Explore Chapter 39 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.
Now, after returning from the Amusement Park with He Jianchen and others that day, Yang Xingyuan found himself more concerned about Li Yun. Yet, heeding He Jianchen's warning, he forced himself to restrain his feelings, not daring to repeat past mistakes. For several days, he busied himself solely between the Guild Hall and the newspaper office, occasionally discussing poetry and essays with Huang Bieshan, Wu Bibo, and others, thus temporarily setting aside his tender thoughts. One afternoon, just after leaving the newspaper office and intending to return to the Guild Hall to organize some manuscripts, he suddenly saw the street bustling with carriages and horses. It turned out that merchants in the Dazhalan area were making a grand advertisement to celebrate some anniversary. Disliking the noise, he decided to take a detour and found himself strolling near Hanjia Tan.
As he walked, he suddenly saw a familiar figure flash past the entrance of a quiet deep alley ahead. From the back, it looked slender and delicate, much like Li Yun. Yang Xingyuan's heart stirred, and he thought to himself, 'Could it be her? Why would she come to such a secluded place?' His feet involuntarily followed. He saw the woman walking very quickly, turning a few corners, and entering a small black-lacquered door. When Yang Xingyuan hurried forward to look, the door was already tightly closed. There was no sign on the door, only mossy patches on the corner walls, making it appear very tranquil. He lingered for a while, wanting to knock but feeling it would be presumptuous. He considered leaving, yet the doubts and concern in his heart wouldn't let go.
As he hesitated, he suddenly saw a young girl, resembling a servant, walking from the alley entrance with a vegetable basket. She gently knocked on that door a few times. The door opened a crack, and someone inside whispered a few words. The girl then entered. Yang Xingyuan had an idea. He walked to a small grocery store at the alley entrance, bought a pack of cigarettes, and casually asked the shopkeeper, 'Excuse me, is the young lady who just entered living in this alley? She looks like an old acquaintance.' The shopkeeper was an old man who lifted his eyelids slowly and said, 'The residents here are mixed, I can't say for sure. Are you referring to the one often wearing light green clothes?' Yang Xingyuan quickly replied, 'Exactly.' The old man shook his head and said, 'Then I don't know. Most people living here are ordinary folks, rarely dressed like that. You might have mistaken her, sir.' Unable to learn more, Yang Xingyuan apologized and walked out dispiritedly.
Back at the Guild Hall, his mind remained unsettled. Recalling Li Yun's soft words on the phone that day, and the handkerchief and photo she had given him, he felt she seemed to harbor infinite grievances, yet was unwilling to speak plainly. Although He Jianchen meant well, and his words about Madam being formidable and demanding made sense, Li Yun's ingenuous demeanor didn't seem feigned. Torn by these thoughts, he grew restless. Suddenly, it occurred to him, 'Why not write her a letter? Say nothing much, just inquire after her and gauge her tone. If she truly has difficulties, I might offer some help. If it is indeed a trap as Jianchen said, seeing her reply could put my mind at ease.' With that, he spread paper, ground ink, and wrote a brief letter in very neutral terms, merely stating he had been busy lately and hadn't had time to visit, wondering how she was, and advising her to take care as the weather grew colder. After sealing it, he couldn't think of a suitable person to deliver it. The long-term servant was out of the question, and colleagues at the newspaper office were inconvenient to entrust. As he worried, he suddenly remembered the newspaper vendor Xiao Zhou, a honest youth who delivered papers daily. He called him over, gave him a few copper coins, and instructed him to be sure to deliver it to Li Yun at the Pine and Bamboo House, without letting others know. Xiao Zhou agreed and left.
After sending off Xiao Zhou, Yang Xingyuan felt slightly more at ease. Just as he picked up a book to read, he heard someone laughing loudly in the courtyard, 'Brother Xingyuan, how elegant! Hiding here to study!' Looking up, it was Wu Bibo, accompanied by two or three others, all friends from their usual poetry and wine gatherings. One of them, surnamed Hua, came from a wealthy family and loved excitement. Upon entering, he exclaimed, 'Brother Yang, quickly get ready and come with us! Today, I'm hosting a small gathering at Xiejing Western Restaurant, and I've come specifically to drag you along. A few other friends are waiting there, don't spoil the fun!' Yang Xingyuan declined, 'I'm feeling a bit lazy today and don't want to go out. I appreciate your kindness, but I'll pass.' Hua wouldn't take no for an answer, stepping forward to pull him, saying, 'What laziness? That's just an excuse. There's a fresh figure at the feast today, a poet from the south, you must meet him.' Wu Bibo also urged him on. Unable to resist the crowd, Yang Xingyuan changed clothes and went out with them.
At Xiejing Western Restaurant, five or six people were already seated. Besides a few familiar literary friends, there were two strangers wearing fashionable Western suits, looking distinguished. Introduced by Hua, they learned that the poet from the south was surnamed Lü, with the pen name 'River East Drunkard', quite renowned for his poetry. The other was his friend, working in some ministry. After exchanging pleasantries, they took their seats. Lü was indeed talkative, drinking and chatting freely, discoursing fluently from Tang and Song poetry to contemporary new literature. Among the guests, some agreed, some debated, making it quite lively. Hua was in highest spirits, frequently urging drinks and ordering many dishes. Cups and plates clinked amidst cheerful conversation.
After several rounds of drinks, Hua suddenly clapped his hands and said, 'Just drinking and eating like this is rather monotonous. I have an idea-let's play a drinking game to liven things up. What do you say?' Everyone agreed, 'Good! What game?' Hua said, 'The ancients had the game "passing the flower while beating the drum." Today, let's do "drums hastening flowers," but with slight modifications. Here's a small silver bell that serves as the drumstick, and this vase on the table serves as the flower. The game master turns his back and shakes the bell. When it stops, whoever has the vase in front must either recite a line of poetry, tell a joke, or drink a cup. If they can't, the penalty is three cups. What do you think?' Everyone found it amusing. So, they nominated Lü as the first game master.
Lü turned his back, picked up the silver bell, and shook it, producing a crisp sound. Everyone hurriedly passed the thin porcelain vase with late chrysanthemums. When the bell suddenly stopped, the vase happened to be in front of Yang Xingyuan. The crowd exclaimed in unison, 'Brother Xingyuan, it's you! Quick, give us something!' Yang Xingyuan smiled, 'This stumps me. I have poems, but existing ones aren't suitable for the occasion, and new ones don't come to mind readily.' Wu Bibo said, 'Any will do, as long as it fits the game.' Yang Xingyuan pondered briefly and recited, '"The whole city is filled with wind and rain as the Double Ninth Festival approaches." This is an old line. Though not matching today's scene, it suits this deep autumn season.' Hua said, 'Old lines are acceptable, but that's too easy. You must make up for it with an extra cup of wine.' Yang Xingyuan didn't refuse and drank a cup.
The game continued. The silver bell rang now fast, now slow, and everyone passed the flower accordingly, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, instantly enlivening the atmosphere. Some were caught telling jokes that induced hearty laughter. Some were forced to drink until their faces flushed. Others displayed quick wit, spontaneously reciting fine lines that won applause. When it was Lü's turn, he didn't hesitate, reciting clearly, 'Amidst a feast's lingering joy, drums laugh while passing flowers. Don't waste the fine autumn light, for life is but a brief sojourn.' Everyone exclaimed in approval, saying the poem both suited the occasion and was carefree. Yang Xingyuan quietly appraised it, feeling that though fluent, it ultimately smacked of the itinerant poet's vulgarity, not as good as his own subtle and profound compositions.
Amidst the excitement, Yang Xingyuan glanced up and caught sight of two female guests passing by the corridor outside the window. The one in front wore a lotus-colored satin cheongsam, topped with a lavender woolen sweater. Her figure was slender, and her profile looked extremely familiar. She was slightly turning her head to speak with her companion. Under the light, it was clear-wasn't it Li Yun? Yang Xingyuan's heart leapt violently, almost making him stand up. He saw Li Yun's face seemed to wear a worried look, lacking her usual lively smile. In that fleeting glance, she had already turned the corridor corner and vanished. Yang Xingyuan stood there stunned, nearly missing his turn to pass the flower. Wu Bibo nudged him, 'Xingyuan, what's wrong? You seem distracted.' Yang Xingyuan quickly covered up, 'I've had a few too many drinks, feeling a bit dizzy.' But he thought to himself, 'Why is she here too? Who's her companion? Her expression seems troubled.' The earlier excitement from the game instantly vanished.
Finally, the feast ended around ten at night. The others, still not satisfied, wanted to arrange opera-going or card-playing. Yang Xingyuan insisted he was truly tired and was determined to return first. Hua and the others, knowing his temperament, didn't press him. Yang Xingyuan bid farewell and walked out of the Western Restaurant. The night wind blew, bringing on the effect of the wine, and he felt even more perturbed. He intended to go directly back to the Guild Hall, but his feet unconsciously headed toward Hanjia Tan. At the entrance of the Pine and Bamboo House, he saw lights still glowing inside, faint sounds of music and singing, and that jarring 'lai hei he' cry as before. Standing in the shadows across the street, he gazed for a long while, but ultimately lacked the courage to enter. Recalling the letter he had sent during the day, he wondered if Li Yun had received it. And if so, what did she think? Was it really her he saw at Xiejing? If so, why did she go there? Various questions crowded in on him, leaving him unable to sort them out.
The cold moon hung silent, casting a clear glow over the streets. Yang Xingyuan walked alone, feeling that in this vast Beijing city, though he moved among them, he always seemed an outsider. All the bustle, the pleasure quarters, the poetry and wine toasts felt as if separated by a veil. What truly concerned him was just a bit of genuine feeling from a drifting weak woman, yet entangled with all sorts of practical concerns, leaving him unable to act freely. Unconsciously, he reached the hutong where the Guild Hall was located. Suddenly, he saw someone hurriedly walking out from the Guild Hall gate, looking around. It was the newspaper vendor Xiao Zhou, who had delivered the letter. Spotting Yang Xingyuan, Xiao Zhou hurried over, pulled something from his breast, and handed it to him, saying, 'Mr. Yang, you're back! I delivered the letter, handed it to a maid to pass on. Later, that Li Yun girl had the maid chase after me and gave me this, saying it's a reply to your letter.'
Yang Xingyuan's heart tightened, and he quickly took it. It was a pale purple Western-style envelope with no writing. Not waiting to return to his room, he opened it under the faint glow of a street lamp. Inside was only a small floral notepaper, with a few words written in a shaky scrawl in pencil: 'Letter received. I'm fine, don't worry. Take care of yourself too. Yun.' The handwriting was childish, clearly written with effort. Yang Xingyuan clutching the thin letter, gazing at these few words, read them over and over. For a moment, he felt a sense of relief-she had after all replied. For another moment, he felt melancholy-what could these few words explain? Were they a genuine outpouring of feeling, or a perfunctory courtesy? The 'don't worry'-was it consideration, or distance?
He stood in the chill moonlight. The hutong was quiet and still, with only the distant bark of a dog. Chasing a fragrant shadow in deep alleys, yet the shadow remained elusive. Amidst a feast's lingering joy, the joy felt fleeting. What the dispatched letter brought back was just this elusive fragment. The flowers hastened by drums would soon wither. He heaved a long sigh, carefully folded the letter, placed it into his breast, and slowly strolled into the Guild Hall courtyard. The pear blossom had long fallen, leaving only bare branches casting sparse shadows under the moon, as if they seemed to whisper something, yet in utter silence.