Chapter 145: Deep Beauty (Part 1)

1

If a humble person like me were lucky enough to be interviewed before I die, I would definitely want to talk about my fourteenth birthday. In 1921, I sat in a classroom at the top of a hill in the northwest corner of London, overlooking the entire city. What was there to remember about turning fourteen? My peers were suddenly and eagerly checking out the few copies of "Birdsong" and "Lonard Doone" from the library, often resulting in fights. I was lucky enough to have these two books in my hands, never for more than two minutes, and never even opened a page. I only saw one side of the closed white pages, and some pages were, for some reason, unusually dark in color. Unfortunately, before I had a chance to examine them further, the books were snatched away.

When I later had the opportunity to read these two books, I felt only regret that Lady Chatterley's Lover hadn't been published earlier. Otherwise, those teenagers who had first encountered the sensory stimulation of sex and violence would have gone crazy. Some of them would take the bus to the northern suburbs or Bath every weekend to harass female classmates, returning late on Sunday nights, climbing over the bricks through the rose bushes outside the school building to get into the dormitory.

2

My roommate was an exception. This youngest son of the Viscount, a handsome young man who was one of the future generations of the British Empire, I thought he was a rare and quiet person. But one night, after we went to bed, he reached across the desk from the bed opposite me and gently stroked my cheek, asking me with a wistful look, "Tse, what does it feel like to kiss a girl?" I thought he mistook me for some unattainable lady and felt sorry for him. After I got my first girlfriend and answered his questions truthfully, this handsome gentleman, Britain's future, moved out of the school building without saying goodbye.

Thinking back on this incident, I was actually very thankful that the Montgomery family had the lush hair and strong bones inherited from their ancestors, otherwise he would have suffered the same treatment as Edwin or Yang, being thrown into the mud three times a week, having people spit on his lunch, and even being surrounded and teased in the bathroom.

This group of people once forced the skinny, yellow-skinned Yang to drink water from the flush toilet. They privately gave him an English name, "looty"... That day, when I approached the bathroom, my white friends made way for me. I saw Yang lying in the unknown filth of the bathroom, looking at me with an expression on his face. His eyes were red, his teeth were clenched, his eyes were shining, and he was trying hard not to let his tears flow down.

But besides sex and violence, what else should these teenagers possess? The German professor of social philosophy, von Hoffmann, witnessed an indecent act in the bathroom and, very euphemistically, referred to it in class as "enlightenment." Yes, enlightenment. If it weren't for that word, I think my life would have been completely different. Maybe I could have become a philosopher.

3

They used the complex sentences they had just learned in English class to mock Yang's silk robe with holes eaten by insects, mocked the sixth button of the math teacher's wool sweater that would burst after lunch, imagined the breasts of the substitute drama teacher, and complained about the difficult Latin and natural science homework, but no one ever complained about the history teacher.

Klose was always witty and well-dressed, with the British's natural dry humor and German self-deprecation, and he would talk about anything and everything. I rarely express my admiration for someone directly, but he was an exception. I wasn't a straight-A student; I was naughty and unruly, and no dogma or rules could keep me in line. I often missed classes and failed math and Latin. But I never missed his class and could remember almost every word he said. In addition to ancient and contemporary history, he talked about Columbus, Napoleon, the Byzantine and Ottoman empires, and Clausewitz. I loved the way he spoke, until he said with that strange British arrogance, almost paradoxically, and with a solemn oath: "The British Empire conquered the world with guns, bacteria, and viruses."

The British Empire... what a proud boast. I remembered him saying that Britain's private schools were hosting the future of the British Empire for an entire century, and this was one of them. I remembered the look in Yang's eyes in the bathroom, and suddenly realized that at that moment, Yang was asking me for help. With my dwindling patience, I asked Klose, "Does China lack these things?" He said, "Then you'll have to ask the Chinese." Someone laughed and turned to Yang, asking, "Why did the Chinese lose so many wars?" I recognized it as York, one of the people who had humiliated Yang in the bathroom that day.

It took no effort to knock him to the ground.

He fell to the ground and roared in pain: "Zoe, are you crazy?"

I lifted his chair as Klose grabbed my wrist. He was in his late forties, about my height. I turned and looked into his transparent blue eyes, realizing almost immediately that it wouldn't be difficult to knock him down like I had Yorke.

So I did as I was told, and was severely beaten by York's accomplices who then pounced on me. My forehead and the corner of my eye were bruised, but I was in better shape than most. Some of them had broken ribs, some had broken wrists. At the meeting, they asked me to apologize to York and Klose. I asked why, and they said that only by being forgiven could I have a chance to stay in school.

Of course I refused. There was no need to bother choosing.

4

On the day I left, my father's steward from Bratty Castle in Ireland came to help me pack. Standing outside the red brick walls, I found myself not missing the place where I was born and raised. Yang seemed even more heartbroken than I was. He urged me to apologize to Klose, even more eloquently than my father's first wife, urging me to respect my teachers and to compromise so I could stay in England and complete my studies.

I asked him, “Why did you come to England?”

"Because I can learn knowledge here, and I can have a bright future when I return."

I always found his answers fascinating. Even without asking further, I knew he would go on to say, "China has been abused for over a hundred years. There's no place for learning there."

The future gentlemen of Britain, the dandies of today, all came to say goodbye to me. Some hugged me and said they would come to the Far East to find me, while others cried and said, "Zoe, don't you want to be a philosopher? You should stay..."

I thought hard and finally remembered that I had said something like this. Don't mind me, I was just saying it casually.

It's such a pity that Xie Zeyi could not become a philosopher.

So what can Xie Zeyi become?

It seems that it doesn’t matter what you become.

5

This was my ridiculously tragic enlightenment, more unique than anyone else's, more brutal and bloody; yet it only made me even more perplexed about my future and my life. It felt like I was in an airless, dark corner, struggling to find oxygen, striving to emerge from the mire, to blossom and bear fruit. How difficult it was. Yet, until my death, no one saw, no one cared. It was all in vain, all in vain.

How suffocating.

If anyone is willing to accompany me, I can win her favor with my lifeless soul and body, which is still a glimmer of hope.

6

She said she didn't want to leave Hong Kong, nor did she want to leave me.

She told me to think of a way to ask my father for help.

Please, Xie Hong, it sounds so easy to say, just as easy as when Yang advised me to apologize to Klose.

She said she loved me. But if it had been twenty years earlier, she might have loved Xie Hong more, who had made a fortune from the national crisis and was doing well among the British. How respectable, how funny, and how good a flirt he was.

How ironic.

It wasn't her fault. After all, what girl would fall unconditionally in love with Xie Zeyi, a bored, lifeless man who had nothing left after being stripped of his father's wealth and had no future?

She is not wrong.

I just have a little problem.

I should feel guilty. I asked, "What is there to miss about Hong Kong?"

We stood on the hotel's rooftop balcony, the neon lights overhead. I was smoking, a fruit candy from a Jewish shop in my windbreaker pocket. Inside the hotel, men and women were dancing together, while a street vendor was insulting a strong vendor in English. He didn't understand and didn't say anything back.

It's all so absurd. So I ask: "Will Hong Kong sink?"

"Why do you say that?"

"How about we wait a little longer? When Hong Kong is destroyed, I'll go and ask Xie Hong for help?"

The reward for his cynicism was a well-deserved slap in the face, but it wasn't strong enough to deflect his head, only knocking the cigarette butt to the ground.

7

She left. The dancing continued in the restaurant. A vendor punched an officer down and, amidst the hurling of insults, boarded the tram and left. Everyone on the tram applauded, and the foreigner was furious. The only cigarette extinguished on the ground. It didn't matter. I still had a fruit candy in my pocket. Chewing it, even the air around me smelled like watermelon.

At that moment I thought I should have a companion, to escape from the dance floor with me. She only knew that I had the disgusting smell of cigarettes, but she didn't know that there was a candy from a Jewish store in my windbreaker pocket for her.

She must have an oriental air about her, and I must be fascinated by her in cheongsam.

If you see her, be sure to bring her a flower every day when you pass by the market.

I don’t know when I will see her again, and I don’t know if she will feel anything before I sink completely to the bottom of the sea.