Chapter Four: Life in Chaotic Times
Qiao Yuan stood at the entrance of the hall.
In a daze, the snowy fields of Northeast China appeared before his eyes:
At sixteen, wrapped in a thin cotton-padded coat, I huddled by the coal stove in Fengtian School. The fire was weak, illuminating my cheeks, which were red from the cold. I gnawed on a frozen cornbread, its rough texture mixed with the chill of the snow water, as if it were etched into my bones.
Later, war broke out and cannons roared. He fled to Jiangcheng like a stray dog, wandering aimlessly and in rags. In the end, he watched helplessly as the gunboats of the great powers tore open the mouth of the Yangtze River, the ironclad behemoths spewed black smoke, and the Japanese flag was planted all over the concession docks. Every flag fluttered in the wind, like a brand proclaiming humiliation.
Back then, he risked his life for a bite to eat, crawling through the muddy streets to survive, every breath stained with blood and tears. And now? Even with gambling dens and opium dens lining several streets, neon lights flashing and noise filling the air, in Sato's game of chess, he is still just an ant, every move controlled by others, powerless to even change the winds of this river city, only able to let the river winds stir up dust and drown out his sighs.
Qiao Yuan was leaning against the window frame, lost in thought, when he unexpectedly heard footsteps behind him, tapping rhythmically on the wooden floor of the corridor.
He turned around and saw Uncle Chen standing in the dimly lit corridor, his dark blue robe stained yellow by the smoke from the hall, and the deep wrinkles on his face deepened with urgency.
"Uncle Chen, what brings you here?" Qiao Yuan looked at the figure in a cloth shirt by the door, a slight smile playing on his lips. He knew it must be Ah Chen who had gone to deliver the message.
Uncle Chen strode forward, his cloudy eyes filled with anxiety, and lowered his voice, saying, "Master Qiao! Was it Sato who came to the house just now? Was it him who did it?"
Qiao Yuan raised his hand, subtly stopping Uncle Chen from saying anything more. His gaze swept over the henchmen around him, who seemed focused on the gambling game but were actually listening intently. Several addicts on the opium couch also quietly sat up. In this establishment, there are no secrets that stay hidden forever.
"Uncle Chen, please have a seat." Qiao Yuan closed the door, pointed to a fairly clean square table in the corner, and pulled out a bench to sit down first.
The clamor of the hall seemed to be separated by an invisible barrier, leaving only their own corner in a state of stillness.
The pungent smell of inferior opium stubbornly penetrated my nasal cavity.
Uncle Chen had no desire to sit. He half-bowed and rested his hands on the edge of the table: "Master Qiao! The Japanese are wolves in sheep's clothing. Dealing with them is like asking a tiger for its skin! Sato has approached you time and time again to try and win you over. Don't fall for their tricks!"
Qiao Yuan didn't answer immediately. He slowly took out a cigarette case from his pocket, lit one, and the scarlet flame flickered, reflecting in his unfathomable eyes. Smoke slowly billowed out, swirling before his eyes and blurring his expression.
“Uncle Chen,” he finally spoke, his voice low and calm, yet like a stone thrown into stagnant water, “outside, there’s the central government represented by Chen Kan and his gang; inside, there are enemies like Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan; and the gang members are also restless. Do you think I have any other choice?”
Uncle Chen sat bolt upright, his cloudy eyes bloodshot, and slammed his withered hand heavily on the table, making the teacup rattle. "Master Qiao! You're out of your mind! What are the Japanese? They're jackals! They're tigers! How did we lose Northeast China? How was Jiangcheng torn apart? You saw with your own eyes their Rising Sun flag flying over the docks, their guns pointed at our backs! Even if Chen Kan is a scoundrel, that's still an internal strife among us Chinese, a family matter! By inviting wolves into the house and colluding with Sato, you're pushing our ancestral heritage into the fire, you're aiding and abetting evil!"
His voice was hoarse, filled with the pain of betrayal. The clamor in the hall seemed to be cleaved open by his angry rebuke, and the gamblers fell silent. Even the ghostly figure on the opium couch held its breath.
The ash from Qiao Yuan's cigarette fell softly from his fingertips, and the scarlet flame flickered in the dim light.
He suddenly sneered, his eyes flashing with a cold light, deliberately raising his voice, each word dripping with venom: "Family matters? Uncle Chen, tell me, what family matters could make Chen Kan seize my docks, cut off my cargo flow, and instigate that woman Lin Tang to fight me for land? She's been with me for five years, her leg is half crippled, and now she's turned into the Chen family's gun! Chen Kan, relying on his overseas education and the Nationalist government's influence, bans opium and gambling, cutting off people's livelihoods. How many brothers in Shanghai have lost their jobs because of him? And how many people like Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan aren't eyeing my bones like hawks? I, Qiao Yuan, fled from Fengtian to Jiangcheng, and this life I've earned through hardship isn't meant to be trampled on! So what if it's Sato? He gave me guns, he gave me men, he helped me overturn the Chen family's ladder! In this world, the victor is king, the loser is a bandit. I just want Chen Kan to kneel and beg for mercy, and for Lin Tang to know the price of betrayal! The Japanese? Hmph, they're just borrowing a quick knife!"
"You...you've been blinded by personal grudges!" Uncle Chen trembled with rage, his finger pointing shakily at Qiao Yuan, the hem of his dark blue robe heaving violently. "Lin Tang's affair is a sin, Chen Kan's new policies are foolish, but can any personal grudge outweigh national hatred? The blood of the three northeastern provinces hasn't dried yet, how many innocent souls are crying in Nanjing! Even if you join forces with the Japanese and bring down the Chen family and gain control of Shanghai, you'll only be a watchdog for wolves, your very backbone will be pierced! Master Qiao, listen to me, stop! This is a dead end, once you've gone down this path, there's no turning back!" Tears streamed down his face, every wrinkle etched with despair, the air in the hall thick with the salty smell of tears.
Qiao Yuan abruptly stubbed out his cigarette, the sparks leaving a scorch mark on the rosewood tabletop.
He abruptly stood up, looking down at Uncle Chen with a haughty gaze. The feigned indignation on his face transformed into icy indifference, his voice as cold and hard as iron: "Uncle Chen, you're old. Your eyesight is failing, and your heart has softened. This world of bloodshed and turmoil is no longer what it was when you were wielding a machete and storming the docks. If you still want to persuade me, then go home. I've prepared a retirement home for you. You can bask in the sun peacefully and stop getting involved in these dirty affairs." He waved his hand, as if brushing away a speck of dust, "Ah Chen, see the guest out!"
Uncle Chen staggered back a step, his withered face instantly turning ashen.
He stared intently at Qiao Yuan, his lips trembling, but he didn't utter another word. Instead, he suddenly flicked his sleeve, his dark blue robe billowing in a gust of wind filled with grief and indignation. He turned and smashed open the wooden door, plunging into the thick darkness outside the hall without looking back.
The gamblers hurriedly made way, and the smokers shrank back onto their beds. In the deathly silence, only the creaking and groaning of the wooden door could be heard.
Ah Chen dashed off and chased after him, his figure disappearing into the darkness.
Deep in the alley, Uncle Chen's hunched back stretched long under the dim streetlights. Ah Chen hurriedly caught up and whispered, "Uncle Chen, don't be angry... Master Qiao... he might have had some difficulties, he was driven to the brink..."
Uncle Chen stopped abruptly, looked up at the dark sky, his throat bobbing, and a long sigh mingled with the sobbing of the night wind: "Difficulties? How could I not see them? But this move of his... he's staked his very soul on the King of Hell..."
...
Meanwhile, in the intensive care unit of St. Mary's Church Hospital, the smell of disinfectant couldn't mask the lingering worry on Lin Tang's face.
She leaned against the pillow, her gaze drifting unfocused to the impenetrable darkness outside the window, her fingers unconsciously twisting the corner of the blanket.
Chen Kan sat on the sofa next to the hospital bed, taking in Lin Tang's absent-minded appearance.
He was peeling an apple, but he couldn't help but throw the fruit knife and the apple on the ground, his voice carrying a hint of nonchalant sarcasm: "Why are you so worried? I'm telling you, the ambush at the courthouse today might have been arranged by Qiao Yuan."
Lin Tang propped herself up, but frowned as her wound aggravated her pain. She murmured, "No... if he wanted to harm me, why would he risk a hail of bullets to save me?"
Chen Kan put down his teacup, his gaze falling on her bandaged shoulder, his tone turning colder: "Saving you? It was just an act for outsiders. Who is Qiao Yuan? He's an old fox in Shanghai, a master at using emotions as bargaining chips. He knows you still care about him, so he deliberately put on this hero-saves-the-damsel act to clear himself of suspicion and make you devoted to him."
Lin Tang shook her head: "He wasn't a good person later on, but he wasn't that hypocritical. Amu, you don't understand..."
Chen Kan chuckled, but without warmth: "I don't understand? How did he harm me back then? How did Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan die?"
Lin Tang opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"Young Master Kan!" The ward door was gently pushed open, and an old steward of the Chen family, dressed in a dark silk robe and with gray hair, walked in carrying a medicine tray. His aged voice carried just the right amount of respect, but it was also like an invisible barrier, abruptly interrupting the even more hurtful questions that Chen Kan was about to blurt out.
Chen Kan snapped out of his daze, realizing his loss of composure, and forcibly suppressed the burning anger in his chest. "Uncle Zhong, when did you return from Beiping?"
“Young Master Kan,” the old steward stood respectfully at his sides, his voice still respectful, yet carrying an undeniable composure, “Miss Lin needs her dressing changed. The doctor instructed that she should avoid extreme emotional fluctuations, and that wound healing is of utmost importance.”
He glanced at the shattered apple and the gleaming fruit knife on the ground out of the corner of his eye, then casually looked away, as if the mess had never existed.
Lin Tang's throat bobbed, but no sound came out. She felt a metallic sweetness stuck in her chest, the scab of bitterness accumulated from countless unspoken words.
Chen Kan's gaze lingered for a moment on the old steward's deeply lined face. That calm look was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, instantly clearing his boiling mind.
He stiffly bent down, picked up the fruit knife from the ground, the blade reflecting the pale light and revealing the lingering ferocity in his eyes.
“Uncle Zhong,” he finally spoke, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper was being scraped, “I understand.” He paused, his tone softening, “Jintang, you rest well. Uncle Zhong, let’s talk outside.”
He turned and walked out of the ward.
Uncle Zhong followed closely behind and gently closed the ward door.
Taking the opportunity, Lin Tang turned her face away, her fingertips digging deeply into her palms, using the sharp pain to force back the tears welling up in her eyes.
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