Chapter 6
I casually put the documents into my bag, ready to head home. Ideally, I should think of names for the two children on the way home; even if it's just a promise I made, I should put this matter on the agenda.
...
But naming a child is indeed a difficult task.
My name isn't a proper name, and I don't want them to have the surname "Qing" or any other strange or weird connotations for the time being.
I have no relation to them, but I developed feelings for them during this time. So I hope that this name can contain my hopes for their future, and I also hope that it will not become a burden in their lives. I hope that their names can sound nice, but I am afraid that they will be too flamboyant and out of place with other people. I hope to go with the flow in the metaphysics of "if you believe, it exists; if you don't believe, it doesn't exist," but I also feel that pursuing perfection in everything may prevent us from obtaining true happiness and instead lead to premature incompleteness.
...
What is my name?
Although a quick online search reveals that many people believe a name is merely a label, in everyday life, it often reflects the complex emotions of family members: excessive joy, deep affection, indifference, strong dislike, and so on. In my hazy memories, my past was far from happy: no one anticipated my birth, no one cared about my character, no one was concerned with my achievements, and no one listened to my feelings. Some initially stood by my side, only to quickly depart like the wind; some harbored a lifelong aversion to me, always giving me the cold shoulder no matter what I did; some feigned friendliness while gossiping behind my back and physically abusing me.
I've grown accustomed to that pain, and even now, just thinking about it makes my bones ache.
It was the incessant, damp rain that poured down on my head, flowing from spring to winter, from autumn to summer, over and over again, without ceasing. [1]
As it turns out, everyone in the past, including my parents, didn't want to talk to me; but if I could become a rat in a sewer, they would happily find all sorts of delicacies for me: rat poison that kills me the fastest, rat poison that will make me suffer a painful convulsion, a dinner that will cut off my limbs and then put the limbs to my mouth... and so on and so forth.
The images that remain in my mind and that I keep recalling.
So, Qinghe.
Qinghe. If I had to think about it, my first impression would be the ancient saying, "Peace and tranquility prevail."
If you don't want your child to be happy, why give them a name that suggests peace and tranquility?
If you don't want your child to be happy, why bother consulting dictionaries and trying to seek the wisdom of the ancients?
If you don't want your child to be happy, why use that narrow river, that rushing river, that endless, continuous river that has water because of heaven and earth and the soil that carries that water, as his name?
At the same time, I also gave him the character "清" (qing), which symbolizes pure emotions.
Of course, it's more likely that the above is just my imagination. In reality, they happened to see the river, and the river was so clear that the child looked so ugly, so cruel, so despicable. It was his first time there, and he hadn't been tainted by the filth, yet he looked as disgusting as if he had just fallen into a mud pit.
I slapped myself hard. I could feel my cheek burning. On this deserted street, I felt like an outcast, just pulled out of a mental hospital. The warmth slowly brought me back to my senses. I didn't understand what I had been doing. I was already here, I had made the decision to give up on the past, so why was I still grieving, still crying, still daydreaming about unimportant things at such an important moment?
I just...
I just...
I just want to know. Family, friends—they're all blurred into silhouettes in my memory. I just want to know if any part of the malice I feel is fabricated from within, even if getting to that conclusion requires admitting I'm delirious, that I'm fantasizing.
The scenery kept receding, and I kept walking.
Why can't I ever reach the end of this road?
I couldn't hold back my tears, just like when I can't hold back my laughter.
The cold liquid slid down my cheek where I had just slapped it, the wind drying the traces and locking them into my skin. I crouched down to try and catch my breath, but something kept getting close to my ear.
I tried to brush them away, but they quickly gathered; the fuzzy texture was like willow catkins, yet felt colder and smoother. Just as I was wondering if this was another species unique to this world, a clear voice, young yet increasingly weathered, a blend of youth and old age, and also encompassing infant and child, rang in my ears:
"I've finally waited for you."
It is like the flow of time that spans eternity, yet it is also just a fleeting moment of yesterday, concealing both immortal hope and eternal sorrow in a world filled with pain and grief.
This isn't my personal feeling, but rather the sensation it evoked in me when it appeared. I'm simply expressing that feeling in words, resulting in this piece of writing that's about to be labeled "chuunibyou" (a Japanese term for adolescent delusions of grandeur).
I vaguely heard a sigh.
At that time, I was still unaware of how vast fate was, how a person's life was predetermined from the day their name was given. If one could dictate that predetermined fate, how could time remain a linear path? I simply asked, with utter disbelief and shame, "What are you talking about? Do you have many people?"
The voice seemed to be being adjusted. Because when I heard it again, it had become a light, boyish voice, its gender indistinguishable: "Now, isn't it much better?"
It was indeed better than before. In that short time, I looked around and made sure there was no sound source that could be placed close to my ear.
After saying that, it stopped talking, and I ignored it. I couldn't guarantee it wasn't a threat to me, as had happened with "Miki" before. Also, being discovered crying made me feel incredibly exhausted, even though the real reason was that my body couldn't handle the sudden outburst of emotions and I was breathless.
I gazed at the end of the road, where traffic lights guided the orderly flow of traffic. There were no furious honking horns, nor any spitting sounds. Autumn leaves flashed before my eyes, creating a tranquil scene straight out of an anime. Unfortunately, I am not a photographer and cannot capture even a glimpse of its beauty.
Yet, I still felt a sense of openness and vastness, as if the world were a boundless expanse. At the end of this road, and then further on, I crossed a wall, ran across a stretch of flat ground, climbed a slightly higher earthen slope, and then rolled freely down it like a slide, until I stood at the foot of the mountain. The snow on the mountaintop never melted, a pristine white that anyone living in this city had the chance to see. As cars drove along the national highway, as people walked through the sweet scent of apples, as birds stared intently at the sky, it always looked the same.
I slowly and deliberately let out a long breath, trying not to disturb the air around me.
I think I've got some inspiration. If I go home and tell them, "One of you is named Lu Cangxue, and the other is named Lu Mingnan," wouldn't they be very happy and surround me with joy? But if I put these two names together, wouldn't the former seem too old-fashioned, and the latter too ordinary?
Even though this is taken from a rather famous essay, "The snow-capped mountains of Cangshan bear the light of the southern sky." [2]
I planned to tell them to try it first, and if they didn't like it, we could try something else. Having figured this out, my steps became lighter, and just as I was about to walk back, a voice called out to me again:
You can't leave now!
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