At noon, Zhou Wen prepared three dishes and a soup, all of which were Liang He’s favorites. He Chengyan usually ate simply at home; it was only when Liang He returned that she would instruct Zhou Wen to buy some meat. Consequently, for Zhou Wen, Liang He’s return was synonymous with gourmet food and meat dishes. She had joined the household three years ago. Before that, He Chengyan had no housekeeper. Although she was getting on in years, she had been rehired by the university; she had been hardy and sharp-minded, usually making do with three meals a day at the faculty canteen.
However, an unprovoked stroke four years ago had suddenly shattered He Chengyan’s health. It was said she had nearly breathed her last. She spent over a month in the hospital and another half-year bedridden at home before her body slowly began to recover. When Zhou Wen first arrived, He Chengyan had just returned from the hospital. The entire right side of her body was immobile, and she had no sensation from the right leg down; she required assistance with eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom. Zhou Wen had heard that this Professor He used to be brisk and agile, hale and hearty, with a resonant voice and a memory sharper than many young people. She looked like a completely different person from the thin, frail old woman lying in bed. Zhou Wen couldn't help but sigh inwardly that one could endure anything in life except illness. Later, she heard of the professor’s arduous life—how she had weathered social upheavals, divorced early, and had only one son, yet continued to labor tirelessly on the front lines of education even after retirement. This filled Zhou Wen with both sympathy and admiration, leading her to put extra care into her work. She had stayed for four years.
After lunch, He Chengyan had a habit of taking a nap. This was a routine established only after her stroke, though it lasted only about forty minutes. Chen Qian had to discuss matters with He Chengyan in the afternoon, so she used this interval to browse the books in the house or do some prep work for their discussion. Liang He was used to this. Chen Qian was He Chengyan’s assistant and had just been promoted to teaching assistant this year; she likely visited the house more often than he did. He Chengyan rarely praised people, yet Liang He had heard her commend Chen Qian at least twice. In truth, it was easy to see why. At least in Liang He’s eyes, the way Chen Qian lowered her head to read, take notes, and conduct research was a direct inheritance of He Chengyan’s spirit. If nothing else, the fact that she could leave her husband and child on the twenty-seventh day of the lunar year to come to a gray-haired professor’s home to discuss macro-issues like China’s economic development was exactly He Chengyan’s style.
Although Liang He and Chen Qian met frequently, they had never had a deep conversation. After lunch, he went to his room to unpack. He had just folded his clothes and put them in the wardrobe when he heard someone calling him from below, each shout louder than the last: "Liang He—! Liang He—!"
He quickly poked his head out the window. A young man wearing sunglasses, a leather jacket, and bell-bottoms, with permed hair, stood downstairs. Seeing Liang He’s look of doubt, the visitor whipped off his sunglasses and waved. "Come down!"
Liang He grabbed his coat and hurried downstairs, his face a mix of surprise and delight. "Cheng Dachuan? Dachuan, you—how are you here today...?"
Cheng Dachuan slid the sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "How about it? Do I have style or what?"
Liang He laughed heartily. "Look at you. Did you fall into a dye vat? When did you get back?"
"The morning flight. Just landed."
"Come on, let’s go upstairs and sit for a while."
"No, I know your mother has her nap habit," Cheng Dachuan said, grabbing him. "Got time? Let's find a place to chat."
"Of course," Liang He agreed immediately, then asked, "Just you?"
"Don't worry," Cheng Dachuan patted his shoulder with a knowing look. "My sister complained she was tired the moment we landed. She’s napping; she didn't come out with me."
"Then..." Liang He thought for a moment. "Come with me to the school."
He had only left that morning, and he was back by the afternoon.
In those days, university students were few, and graduate students were even fewer; almost no one stayed on campus for the New Year. After Liang He left that morning, the dormitory manager had simply locked the doors. Liang He took Dachuan to his office, brewed some tea, and sat down. Cheng Dachuan looked around. "Not bad, Old Liang. So, you’ve really become a teacher of the people."
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Liang He said. "You make it sound like I don't look the part."
Cheng Dachuan sat boisterously on the office's only sofa. "It’s a bit of a waste. Come to Hong Kong with me. It’s much better there than the mainland—at least ten years ahead. The lights, the colors... the glitz and glamour..."
"I can tell. Looking at the colors on you, there are more than ten," Liang He teased. Once inside, Cheng Dachuan had taken off his jacket, revealing a garish, multicolored shirt. Liang He had never seen such a pattern or color scheme; it looked as if a child learning to paint had smashed their entire paint box.
"See this?" Cheng Dachuan didn't mind at all. He patted a small black square clipped to his waist.
"What is it?"
"A BP machine. Call me anytime."
"When did you buy that?"
"Just before the New Year. Motorola, the latest model. Jealous?"
"Does it even work on the mainland?" Two months ago, his uncle, He Chengkai, had asked if he wanted a pager, but he had declined.
"It works! Don't believe me? Try it." Cheng Dachuan stood up, walked to the office landline, and picked up the receiver. "This can make calls, right?"
"It’s a public office phone..."
Cheng Dachuan ignored him entirely. Hearing the dial tone, he punched in a string of numbers, then pointed a finger at Liang He. "Pedantic."
A minute after the call, the black plastic shell at Cheng Dachuan’s waist emitted a loud "Beep—Beep—" accompanied by a slight mechanical vibration. Cheng Dachuan ostentatiously unclipped it and waved it in front of Liang He. A string of numbers appeared on the small green screen. "Your office number is hard to remember. In Hong Kong, everyone likes 6s and 8s. You guys have two 4s."
"Where did you get this capitalist attitude?" Liang He glanced at him. "How long have you even been gone?"
"Look at that, you're jealous." Cheng Dachuan gave a mischievous grin. "Don't be mad. Since we were kids, when have I ever forgotten you when I had something good? Here, this is yours. Take it." He pulled a brand-new package from his bag.
"What’s this? Trying to bribe me with sugar-coated bullets?"
"Is it heavy enough?"
Liang He smiled and opened it without further protest. They had been friends for so many years that many words were unnecessary. "Thanks."
"Where’s my New Year’s gift?"
"Over there..." Liang He pointed to a corner of the cabinet. "I finished the painting for you long ago. Who are you giving it to this time?"
"Never mind that. Why don't you come to Hong Kong with me and see for yourself?" Cheng Dachuan went over to rummage through the paintings himself, then looked back with a punchable grin. "Don't just talk about me. What about you?"
"Mind your own business."
"Still nothing?" Cheng Dachuan asked. "Does my sister still have a chance?"
Liang He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Just find your painting."
"I’m joking. My sister went to Hong Kong and saw so many elite men; she’s not that obsessed with you anymore. But what about that person? I heard you two have always been close?"
"If others don't know better, fine. Why are you talking nonsense too? My relationship with her is the same as my relationship with you."
"You’re the one talking nonsense," Cheng Dachuan’s eyes widened. "Our relationship is rock solid; we’ve shared the same pair of pants since we were kids. Has she ever shared a pair of pants with you? Unless..."
"Have you found it yet? You're taking forever for one painting."
"Found..." Cheng Dachuan suddenly stopped. He turned around holding a painting, his eyes alight with the excitement of discovering a treasure. "Old Liang, what is this?"
It was an A2-sized oil painting, not very large. It wasn't a representational depiction but rather an abstract scene of a person—in the black of night, a bright window, a bright full moon. Beneath the moon and inside the window was a fractured, blurred face, with something sparkling and luminous upon it, like a young girl’s tears.
At the bottom of the painting, hidden within the background colors, was a signature: *Bright Moon, Year-end 1987.*
Liang He hadn't expected Cheng Dachuan to find this painting. He stepped forward and took it back. "It’s an assignment."
"Since when do you paint such small canvases? Don't you usually do those massive ones...?"
"It’s a draft."
"A draft?" Cheng Dachuan grew animated, circling the painting like a sycophant. "I want this one. Give it to me. The mood is incredible—it’s like a mix of Da Vinci, Van Gogh, and Picasso. Who’s the model? Do I know her? This painting has so much style; it’ll definitely impress..."
Liang He interrupted coldly, "In your dreams."
Cheng Dachuan froze for a second, then protested, "It’s just an assignment. Why so stingy?"
"I am," Liang He accepted the charge completely.
"I’ll trade you a brick phone for it."
"No trade." Liang He put the painting back into the cabinet.
"So precious you won't even trade for a brick phone?" Cheng Dachuan studied Liang He’s expression. "Is there something fishy going on? Is it for a girl? Or is there something special about the model?"
Liang He reached down into the stack of frames, found a landscape of a grassland, and shoved it into Cheng Dachuan’s arms to shut him up. "This one is yours."
Cheng Dachuan looked at it. It was beautiful, but it lacked style. Compared to the painting he had just seen, it was like the difference between heaven and earth. He didn't give up. "This one... well, it’s not ugly, but by comparison, it..." He searched for an idiom, "...it pales in comparison. And it has no title or signature..."
"Do you want it or not? If not, give it back..." Liang He didn't feel like haggling.
"I want it, I want it..." Cheng Dachuan stepped back, fearing Liang He would snatch it away. He grumbled, "This is class discrimination." But his eyes remained glued to that somber, abstract oil painting behind the glass cabinet. With a lingering, shifty-eyed look, he concluded, "You—there’s definitely something going on."
Liang He still had to go home for dinner that evening. The two chatted in the office for a while longer before getting up to head back around four o'clock. After moving out of the old compound, Cheng Dachuan’s family had moved to Xincai Road. A few years back, He Chengyan had received one of the school’s first subsidized apartments and moved into the current slab-style building. Liang He walked Cheng Dachuan to the school’s east gate to catch a bus. Passing the girls' dormitory, he instinctively looked up and immediately saw the third room from the left on the third floor.
The windows and doors were tightly shut, exactly as they had been that morning.
He felt a bit more at ease, yet inexplicably felt a sense of emptiness.
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
---|---|---
周文 | Zhou Wen | The housekeeper/nanny for He Chengyan.
陈倩 | Chen Qian | He Chengyan's assistant and a teaching assistant.
程大川 | Cheng Dachuan | Liang He's childhood friend who recently returned from Hong Kong.
BP机 | BP Machine / Pager | A common communication device in the 1980s/90s.
大哥大 | Big Brother Big / Brick Phone | Early, bulky mobile phones, a status symbol in the 80s.
年二七 | Nian Er Qi | The 27th day of the 12th lunar month, just before Chinese New Year.
板式楼房 | Slab-style building | A type of apartment building common in China, usually rectangular and multi-story.
新财路 | Xincai Road | A street name.
明月 | Bright Moon | The title of Liang He's painting; also a reference to the character Qiu Yun.
