Explore Chapter 38 of 'Spring Ming Outer History' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
After Yang Xingyuan stepped out of the Pine and Bamboo House, a gust of cold wind met his face, carrying a fine drizzle that soaked his clothes, yet his spirits felt oddly refreshed. Thinking back on He Jianchen's recent advice, he also felt it wiser to keep his distance from Li Yun. Turning these thoughts over, he took a rickshaw home. By the time he reached the Guild Hall, it was already eleven o'clock. A pile of letters awaited him. He opened them one by one; among them were a couple of social verses friends had sent for him to match. He flipped through them idly before tossing them aside, focusing instead on a carefully read letter from home. It was from his mother, who informed him she had arranged a potential marriage match for him. The young lady was from Jiangsu and was also studying in Beijing; his mother urged him to keep an eye out. Yang Xingyuan could only smile upon reading this, thinking it was his mother's old refrain-she always feared he would marry in Beijing and forget his hometown.
Just then, He Jianchen returned as well. Smiling at Xingyuan, he said, "You're back quickly. I have something to discuss." "What is it?" asked Yang Xingyuan. He Jianchen replied, "This matter originated with you. Do you recall asking me to find a place for you? I mentioned one that seemed quite suitable. The owner is a bannerman now returning south and is keen to sell quickly at a very fair price. However, there's one condition: he comes from an old family and is reluctant to rent to just anyone. Knowing you are a scholar and having noticed your poetry and essays in the papers, he is quite willing to deal with you. Would you like to go see it tomorrow?"
Yang Xingyuan said, "I'm not inconvenienced here. Why move?" He Jianchen countered, "Haven't you often said you wanted a quieter place to prepare for your work? This house is near the Back Gate, close to Shichahai-quite serene and certainly better than the coal smoke you smell as soon as you enter the main gate here." Yang Xingyuan thought for a moment and said, "Very well, let us go look at it together tomorrow afternoon."
Nothing noteworthy occurred that night. The following afternoon, Yang Xingyuan and He Jianchen went together to view the house near the Back Gate. It was in a small alley, with two black-lacquered doors facing the street. Upon entering, they found a rather spacious courtyard with a wisteria trellis overhead, though it being winter, only bare branches remained. The main building consisted of three rooms facing south, flanked by two wing rooms on each side. The landlord, a bannerman in his fifties, was quite courteous and showed them around. Yang Xingyuan noticed a small courtyard behind the main house, planted with a locust tree and a date tree-this was the rear courtyard. Both the front and back areas were very tranquil, so he decided to move in.
A few days later, Yang Xingyuan moved into his new residence. He occupied the three main rooms, giving the two eastern wing rooms to He Jianchen and using the two western ones for storage. Regarding the wisteria trellis in the courtyard, the landlord said it bloomed luxuriantly every April and May, nearly covering half the yard. Yang Xingyuan was delighted to hear this.
After moving in, it snowed for several days in a row. Blanketed in white, the courtyard grew even more hushed. Aside from going to the yamen and the newspaper office, Yang Xingyuan spent his time at home reading. Occasionally, when inspiration struck, he would compose a few poems. He found it much more peaceful here than at the Guild Hall. Yet, sometimes thoughts of Li Yun would trouble him; he felt uneasy about her but dared not go visit.
One evening, as Yang Xingyuan sat reading by the stove, he suddenly heard knocking at the outer gate. He thought to himself, "That must be Jianchen returning." He called for the house steward to open the door. But as the door opened, he heard a familiar voice ask, "Is Mr. Yang at home?" Yang Xingyuan's heart skipped a beat. It sounded like the voice of Li Yun's maid, Amao. Without thinking, he got up and went out himself.
Sure enough, it was Amao. He asked, "Amao, what brings you here?" Amao said, "Master Yang, our Seventh Young Mistress is ill. She hasn't eaten a thing all day, just lies in a daze, calling your name in her sleep. We've tried to console her, but she pays us no mind. I had no choice but to come find you, Master Yang. Please, come see her."
Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan felt a pang of distress. "What ails her? Have you called a doctor?" Amao replied, "She had a slight cough a few days ago. We urged her to see a physician, but she refused. Today she suddenly took a turn for the worse, so we finally summoned one. The doctor says it's a severe chill, nothing too grave. But she seems burdened by a heavy heart-she just weeps, and we are at a loss. Master Yang, please, have pity on her."
Arriving at the Pine and Bamboo House, they entered Li Yun's room. She lay in bed under a cotton quilt, facing the wall. Amao approached the bedside and said softly, "Seventh Young Mistress, Master Yang is here."
Li Yun heard her and turned over. She nodded at Yang Xingyuan and tried to sit up. Yang Xingyuan quickly stepped forward and gently pressed her back down. "Just lie still. Don't get up." She did not insist and lay back down. Yang Xingyuan looked at her face-it was terribly haggard, her eyes red and swollen as if from crying. He couldn't help but feel great pity. "How did you become so ill?" he asked.
Li Yun said, "I don't know myself. This morning when I got up, I felt terribly dizzy and weak in all my limbs. I've slept all day without feeling any better. Amao just went to fetch the doctor. He says I've caught a chill; a dose or two of medicine should set me right." Yang Xingyuan said, "You mustn't let your thoughts run wild. Focus on recuperating. Once you're better, we can talk things over slowly."
He sat with her a while longer before preparing to leave. Li Yun did not try to keep him, only gazing at him with eyes that seemed to hold many unspoken words. Yang Xingyuan felt truly wretched. As he walked out, Amao saw him to the gate. Yang Xingyuan took a five-dollar note from his pocket and handed it to her, saying, "Take this. Use it to buy her something to eat."
By the time he reached home, He Jianchen had already returned. "Where have you been?" he asked. Yang Xingyuan replied, "I went to see Li Yun." "How is her illness?" inquired He Jianchen. Yang Xingyuan said, "The illness itself is not serious, but she seems to carry some great sorrow in her heart. It pains me to see her like that." He Jianchen smiled. "Since you know her heart is troubled, you should think of a way to help her. What good does feeling wretched do?"
Yang Xingyuan said, "What can I do? Her Madam is so formidable. I can neither help her buy her freedom nor marry her. Should I just watch her suffer?" He Jianchen said, "True enough. But since you care for her, you ought to plan for her future. For instance, find out how much her Madam would demand. Get an idea of the sum and start preparing gradually. Perhaps you could redeem her that way."
Yang Xingyuan said, "Haven't I thought of that? But my means are limited. Her price would likely be at least one or two thousand dollars. Where could I possibly get such an amount?" He Jianchen said, "Where there's a will, there's a way. Don't lose heart. We'll think of something gradually."
Time passed swiftly, and soon it was the New Year again. Yang Xingyuan continued his duties at the yamen, as busy as ever. One day, as he was leaving the yamen and reached the mouth of a hutong, someone suddenly called out, "Brother Xingyuan!"
Yang Xingyuan looked up. It was an old classmate from his days in the south, named Li Jun, style name Meiquan. He was a well-established scholar already over sixty. Xingyuan quickly stepped forward to greet him. "Master Meiquan! When did you arrive in the capital? I had no idea."
Li Meiquan did not decline and accompanied Yang Xingyuan to his home. Yang Xingyuan showed him to the sitting room and called for the steward to brew tea. Li Meiquan said, "I've come this time to escort my daughter to the capital for her studies. She is seventeen this year, a graduate of the Nanjing Women's Normal School. She wishes to enter the Higher Normal School here in Beijing, so I've brought her."
A few days later, Yang Xingyuan received a letter from Li Meiquan inviting him to a dinner the following day at the Huixian Hall and urging him to attend. Yang Xingyuan accepted.
The next day, Yang Xingyuan went to the Huixian Hall. Li Meiquan and several other guests were already there. Li Meiquan introduced them one by one. Among them were Jiang Guyu, a renowned poet and prose writer, and Fang Youshan, an elderly painter. Both were well-established scholars in Beijing.
Once everyone was seated, the conversation flowed freely. Li Meiquan asked, "Brother Xingyuan, how fares your poetic muse of late?" Yang Xingyuan replied, "Worldly affairs keep me occupied. I've long ceased writing poetry." Li Meiquan said, "That won't do. For us scholars, no matter how busy we are, we must still compose verse. I'd like to see a poem from you today."
Unable to refuse, Yang Xingyuan composed a regulated verse of eight lines. Everyone read it and praised it. Jiang Guyu said, "Brother Xingyuan's poem is fresh and spirited, truly a fine piece."
Yang Xingyuan went with Li Meiquan to his residence in the western part of the city. The house was also quite elegant. Upon entering, Yang Xingyuan saw a courtyard filled with ornamental rocks and several plum trees in full bloom. Their fragrance wafted pleasantly on the air.
The door curtain lifted, and a young woman entered carrying a cup of tea, which she placed before Yang Xingyuan. He observed her. She appeared no more than seventeen or eighteen, dressed in simple dark blue clothes, her face free of cosmetics, naturally lovely, her demeanor poised and graceful, unlike ordinary young women.
One day, Li Meiquan said to Yang Xingyuan, "My daughter has been admitted to the Women's Higher Normal School. Term will begin soon. I think boarding at the school will be rather lonely for her. I would like to entrust her to your occasional care, Brother Xingyuan."
Since meeting Li Dongqing, Yang Xingyuan considered her an excellent young woman and felt a growing respect and fondness. Yet, reflecting on his own rootless half-life, lacking both official success and a settled family, he felt unworthy and dared not entertain any presumptuous thoughts.
Yet, Yang Xingyuan's heart still clung to thoughts of Li Yun. Sometimes, recalling her pitiable state would stir up anguish within him. He wanted to visit her but feared causing her further distress. Not visiting left him uneasy.
As fate would have it, he ran into Amao on the street one day. She grabbed his sleeve and said, "Master Yang! Our Seventh Young Mistress has fallen ill again, worse than last time. Please, go see her!"
Li Yun lay in bed, her face deathly pale, her eyes tightly closed as if in a faint. Yang Xingyuan called her name twice. She slowly opened her eyes. Seeing Yang Xingyuan, tears immediately welled up.
Yang Xingyuan sat by the bed, holding Li Yun's hand. It felt icy cold. A wave of bitter sorrow washed over him, nearly bringing tears to his eyes.
After sitting for a while, Li Yun seemed to fall asleep. Yang Xingyuan gently withdrew his hand and said to Amao, "Take good care of her. I'll come again tomorrow." With that, he left.
Yang Xingyuan said, "Don't say such things. Focus on getting well. Once you're better, we'll find a way."
"I know well what weighs on her heart," said Yang Xingyuan. "But lacking the means to save her renders any effort futile."
The Madam said, "You are a sensible man, Master Yang. I raised Seventh Young Mistress from the ground up, investing much effort and capital, as you well know. Since you wish to marry her, I won't ask for much. Just two thousand dollars, all expenses included."
One day, when Yang Xingyuan went to see her, Li Yun was emaciated beyond recognition. Her eyes were sunken deep in their sockets. Seeing Yang Xingyuan, she only wept.
"How do you feel today?" Yang Xingyuan asked. Li Yun shook her head and said, "Master Yang, I'm afraid my time has come. When I die, I only beg you to have me buried in the charity burial ground. Don't let my soul wander homeless."
Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan felt as if a knife were twisting in his heart. "Don't let your thoughts run wild. Focus on getting well. You will recover."
This made Yang Xingyuan even more heartbroken. Clasping her hand, he said, "Rest assured, I will never forget you."
Li Yun smiled faintly and closed her eyes, appearing very weary. Not daring to disturb her further, Yang Xingyuan quietly left the room.
Returning home, he slept poorly all night. Early the next morning, he received a phone call from Amao. Li Yun had passed away the previous night.
Yang Xingyuan's mind reeled, and he nearly fainted. Collecting himself, he rushed to the Pine and Bamboo House.
Li Yun lay on the bed, her face covered with a white cloth. Yang Xingyuan lifted the cloth. Her face was pale, her eyes slightly closed as if in sleep.
"Your Madam is too cruel," Yang Xingyuan said. "After all her service, can she not even spare a coffin?"
Amao said, "You know our Madam's temper, Master Yang. What she says, goes. There's nothing we can do."
Yang Xingyuan said, "Go tell your Madam that I will take care of Li Yun's funeral. She need not concern herself."
Seeing him thus, He Jianchen advised, "The dead cannot return. You mustn't grieve so excessively. Perhaps you should move to avoid the constant reminders here."
Noticing his persistent melancholy, Li Dongqing asked, "Mr. Yang, you seem troubled lately. Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Touched by her sincerity, Yang Xingyuan briefly told her about Li Yun. Li Dongqing listened and sighed in sympathy. She comforted him, "It is rare to find such deep loyalty as yours, Mr. Yang. But the departed are gone. The living must still take care of themselves."
One day, Yang Xingyuan received a letter from Li Meiquan. He wrote that his health was failing in the south, and he feared his time was near. He hoped Yang Xingyuan would look after his daughter.
Yang Xingyuan was saddened by the letter. He went to see Li Dongqing and showed it to her. Reading it, she burst into tears.
Yang Xingyuan comforted her. "Don't be too distressed. Your father may simply be speaking cautiously. Perhaps his condition isn't that serious."
Li Dongqing said, "My father's health has never been robust. I was very worried when he returned south. For him to write this, he must be gravely ill."
Yang Xingyuan said, "Schoolwork is secondary. Your father's health is paramount. Take a few days' leave to visit him. I'm sure the school will permit it."
A few days later, Li Dongqing departed for the south. Yang Xingyuan saw her off at the train station. Watching the train leave, he felt a sudden sense of loss.
Returning home, he saw the courtyard's pear trees in full bloom. A gust of wind scattered a flurry of petals across the ground. He remembered that this time last year, Li Yun was still alive. Now, her face was gone, while the pear blossoms still smiled in the spring breeze. Melancholy washed over him once more.
Just then, he heard knocking at the outer gate. He called for the steward to open it. The door opened, and a young woman carrying a bundle walked in.
Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan also felt a pang of grief. He comforted her, "Don't grieve too much. Since your father is gone, you must take even greater care of yourself."
Li Dongqing understood his feelings and often comforted him. Through their conversations, Yang Xingyuan's spirits gradually lifted.
Hearing this, Li Dongqing blushed. "Mr. Yang, I have no wish to marry yet. I only wish to study more."
Since ancient times, deep feeling leaves but vain regret; Let me now by the green lamp with verdant dusk abet.