the government prepared to withdraw, officials’ families and supplies shipped to Chongqing. Zhang Xiangning was to leave with her father. Their car waited outside the temporary hospital, but her husband could not leave with them. The war was fierce, the wounded endless; Liu Fazhu’s surgeries were scheduled three days in advance.

Between two operations, Liu Fazhu, still in scrubs and gloves, rushed out to the waiting car. Nearly tripping, he was caught by Zhang Xiangning, now visibly pregnant even under her heavy coat. She clumsily supported him, grabbing his hand, “Come with me, come!” Still the young lady’s commanding tone, but tears welled in her eyes.

Liu Fazhu crouched, his eyes red. “Xiangning, I can’t go now. So many wounded are waiting for me. They just came off the front—without immediate surgery, they’ll die if moved!” She sobbed, “There are so many doctors—let someone else do it!” He shook his head, holding her hand patiently. “No, some operations only I can do.” “But I only have you! My brother is gone—I can’t lose you too!” He nodded, tears falling. “I won’t leave you. I’ll join you and the baby as soon as I finish these surgeries.”

Zhang Xiangning looked at him, faltering, “They all say anything can happen in war—today may be our last, families should be together, not apart for a single moment!” Liu Fazhu, eyes red, nodded firmly. “I promised you a lifetime together—I won’t break my word. No matter what happens, I’ll find you, even if I have to walk from Shanghai to Chongqing!” Crying, she embraced him. “Alright, I believe you. I’ll wait for you.”

Before leaving, Liu Fazhu wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her swollen belly with deep affection.

From that day on, Tan Yang could no longer sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived that scene—before giving birth to Yan Tan, in the hospital, Bi Qingtang holding her waist, pressing his head to her belly, his voice hoarse with pleading, “Little sister, whatever happens, don’t leave Shanghai!”

She slept poorly, the days filled with the wounded. In her exhaustion and distress, the final straw dropped. Early one morning, after a sleepless night, Tan Yang entered the ward. Beds were crammed together, the less seriously wounded clustered, chattering. Seeing her, they grinned. A young soldier called out, “Madam Xu, congratulations!”

Seeing her confusion, they handed her a newspaper. Reading it, stars danced before her eyes. She and Xu Zhizhong were to marry that weekend—a fact she had nearly forgotten, yet he had announced it on the front page, making sure the whole world knew. He had left no room for himself, nor for her.

Guilt, despair, grief, fear—all surged through her. Her heart thudded painfully, her limbs trembled, and cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

That afternoon, Vice Officer Lin entered Xu Zhizhong’s office, where he was swamped with work. After a while, Xu paused. “What brings you here?” “Just came from the front—brought some seriously wounded to the hospital.” Xu nodded, signaling him to close the door. “Last night, the generals met. You’re being promoted; the commission will come in a day or two.” Lin snapped a salute. “Thank you, commander.” Xu smiled bitterly. “Fighting war, losing men, gaining rank—success built on a mountain of bones. Who knows if it’ll bring victory sooner?” Just then, the phone rang. Xu waved him off. “Go on, get back to work.”

After the call, Xu saw Lin still there. “What is it?” Lin smiled shyly. “Saw the news about your wedding—came to congratulate you and see if you need anything.” Xu’s exhaustion vanished; he joked, “So you came for the excitement. With the war, the wedding will be rushed—nothing much to prepare.” Lin nodded, hesitated, then said, “I saw Miss Tan at the hospital—she looks tired, unwell. Is she ill?” Xu was taken aback, then pushed his files aside, troubled. “So busy these days, no time even to go to the bathroom. We’re so close, but I haven’t seen her in two days. She’s not herself lately, but I’ve had no chance to talk to her.”

Lin, after a long pause, spoke slowly. “Commander, since you returned to Shanghai and met Miss Tan, you’ve been keeping turtles. I suppose it’s like Kongming’s feather fan—affairs of the heart, like military campaigns, can’t be rushed. I bet you haven’t fed the turtles in days.” Xu, realizing, stared at Lin, then said ruefully, “I shouldn’t have made you a regiment commander. I should have kept you by my side!”

Xu found Tan Yang in the hospital, eyes closed, slumped in a chair. He asked with concern, “Yangyang, are you alright?” Without opening her eyes, she whispered, “Didn’t sleep well last night—I’m just tired.” He chided her gently, “They told me you were in surgery till three a.m. You’re not Liu Fazhu—if you collapse, who’ll save the wounded?” Then, lifting her from the chair, he declared, “Come rest in my room. Eat, then go back.”

He had been sleeping in the office. He tucked her into bed, covered her, and, seeing her swollen eyes, asked softly, “Yangyang, is something troubling you lately?” She opened her eyes slowly. “I—I didn’t expect…” She began to cry, unable to speak. Xu, distressed, soothed her, “No rush, rest first—we’ll talk after you’ve slept.”

After another hour of work, a new young aide stammered, “Someone’s been waiting outside for two hours, demanding to see you. We told him no, and he threatened to blow up your residence in the city!” Xu slammed the table. “Outrageous! Who is he?” The aide, trembling, replied, “He—he said his surname is Bi!”

Author’s note: I’ll be attending my best friend’s wedding during the holidays, so updates will resume afterwards. Please bear with me, sisters!