Explore Chapter 85 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, Yang Xingyuan felt somewhat unwell. He slept until ten in the morning without getting up. The Fu brothers had gone to school, and Li Dongqing, alone, was organizing books in Yang Xingyuan's study. Suddenly, she came across a copy of Doubtful Rain Collection. Li Dongqing saw a line written by Yang Xingyuan on the title page: "In middle age, I first recognized Huang Zhongze, and wept on this autumn night." Li Dongqing read it twice and, unconsciously holding the book, stared blankly for a moment. She thought, Mr. Yang has been ill these past few days. Perhaps these two lines of poetry stirred some feeling in him. That would be my fault. As she pondered, she saw Yang Xingyuan walk in, wearing a nightgown, barefoot, in slippers, his eyes bleary with sleep. Li Dongqing put down the book and asked, "Are you feeling better, Mr. Yang?" Yang Xingyuan said, "Still the same. But I sleep a lot and often have nightmares." Li Dongqing said, "It's due to physical weakness. I hope you'll rest more." Yang Xingyuan said, "It's not serious. I actually feel like reading, but I can't concentrate." Saying this, he pulled a book from the shelf, flipped through a few pages casually, and placed it on the table. Li Dongqing secretly glanced at the book. It was Doubtful Rain Collection. Yang Xingyuan then sat down and asked, "What book are you reading, Miss Li?" Li Dongqing smiled and said, "I'm just browsing randomly." Seeing that she didn't specify, Yang Xingyuan didn't press further. After sitting for a while, he went back to sleep.
By evening, Yang Xingyuan seemed somewhat better and went out to stroll in the courtyard. He saw a half-moon already hanging in the western corner of the yard. The stars in the sky were sparse. He couldn't help but recall two lines of poetry: "Such stars are not of last night; for whom do I stand in the wind and dew at midnight?" Looking up, he suddenly spotted a figure on the opposite roof. He was startled and was about to ask who it was when the person thudded down from the roof and rushed straight toward Yang Xingyuan. Yang Xingyuan stepped back several paces and shouted, "Who is it?" The person approached unhurriedly, bowed to Yang Xingyuan, and said, "It's me." Only then did Yang Xingyuan see clearly that it was Fu Jiaju. He asked, "At this hour, how did you come down from the roof?" Fu Jiaju said, "Teacher, I was practicing lightness skills behind the house." Yang Xingyuan said, "Nonsense. Such feats of scaling walls and roofs are not for students. What if you fell and died?" Fu Jiaju said, "Teacher, you don't understand. I and a few friends have established a Martial Arts Society. It's going very well. In the future, when we achieve more, we plan to go to the South Seas to raise funds and compete in martial arts tournaments." Yang Xingyuan said, "That's even more absurd. Young people in their student years should focus on studying. Martial arts are fine to study, but if you specialize in this, how can traditional martial arts save the country?" Seeing Yang Xingyuan's disapproval, Fu Jiaju didn't say more. He bowed again to Yang Xingyuan and said, "Teacher, I'll go back now. Please rest early, sir." After speaking, he climbed back up the wall onto the roof. Yang Xingyuan watched, shaking his head incessantly. He thought, "Such a young man-my advice is wasted on him. Let him be."
The next day, Yang Xingyuan told Li Dongqing about this. Li Dongqing smiled and said, "They're at an age of vigorous blood and spirit. It's common." Yang Xingyuan said, "That's not the main concern. But I'm ill again, and I fear I may not live long. My death itself is not a pity, but who will my old mother rely on in the future?" Hearing his sorrowful words, Li Dongqing said, "Mr. Yang, don't say such things. Your illness is just a cold." Yang Xingyuan said, "I know my own illness. Now I'm only thinking about how to arrange things after I die." Li Dongqing said, "Mr. Yang, rest and recover peacefully. Don't let your thoughts wander." Seeing Li Dongqing speak thus, Yang Xingyuan didn't mention it again.
After two days, Yang Xingyuan's illness grew even heavier. He called the Fu brothers to his bedside and instructed them on matters after his death one by one. He also wrote two letters: one to his mother at home, and one to his friend He Jianchen. He then asked the Fu brothers to bring out a small suitcase from under the bed. He opened it in front of them, took out all the manuscripts and poetry drafts inside, looked them over himself, sighed deeply, and told the Fu brothers to burn them all. Naturally, the Fu brothers refused. Yang Xingyuan said, "If you don't burn them, others will after I die. Rather than let others burn them, I'd rather burn them cleanly myself." Seeing his insistence, the Fu brothers, tears in their eyes, placed each sheet of manuscript into the stove one by one and burned them. Yang Xingyuan leaned on his pillow, watching the stove intently until all the drafts turned to ash. Then he closed his eyes to rest for a moment before inviting Li Dongqing in.
Yang Xingyuan said to Li Dongqing, "Miss Li, our acquaintance is a matter of fate. After I die, there's one thing I must entrust to you." Li Dongqing said, "Please tell me, Mr. Yang." Yang Xingyuan said, "In my suitcase, there's a copy of Anthology of Ancient Prose, a book I've always loved reading most in my life. I wanted to give it to you, but feared you might not accept it. So after I die, please pass it on to a good friend of mine, Wu Bibo. He is also a lover of books." Li Dongqing said, "Mr. Yang, rest assured. I will certainly do that." Yang Xingyuan added, "After I die, don't hold a funeral or issue an obituary. Just bury me quietly." Li Dongqing said, "I'm afraid that may not be up to us. We should wait until your family arrives." Yang Xingyuan said, "No one from my family will come. I only have an old mother. She's elderly and can't travel long distances. Besides, if she learns I died here, wouldn't she be heartbroken? So I think it's best not to inform her. After I die, just find a place and bury me simply." Hearing this, Li Dongqing couldn't hold back her tears. She said, "Mr. Yang, don't say such things. Your illness can still be cured." Yang Xingyuan shook his head and said, "I know my own illness, Miss Li. Don't be sad. My death will bring peace."
After another two days, Yang Xingyuan could no longer get out of bed. Li Dongqing attended to him daily by his bedside. Yang Xingyuan felt deeply uneasy and said, "Miss Li, your kindness to me is beyond gratitude. I'm afraid I can never repay you in this life." Li Dongqing said, "Mr. Yang, please don't say that. I'm idle here anyway. Caring for the sick is only right." Yang Xingyuan said, "After I die, there's one more thing I must ask of you." Li Dongqing said, "What is it?" Yang Xingyuan said, "After I die, please write a tombstone for me. Don't include any titles. Just write seven characters: 'The Tomb of the Poet Yang Xingyuan.'" Li Dongqing said, "I can do that." Yang Xingyuan said, "That copy of Anthology of Ancient Prose-please also give it to Wu Bipo for me." Li Dongqing said, "I'll remember."
That night, after finishing all his instructions, Yang Xingyuan felt a sense of peace. Around midnight, he suddenly woke up. He saw the moonlight flooding through the window, slanting onto his bed. The locust tree in the courtyard rustled in the wind, its leaves sounding like rain. Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan couldn't help but recall two lines of poetry: "Yellow leaves in the rain, a white-haired man under the lamp." His heart ached again. He thought, isn't my current situation exactly like that? A gust of wind blew, sending leaves outside the window fluttering down, striking the windowpane with successive rustles. Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan couldn't help but sigh deeply and murmur to himself, "This truly startles the autumnal heart with falling leaves."
At that moment, Li Dongqing, who was sleeping in the outer room, heard Yang Xingyuan speaking and came in. She asked, "Mr. Yang, do you need anything?" Yang Xingyuan said, "I don't need anything. I was just looking at the falling leaves outside the window, and it stirred some feelings." Li Dongqing said, "It's late, Mr. Yang. You should rest." Yang Xingyuan said, "Miss Li, go back to sleep. I'll be fine." Seeing his spirits were still fair, Li Dongqing withdrew.
Yang Xingyuan lay alone in bed, staring at the window. He saw the moon gradually shifting west, and the tree shadows outside slowly moving east. He thought, my whole life is like these tree shadows, shifting slowly, fading gradually. At this thought, a wave of sorrow washed over him. Tears rolled down like broken pearls. He wondered, after I die, will anyone remember me? In my life, I've accomplished no great deeds. I only loved reading and writing poetry. Now even my poetry drafts are burned. What legacy can I leave for posterity? Thinking this, he felt disheartened to the extreme.
Suddenly, he thought again: after I die, who will care for my old mother? Who will remember my friends? Who will read the books I loved? Who will handle my unfinished affairs? Thinking this, his heart felt as if cut by a knife. Tears flowed incessantly. After weeping for a while, he drifted into a hazy sleep.
When he woke, it was already bright daylight. Li Dongqing came in again and saw Yang Xingyuan's pallid face and sunken eyes. She knew his illness had worsened. Seeing Li Dongqing, Yang Xingyuan said, "Miss Li, I'm afraid today is my last. After I die, I entrust everything to you." Li Dongqing nodded, tears in her eyes. Yang Xingyuan called the Fu brothers over and gave them a few more instructions.
At noon, Yang Xingyuan suddenly perked up. He asked Li Dongqing to help him sit up, leaning against the pillow. He then asked for paper and brush. Li Dongqing brought them. Yang Xingyuan picked up the brush and wrote on the paper: "Falling leaves startle the autumnal heart, composing poetry becomes a farewell to life. Grieving by the coffin over life's dew, wailing over a fleeting existence." After writing, he threw down the brush and said to Li Dongqing, "Miss Li, this poem shall be my final testament." Then he closed his eyes and spoke no more.
Li Dongqing looked at the poem he had written and couldn't hold back her tears. She looked at Yang Xingyuan again and saw his breathing gradually weaken. In less than a quarter of an hour, he passed away. Li Dongqing and the Fu brothers wept bitterly. Truly, at this point in life, what can one say of heaven's way?
By then, He Jianchen, Wu Bipo, and others had received the news and hurried over. Everyone saw Yang Xingyuan's remains and couldn't help but feel sorrow. He Jianchen said, "Xingyuan lived a solitary life, only loving to read and write poetry. Now he has died like this, truly pitiful." Wu Bipo said, "He wrote to me just a few days ago, saying his illness wasn't serious. How could he pass away so suddenly?" Li Dongqing then described Yang Xingyuan's final moments and showed everyone the final testament poem. All who saw it were deeply moved.
He Jianchen said, "We should handle Xingyuan's affairs after his death. He has an old mother at home. We must inform her." Wu Bipo said, "On his deathbed, he instructed not to notify his family, for fear of distressing his mother." He Jianchen said, "How can that be? We must find a way to tell his family gradually." Li Dongqing said, "The most urgent matter now is to arrange his funeral." He Jianchen said, "Naturally. Let's all manage it together."
They discussed for a while and then divided tasks. He Jianchen went to order a coffin. Wu Bipo went to print obituaries. Li Dongqing and the Fu brothers attended to matters before Yang Xingyuan's spirit tablet. In the afternoon, the coffin arrived. Everyone encoffined Yang Xingyuan's remains and placed it in the courtyard. He Jianchen also invited several monks to chant scriptures.
Li Dongqing recalled that on his deathbed, Yang Xingyuan had instructed not to issue obituaries or hold a funeral. Now He Jianchen and the others had issued obituaries. Tomorrow, many would surely come to pay condolences. Wouldn't this violate the deceased's wishes? But He Jianchen and the others meant well. Moreover, Yang Xingyuan had many friends in life. It wouldn't be right to prevent them from paying respects. Thinking this, she felt very conflicted but had to let He Jianchen and the others proceed.
Suddenly, a woman arrived, dressed entirely in heavy mourning clothes. As soon as she entered, she threw herself before Yang Xingyuan's spirit tablet and wailed loudly. No one recognized her. They saw her weeping bitterly, constantly crying out, "Mr. Yang, you died so tragically!" Seeing her state, no one felt it proper to console her, letting her cry her fill.
After weeping for a while, the woman stood up and asked He Jianchen, "Which one is Mr. He?" He Jianchen said, "I am." The woman said, "I am Li Yun. Mr. Yang treated me very well in life. Hearing of his death, I came specifically to see him off." He Jianchen then realized she was Li Yun and said, "So it's Miss Li Yun. Thank you for your kindness." Li Yun said, "Did Mr. Yang leave any last words?" He Jianchen said, "On his deathbed, he only composed a poem." Li Yun said, "What poem?" He Jianchen recited Yang Xingyuan's final testament poem. Hearing it, Li Yun wailed again and said, "Mr. Yang, you were truly infatuated. Even at death, you were composing poetry."
Seeing Li Yun so distraught, everyone came to comfort her. After weeping a while, Li Yun asked He Jianchen, "Mr. He, where is Mr. Yang's coffin placed?" He Jianchen said, "Right here in the courtyard." Li Yun said, "I'd like to see it." He Jianchen led her to the coffin. Li Yun touched the coffin and wept again before asking He Jianchen, "Mr. He, where will Mr. Yang be buried?" He Jianchen said, "It hasn't been decided yet." Li Yun said, "I'd like to come see him off on the day of his burial." He Jianchen said, "That would be good." Li Yun wept a bit more before taking her leave.
After Li Yun left, everyone discussed, saying, "Mr. Yang didn't particularly like Li Yun in life. Why is she so heartbroken?" He Jianchen said, "It's hard to say. Although Mr. Yang didn't like her, she is utterly devoted." Wu Bipo said, "If Mr. Yang knows in the afterlife, I wonder what he would think?"
As they were discussing, Li Dongqing came out and said to He Jianchen, "Mr. He, on his deathbed, Mr. Yang asked me to pass a copy of Anthology of Ancient Prose to Mr. Wu. Let me give it to you now." Saying this, she took out the book and handed it to Wu Bipo. Wu Bipo accepted it and said, "Thank you, Miss Li." Li Dongqing said, "Mr. Yang also asked me to write a tombstone inscription. I've already written it." She took out a sheet of paper with seven characters: "The Tomb of the Poet Yang Xingyuan." He Jianchen looked and said, "Good. When Mr. Yang is buried, we'll carve it according to this."
In the afternoon, a white-haired old lady suddenly arrived, leaning on a cane. As soon as she entered, she asked, "Where is Yang Xingyuan's coffin?" He Jianchen, seeing an elderly lady, asked, "May I ask your name, madam?" The old lady said, "I am Yang Xingyuan's mother." He Jianchen was shocked and quickly supported her, saying, "So it's Auntie. Please come inside and sit." Old Lady Yang said, "I won't sit. I want to see my son." He Jianchen had to lead her to the coffin. Old Lady Yang saw the coffin and threw herself upon it, wailing loudly, crying out, "My son! How could you leave me like this?" Everyone witnessing this scene also shed tears.
Old Lady Yang wept for a while and then asked He Jianchen, "How did my son die?" He Jianchen described the circumstances of Yang Xingyuan's illness. Old Lady Yang said, "Did he have any last words?" He Jianchen said, "On his deathbed, he composed a poem." He then recited the poem. Hearing it, Old Lady Yang wept again and said, "My son! Even at death, you were composing poetry. You truly were muddled by reading."
After some consolation, Old Lady Yang stopped weeping and said to He Jianchen, "You all handled my son's affairs. I am deeply grateful." He Jianchen said, "Auntie, please don't mention it. It's what we should do." Old Lady Yang said, "Where will my son be buried?" He Jianchen said, "It hasn't been decided yet." Old Lady Yang said, "I'd like to take him back to our hometown for burial." He Jianchen said, "That's a good idea, Auntie. We'll discuss and decide, then inform you." Old Lady Yang said, "Thank you all."
Li Yun also walked to the coffin, wept for a while, and then asked He Jianchen, "Mr. He, when will Mr. Yang be buried after being taken back to his hometown?" He Jianchen said, "Probably in about half a month." Li Yun said, "When Mr. Yang is buried, please notify me. I'd like to go see him off too." He Jianchen said, "Good. I will certainly inform you."
The train departed. Everyone watched the coffin gradually recede into the distance before dispersing. Li Dongqing returned to Yang Xingyuan's residence. She saw that all the belongings in the room had been cleared away, except for that copy of Anthology of Ancient Prose still on the table. Li Dongqing picked it up and flipped through it. She found a slip of paper inside with a poem written in Yang Xingyuan's handwriting. Li Dongqing read the poem: "Life's gatherings and partings are inherently transient. Cold rain and bleak winds bring silent sorrow. A moment of prosperity becomes the past; a lifetime's journey is entrusted to the vicissitudes of time." Reading it, Li Dongqing couldn't hold back her tears. She thought, Mr. Yang truly had a sorrowful heart with unique sentiments. Even at death, he composed such poetry.
While grieving, she suddenly saw Fu Jiaju walk in. He said to Li Dongqing, "Miss Li, we've packed all our teacher's belongings. We'll be vacating this room soon. Did Mr. Wu take that copy of Anthology of Ancient Prose?" Li Dongqing said, "Mr. Wu took it." Fu Jiaju said, "Teacher also had a copy of Doubtful Rain Collection. I wonder where it went?" Li Dongqing said, "Probably packed in a suitcase." Fu Jiaju said, "On his deathbed, teacher told us to burn all his poetry drafts. Thinking back now, it's truly a pity." Li Dongqing said, "It was his own wish. We needn't regret it for him." Fu Jiaju said, "Where do you plan to go, Miss Li?" Li Dongqing said, "I haven't decided yet. Probably I'll stay in Beijing for now." Fu Jiaju said, "We're returning to the south. If you ever come south, please visit us." Li Dongqing said, "Thank you."
After Fu Jiaju left, Li Dongqing sat alone in the room, recalling Yang Xingyuan's demeanor in life. She couldn't help but feel sorrow again. She thought, since meeting Mr. Yang, he treated me with special regard, teaching me to read and to be a better person. Now he has died like this. Where can I find such a mentor and friend again? Thinking this, she couldn't hold back her sobs.
After weeping for a while, she suddenly remembered that on his deathbed, Yang Xingyuan had urged her not to grieve, saying his death brought peace. Wasn't her current sorrow violating his last wishes? She stopped crying and said to herself, "Li Dongqing, don't cry. Mr. Yang's death is his liberation. You should be happy for him."
Even so, her heart remained heavy. She stood up and paced around the room. She saw that all the belongings had been removed, leaving only a table and a chair. On the table was a kerosene lamp, its oil nearly depleted, the light gradually dimming. Seeing this, Li Dongqing couldn't help but recall how Yang Xingyuan often read under this lamp in life. Her heart ached again.
By then, it was already dark. Li Dongqing lit the lamp and sat by the table, staring blankly for a while. She thought, from now on, I'll be alone in this city of Beijing, isolated and lonely. What joy is there? Perhaps I should return to the south as well. But what joy is there in the south either? Thinking this, she felt that despite the vastness of heaven and earth, there was no place for her to settle.
As her thoughts wandered, she suddenly heard knocking outside. Li Dongqing asked, "Who is it?" The voice outside answered, "It's me, He Jianchen." Li Dongqing opened the door. He Jianchen walked in and said, "Haven't you slept yet, Miss Li?" Li Dongqing said, "Not yet." He Jianchen said, "I came to tell you something. Mr. Yang's coffin has arrived at his hometown. His family sent word that he will be buried on the third of next month." Li Dongqing said, "Thank you for telling me, Mr. He." He Jianchen said, "Miss Li Yun also wants to attend the burial. Will you go, Miss Li?" Li Dongqing said, "I'd like to, but..." He Jianchen said, "But what?" Li Dongqing said, "But I fear it will be too sad." He Jianchen said, "It's only right to see him off." Li Dongqing said, "Alright, I'll go too." He Jianchen said, "Then let's set out on the first of next month." Li Dongqing said, "Good."