Explore Chapter 3 of '呐喊' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
In the latter half of an autumn night, the moon had set and the sun had not yet risen, leaving only a dark blue sky. Except for nocturnal creatures, everything was asleep. Old Shuan suddenly sat up, struck a match, and lit the greasy lamp, filling the two rooms of the teahouse with a pale, bluish light.
"Little Shuan's dad, are you going now?" It was an old woman's voice. From the small inner room came a fit of coughing.
Auntie Hua rummaged under the pillow for a long time, pulled out a packet of silver dollars, and handed it to Old Shuan. He took it, trembling, stuffed it into his pocket, and pressed it twice from the outside. Then he lit the lantern, blew out the lamp, and walked toward the inner room. From inside came rustling sounds, followed by a bout of coughing. Old Shuan waited until it subsided before calling softly, "Little Shuan... Don't get up... The shop? Your mother will take care of it."
Old Shuan heard his son fall silent and assumed he had settled down to sleep. He then went out the door and onto the street. The street was pitch-dark and empty, with only a pale gray road clearly visible. The lantern light illuminated his feet as he walked, one after the other. Occasionally, he encountered a few dogs, but none barked. The weather was much colder than inside the house. Old Shuan actually felt invigorated, as if he had suddenly become young again, gained supernatural powers, and possessed the ability to give life. His strides were unusually long and vigorous. Moreover, the road became clearer and clearer, and the sky grew brighter and brighter.
Old Shuan was startled again. Opening his eyes wide, he saw several people pass by him. One of them looked back at him, his face not very distinct, but his eyes gleamed with a predatory light, like a starving man seeing food. Old Shuan checked his lantern-it had gone out. He pressed his pocket-the hard packet was still there. Looking up and around, he saw many strange people, wandering about in twos and threes like ghosts. Staring more intently, he could discern nothing else unusual.
Not long after, he saw several soldiers moving about over there. The large white circles on the front and back of their uniforms were clearly visible even from a distance. As they passed by, he could make out the dark red trims on their military coats. A flurry of footsteps sounded, and in the blink of an eye, a large crowd surged past. The scattered people suddenly gathered into a mass and rushed forward like a tide. Reaching the T-shaped street intersection, they abruptly stopped and formed a semicircle.
Old Shuan also looked in that direction, but all he saw were the backs of the crowd. Their necks were stretched long, as if many ducks were being lifted upward by invisible hands. After a moment of silence, there seemed to be some sound, and then the crowd stirred. With a roar, they all retreated, scattering all the way to where Old Shuan stood, nearly knocking him over.
"Hey! Money in one hand, goods in the other!" A man dressed entirely in black stood before Old Shuan, his eyes like two daggers that made Old Shuan shrink by half. The man held out one large hand toward him. In the other hand, he clutched a fresh crimson-drenched bun, the red liquid still dripping down bit by bit.
Old Shuan hurriedly felt for the silver dollars, trembling as he tried to hand them over, but dared not take the man's item. The man grew impatient and shouted, "What are you afraid of? Why don't you take it!" Old Shuan still hesitated. The black-clad man snatched the lantern, tore off the paper shade, wrapped the bun in it, and shoved it into Old Shuan's hands. Grabbing the silver dollars with one hand, he squeezed them, turned, and walked away. Muttering, he said, "This old thing..."
"Who is this medicine for?" Old Shuan seemed to hear someone ask him, but he did not respond. His spirit was now wholly focused on that package, as if he were holding a newborn infant passed down through ten generations, with all else forgotten. He was about to transplant this new life from the package into his home, reaping much happiness. The sun had risen. Before him lay a broad road leading straight to his house, and behind him, the dim golden characters on the broken plaque at the T-shaped street intersection became visible: "Ancient □ Pavilion Entrance."
Old Shuan arrived home. The shop had already been tidied up, with rows of tea tables gleaming smoothly. But there were no customers. Only Little Shuan sat at a table in the inner row, eating. Large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. His lined jacket clung to his spine, and his two shoulder blades protruded sharply, forming the character for "eight" in relief. Seeing this, Old Shuan couldn't help but furrow his brow. His wife rushed out from the kitchen, her eyes wide, her lips trembling slightly.
The two of them went into the kitchen together and discussed for a while. Auntie Hua went out and soon returned with an old lotus leaf, which she spread on the table. Old Shuan also opened the lantern cover and rewrapped the crimson bun with the lotus leaf. Little Shuan finished his meal, and his mother hastily said-
"Little Shuan-you sit still, don't come here." After tending to the stove fire, Old Shuan stuffed the greenish package and the red-and-white torn lantern into the stove together. As a burst of red-black flames passed, the shop was filled with a strange fragrance.
"What a lovely smell! What are you eating for a snack?" This was Hunchback Fifth Master arriving. This man spent his days in the teahouse, always coming earliest and leaving latest. At this moment, he hobbled over to a table by the corner of the street-facing wall, sat down, and asked. But no one answered him. "Fried rice porridge?" Still no one replied. Old Shuan hurried out to make tea for him.
Little Shuan picked up the black thing and looked at it for a moment, as if holding his own life, feeling an indescribable strangeness in his heart. Very carefully, he broke it open. From inside the charred skin, a puff of white steam escaped. When the steam dispersed, there were two halves of a white steamed bun. In no time, it was all in his stomach, but he completely forgot what it tasted like. Before him remained only an empty plate. Beside him stood his father on one side and his mother on the other, their eyes seeming to want to inject something into him and extract something from him at the same time. He couldn't help but feel his heart race. Pressing his chest, he had another fit of coughing.
Little Shuan followed his mother's advice, coughing as he lay down to sleep. Auntie Hua waited until his breathing calmed before gently covering him with a patched lined quilt.
"Old Shuan is just busy. If it were his son..." Before Hunchback Fifth Master could finish, a man with a fierce, fleshy face burst in. He wore a dark black cloth gown, unbuttoned, tied haphazardly around the waist with a wide black belt. As soon as he entered, he shouted to Old Shuan-
"Guaranteed good, guaranteed good! Eaten hot like this. Such a crimson-drenched bun, guaranteed to cure any consumption!"
Auntie Hua changed expression slightly at the word "consumption," seeming somewhat displeased. But she immediately put on a smile and walked away with a perfunctory remark. Uncle Kang didn't notice and continued shouting loudly, his voice so loud that it made Little Shuan, who was sleeping inside, join in coughing.
"So your Little Shuan has encountered such good fortune. His illness will surely be completely cured. No wonder Old Shuan smiles all day long." The grizzled-bearded man spoke as he walked up to Uncle Kang and asked humbly, "Uncle Kang-I heard the prisoner executed today was a child from the Xia family. Whose child was that? What exactly happened?"
"Whose? Isn't it Fourth Grandma Xia's son? That little fellow!" Seeing everyone prick up their ears to listen, Uncle Kang grew even more pleased. The fleshy lumps on his face bulged, and he spoke even louder. "That little thing didn't value his life, so be it. But I didn't get any benefit from it this time. Even the clothes stripped off were taken by the jailer, Red-eyed Ah Yi. First, our Uncle Shuan is lucky. Second, Third Master Xia rewarded twenty-five taels of pure white silver, all pocketed alone, not spending a single coin."
Little Shuan slowly walked out from the small room, pressing his chest with both hands, coughing incessantly. He went to the kitchen, scooped out a bowl of cold rice, poured hot water over it, sat down, and began to eat. Auntie Hua followed him and asked softly, "Little Shuan, are you feeling better? Are you still just hungry?"
"Guaranteed good, guaranteed good!" Uncle Kang glanced at Little Shuan and turned back to address the crowd. "Third Master Xia is really clever. If he hadn't reported to the authorities first, his whole family would have been executed. And now? Silver! That little thing is really worthless. Locked up in jail, he still tried to incite the jailers to rebel."
"You should know that Red-eyed Ah Yi went to sound him out, but he started chatting with him. He said, 'This Great Qing empire belongs to all of us.' Can you believe that? Is that human talk? Red Eyes already knew his family only had an old mother, but he didn't expect him to be so poor that not a drop of oil could be squeezed out. He was already furious. And then that fellow had the nerve to scratch the tiger's head, so Red Eyes gave him two slaps!"
The customers in the shop regained their liveliness and began chatting and laughing again. Little Shuan took advantage of the noise to cough desperately. Uncle Kang walked up, patted his shoulder, and said-
Outside the West Gate, by the city wall, there was originally a piece of public land. A crooked, narrow path in the middle, made by people taking shortcuts with their shoe soles, formed a natural boundary. On the left side of the path were buried those executed or died in prison. On the right side were the mass graves of the poor. Both sides were already layered with graves, resembling the steamed buns at a rich family's birthday celebration.
This year's Qingming Festival was exceptionally cold. The willow trees had just sprouted new buds half the size of a grain of rice. Not long after daybreak, Auntie Hua had already laid out four dishes and a bowl of rice in front of a new grave on the right side and wept for a while. After burning paper money, she sat blankly on the ground, as if waiting for something, though she couldn't say what. A light breeze rose, stirring her short hair, which had indeed turned much whiter than the previous year.
Another woman came along the path, also with half-white hair and ragged clothes. She carried a worn, vermilion-lacquered round basket, with a string of paper ingots hanging outside. She walked, resting every three steps. Suddenly seeing Auntie Hua sitting on the ground watching her, she hesitated, her pale face showing a hint of shame. But finally, steeling herself, she walked to a grave on the left and set down the basket.
That grave and Little Shuan's grave were lined up in a row, separated only by the narrow path. Auntie Hua watched her lay out four dishes and a bowl of rice, stand and weep for a while, and burn paper ingots. She thought to herself, "This grave also contains a son." The old woman wandered about, looking around, then suddenly began to tremble, stumbling back a few steps, staring blankly with wide eyes.
The woman nodded, but her eyes remained fixed upward. She also said in a low, stammering voice, "Look-look, what is this?"
Auntie Hua followed her pointing finger and looked toward the grave ahead. The grass on the grave had not fully grown together, revealing patches of yellow earth, quite unsightly. Looking up more carefully, she couldn't help but be startled-clearly, there was a circle of red and white flowers surrounding the pointed, round top of the grave.
Their eyes had been presbyopic for many years, but they could still see these red and white flowers clearly. The flowers weren't many, arranged in a neat circle, not very vibrant but tidy. Auntie Hua hurriedly looked at her son's grave and others', but only a few cold-resistant, pale little flowers bloomed sporadically. She suddenly felt a sense of insufficiency and emptiness, unwilling to probe further. The old woman approached a few steps, examined them carefully, and muttered to herself, "These have no roots, they don't seem to have grown by themselves. Who would come here? Children wouldn't come to play. Relatives and clan members stopped coming long ago. What is this all about?" She pondered and pondered, then suddenly shed tears and said loudly-
"Yu, they all wronged you. You still can't forget, grieving too much, so today you've shown a bit of your spirit to let me know, is that it?" She looked around and saw a crow standing on a leafless tree. She continued, "I understand. Yu, pitiful that they ruined you. They will get their retribution someday, heaven knows. Just close your eyes and rest. If you are really here and hear my words, make this crow fly onto your grave top to show me."
The breeze had long ceased. The withered grass stood straight up like copper wires. A faint, trembling sound grew thinner and thinner in the air until it disappeared, leaving the surroundings dead silent. The two women stood in the withered grass, looking up at the crow. The crow, too, perched on the straight branches, retracting its head, standing as if cast in iron.
A long time passed. More grave-sweepers gradually appeared, old and young, moving among the earthen graves.