After several months of treatment at the Anning Hospital, Xiao Man’s auditory hallucinations no longer surfaced — but he still had no desire to leave.
There had been that one offhand remark Team Leader Cold had thrown down, and no one came to actively push him out. Besides, he wasn’t exactly sitting idle — he often helped the doctors and nurses with miscellaneous tasks, and each morning and evening he rang the bell to signal wake-up and lights-out for the other patients. Everyone thus came to call him “Bell-Ringer Xiao Man.”
Bell-Ringer Xiao Man often chatted idly with the night-shift doctors. One time a doctor shared a piece of medical world humor: a bone surgery hospital in the city had a medical accident, and the patient’s family and the hospital couldn’t agree on compensation, so the family simply took over the hospital room and refused to leave. The hospital sent security guards to clear the room, but the patient and family members threatened to jump from the building, and a dozen security guards were too afraid to enter the room.
“Hospitals are afraid of things getting blown out of proportion,” Xiao Man said. “What happened afterward — did they get the room back?”
“Not only didn’t they get it back — the family transformed it into a storage room.” The doctor laughed as he told the story. “That family bought twenty army cots. Daytime they put them in the room; at night they took them out and rented them to other patients’ family members staying overnight. Ten yuan per cot per night — they were pulling in over two hundred yuan a night. More than a night-shift nurse makes.”
Xiao Man clapped his hands and laughed out loud. At first it seemed like an amusing anecdote with no deeper significance, but turning it over in his mind afterward — hey! Wasn’t this exactly a money-making opportunity right in front of him? The very next morning, he stuffed a large bag and walked out of the Anning Hospital, went to a small shop in town, and stocked up on a haul of “Bird River Pickled Mustard,” “Kang ShuaiFu instant noodles,” and “Yuijian ham sausages.” Back in the ward, he resold these items to patients who couldn’t leave the hospital, marking up the prices by one-fifth. Thus, Xiao Man became the Anning Hospital’s general goods broker.
The knock-off snacks tasted strange, so Xiao Man consulted the shop owner about stocking some legitimate goods, even if they cost a bit more: “Stop treating patients like fools all the time. We may be crazy — but we’re not stupid.”
“Look who’s talking — I don’t even make as much as you do,” the shop owner said.
“I mark up openly — take it or leave it. You sell counterfeits by deception — how can that be the same?” Xiao Man slammed the glass counter hard. “Get some decent stock in, or next time I’ll smash your shop to pieces.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You couldn’t afford to pay for the damages.”
“Why wouldn’t I dare? I’m a certified mentally ill person now — if I smash your shop, I walk away scot-free!”
Xiao Man lived a quiet, reclusive life at the Anning Hospital, unconcerned with how the outside world was changing. He only occasionally called Xia Lei to ask about his life in Shanghai.
Over the phone, Xia Lei said that eating out in Shanghai wasn’t actually that expensive — it was just that housing prices were going up every single day, already nearly twenty thousand. Xiao Man asked: what? Twenty thousand? Has Shanghai gone crazy? Xia Lei said: it’ll keep going up — I think it’ll get past thirty thousand easily. Xiao Man said: Shanghai is using housing prices as a filter, and I’ll never make it through the filter in my lifetime. Xia Lei said: it depends on how you look at it. Shanghai is still full of opportunities.
“Opportunities aren’t for people like me,” Xiao Man said. “Forget it — I’ll just stay at the Anning Hospital. It’s warm and well-fed here, clear-headed and comfortable. I can’t spend even five yuan in a day.”
Ever since the deputy mayor had moved into the ward, Xiao Man had been going to his private room to smoke and chat.
The deputy mayor, even hospitalized, didn’t abandon his refined pastimes. After taking his medicine, he would practice calligraphy in his room, writing one sheet after another, spreading them all over the carpet and sofa. Xiao Man said: Your esteemed calligraphy looks familiar to me — the inscription at Chicken Plaza was written by you, wasn’t it? The deputy mayor said: it used to be, but it’s gone now. Xiao Man asked: how is it gone? The deputy mayor said: I stepped down from my post, and the inscription was chiseled off. Xiao Man said: that’s going a bit too far. The deputy mayor said: high towers are built, banquets are held, and then the tower falls — truth and illusion, appearance and reality intermingle. It’s best to remain happily muddled.
“Wonderful — Your Honor, you’ve finally come to see things clearly. Then I won’t hide anything from you anymore.” Xiao Man said. “The person you once asked about who hung a tire on Chicken Plaza — that was actually me. Or rather, it was my mentor.”
“Oh, the two of you?” The deputy mayor didn’t even look up.
“Just one person — my mentor. He’d been drinking alone that night and had too much. There was really nothing conspiratorial about it. You were overthinking it.”
“I was suffering from excessive anxiety at the time,” the deputy mayor set down his brush. “I even had people file a formal case and investigate it, putting you both through all that trouble.”
“Well, how shall I put it — it wasn’t entirely a bad thing,” Xiao Man said. “Every setback may lead to fortune. At the very least, you got me into the Anning Hospital without paying a penny.”
When the deputy mayor’s condition improved and he was discharged, he gave Xiao Man a scroll. At the top, in small characters, were five words: “Inscribed for my young friend Xiao Man.” In the center, in large characters, were four words: “Best to remain happily muddled.” The closing signature read: “The Man in Blue of Ticheng.”
Xiao Man hung the scroll above his bed. When the doctor came to make rounds and saw it, he burst out laughing: “Bell-Ringer, will you stop causing trouble — this is a ward, not a scholar’s study. Take it down!” His fellow patients also came to look, all shaking their heads in exasperation: “Bell-Ringer Xiao Man, you just pretend to be muddled — if someone’s a single cent short buying instant noodles from you, you won’t stand for it!”
The year Xia Lei graduated from university, Shanghai closed the application window for its blue-seal residency permit. Before these graduates born in the 1980s could even step onto the platform, Shanghai’s housing prices, like a train pulling out of the station, were already accelerating faster and faster, leaving Xia Lei and the rest of them behind.
Once he was riding a city bus out of town, passing through a place in the southern suburbs called Zhuanqiao. The fare collector picked up her intercom and announced: “Anyone for the mental hospital? Anyone for the mental hospital?” Several people on the bus eagerly called out: “Yes, here, coming!” and got off the moment the doors opened. Xia Lei couldn’t figure it out at all — are Shanghai’s mentally ill patients this candid about themselves? On the return journey, the bus stopped at that same station. He looked out the window and saw the stop sign: “Zhuanqiao Psychiatric Hospital Station.” This comically dramatic moment stayed with Xia Lei, and he remembered the name Zhuanqiao.
At year-end, once he received his annual bonus, Xia Lei tallied up his savings, housing fund contributions, and his parents’ savings, and felt he could try making a down payment on an old, rundown, small property in the suburbs. He opened a computer map and worked his way outward from the city center in concentric circles. He suddenly thought of Zhuanqiao. At the time, housing prices in Zhuanqiao were still below seven thousand yuan. Xia Lei steeled himself and made the down payment on a forty-square-meter second-hand apartment.
Ramshackle, tiny, and suburban as it was, it was still a home. With a home, Xia Lei finally felt he was no longer a floating weed on the waters of Shanghai. On the day the property certificate came through, he began to feel Xi Tie Cheng slowly receding, becoming a hometown he could never return to.
Near Zhuanqiao there was a hair salon street with a suggestive, dim-lit ambiance, and on the corner of the street was a won ton shop with quite decent food. Xia Lei often came to eat a bowl of won ton late at night after working overtime.
One evening, he shared a table with a young woman who spoke with a northeastern accent. The young woman ate won ton while making a phone call. The more Xia Lei listened, the more the accent sounded familiar. When the young woman casually dropped the words “Xi Tie Cheng” into her conversation, Xia Lei froze, setting down his chopsticks.
“What are you staring at? What’s there to stare at?” The young woman assumed Xia Lei was a flirtatious customer being fresh with her.
Xia Lei swallowed the half won ton still in his mouth and said: “Your accent is the same as my hometown.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The young woman put down her phone.
Xia Lei said nothing more and lowered his head to finish his won ton. When he paid the bill and was about to leave, Xia Lei looked back one more time at the young woman and said: “I’m a graduate of Xi Tie Cheng Factory Workers’ Middle School. Our principal’s surname was Hou. The head of teaching was surnamed Cai — Big Old Cai.”
The young woman’s hand trembled as she heard this, and half a bowl of soup spilled down her short skirt. She looked up at Xia Lei as though she had seen a ghost. “You’re insane! You’re insane!” She grabbed her handbag and ran out of the won ton shop, her high heels clicking and clattering until she disappeared around the corner of the alley.
The won ton shop owner wanted to go after her for the unpaid bill, but Xia Lei stopped him: “Don’t bother. I’ll pay.”
This young woman on the hair salon street had to be a younger schoolmate from Xi Tie Cheng Middle School. Xia Lei had only wanted to ask her about the state of their hometown, but she left him only a fleeing silhouette. The way she had turned and bolted in panic told him what she was doing in Zhuanqiao. Xi Tie Cheng had fallen into decay, and young people all went out to find work — various kinds of work, in various forms.
Leaving the won ton shop, Xia Lei walked along musing: oh, Xi Tie Cheng — so vivid and yet so hazy! All the laughter and tears of his years before eighteen were left there. What people call a distant hometown is not only a faraway place, but also a time that has gone far away.
One day, the attending physician came looking for Xiao Man: “Bell-Ringer — there’s a new patient coming to our ward, a teacher named Old Gu who has bipolar disorder. He’s currently in his depressive phase — quiet for the next couple of weeks. Would you like to share a room with him?”
“No problem,” Xiao Man agreed. “Roughly when does he enter the manic phase?”
“Hard to say exactly — the cycle might shift every two weeks.”
“Will he become violent during the manic phase?” Xiao Man asked again. “Actually, even if he does, that’s fine — as long as he doesn’t ambush me.”
“Do you think he’s a werewolf who transforms on full moon nights? The manic phase just means he doesn’t want to sleep much and feels like talking.”
“That’s fine then. Chatting is good for passing the time.”
“When he’s in the manic phase, don’t encourage him to keep talking — otherwise he’ll go on without end,” the attending physician cautioned him last of all.
“Understood. If he rambles on, I’ll just tune him out,” Xiao Man said, “and treat it as a hallucination.”
When Xiao Man moved his odds and ends into the room, Old Gu was lying in bed reading a book called “One Two Three Infinity.” He glanced sideways at his new roommate and said nothing. Xiao Man thought: depressive phase — nice and quiet. Good! When Old Gu finished reading, he picked up a broom and swept the floor, and still said nothing. Xiao Man thought: my roommate is clean and tidy. Good!
It was several days before Xiao Man managed to strike up a conversation with Old Gu. He teased Old Gu with a question: does bipolar disorder count as a kind of psychological period, visiting once a month? Old Gu said: not that regular, and nothing to do with the moon. Xiao Man asked: so what does have something to do with the moon? Old Gu said: women’s menstrual cycles, and the ocean’s tides. Xiao Man said: you really know a lot. I like talking to educated people. Good!
For the first two weeks, Old Gu washed his hands before reading every time, and after reading he would sit cross-legged in meditation. He was quietly regular in his daily routine. By the end of the month, Old Gu gradually became more talkative on his own initiative, always wanting to quiz Xiao Man on high school physics, which drove Xiao Man to distraction.
One evening, as the setting sun cast its light on the east wall, Old Gu was inspired by the play of light and shadow. He sat up in bed and asked: “Xiao Man, let me test you — do you still remember Poisson’s bright spot from high school physics?”
“Poisson’s bright spot? No idea!” Xiao Man said. “Pork floss bread, I know about.”
“Then you’ve definitely also forgotten about wave-particle duality?” Old Gu pressed.
“Glass? What glass?” Xiao Man said.
“Stop changing the subject — I’m talking about a physics problem,” Old Gu said. “Cutting-edge physics research has found that sometimes consciousness can determine phenomena.”
“Consciousness… determines phenomena?” Xiao Man still changed the subject. “You mean a shaman performing rituals? Or making a bowl of red-braised pork appear out of thin air?”
“You common mortal — why do you always think about food?” Old Gu said. “I’m talking about quantum mechanics — physics even more advanced than relativity.”
“You mean there’s someone even more brilliant than Einstein?”
“Einstein was brilliant, of course. But the discovery of quantum entanglement may overturn the understanding of classical physics. By the way — have you heard of quantum entanglement?”
“Never heard of it. I’ve only heard of man-and-woman entanglement. By the way — do quantum particles have genders?”
“Quantum entanglement and man-and-woman entanglement do share some resemblances — like telepathy, for instance. This kind of connection exceeds the speed of light and can’t be explained by classical physics…” Old Gu started going on at greater and greater length.
“Old Gu, enough of this entanglement. Give me something practical,” Xiao Man stood up and lowered the mosquito net. “Either talk about red-braised pork, or let’s wash up and go to sleep.”
“I need to get this out of my system,” Old Gu was like a radio with a full charge, tuned to just the right frequency.
“Then talk away — I’m going to play cards.” Xiao Man left Old Gu alone in the room.
After finishing over a dozen hands of cards, Xiao Man returned to the room to find Old Gu still holding forth to himself, only now the physics channel had switched to a religion channel.
“Changed stations?” Xiao Man said sarcastically.
“Formless giving — humans and the universe are made of the same substance.” Old Gu pressed his hands into a hand gesture and extended one enlightened finger toward Xiao Man. “Human death is merely the dissolution of conditions. To escape being consumed by the universe, humanity must develop. This is the highest abstraction, Xiao Man — you must understand this point!”
“Understand nothing!” Xiao Man picked up his rinsing cup and headed to the washroom. Before closing the door, he told Old Gu: “I’ll say this once. By the time I’m back from brushing my teeth, you must shut up. Or I’m pulling your main switch!”
After brushing his teeth in the washroom, Xiao Man smoked a cigarette. It is said that half of all geniuses are madmen, but that saying is complete nonsense — something doctors tell patients’ families to console them. A pseudo-scientist patient like Old Gu, who talked like a mystic, in reality had a head full of mud and fragments.
When Xiao Man pushed the door open and returned to the room, Old Gu rushed over and grabbed his hand, saying: “I’ve figured it out — the Tathagata-garbha consciousness is all things!”
Xiao Man was so startled his toothbrush clattered to the floor. Anger rising, he decided to switch this radio to silent: he swung his hand and gave Old Gu a slap across the ear.
“Ouch…” Old Gu the radio fell instantly silent.
Xiao Man turned and had taken only a few steps when Old Gu the radio automatically rebooted, feeling its way back to its original frequency: “That — there’s one more thing… Xiao Man, please don’t hit me. I’ll just ask you one most basic question — do you believe in fate and reincarnation?”
“Right now I only believe in red-braised pork!” Xiao Man was so vexed he was furious, and added two thumping punches, knocking Old Gu flat onto his bed.
Old Gu the radio temporarily lost signal, his words dissolving into incoherence.
“Don’t blame me for hitting you. Otherwise they’ll take you off for electroshock therapy.” Xiao Man said, half to himself, as he turned off the light. At the Anning Hospital, patients in excessive manic states were sometimes taken for electroconvulsive treatment, and Xiao Man had witnessed someone be shocked until they wet themselves.
Two weeks later, Old Gu entered his depressive phase again. If the manic phase was an erupting volcano, then the depressive phase was a ship sinking in a frozen sea. Old Gu’s physical form remained the same, but his spirit became utterly dejected. He lay in bed all day long, motionless, sometimes with a runny nose, sometimes with tears flowing.
“Old Gu, Old Gu — being too still isn’t good for you either!” Xiao Man tried to rouse him. “Get up, get up — tell me about reincarnation.”
Old Gu shook his head.
“Come on, say something — something about pork floss bread and Einstein.” Xiao Man kept trying.
Old Gu turned over in bed, turning his head away.
“Just now a raging mad dog — now a dead dog?” Xiao Man asked.
“In a few more days I’ll be a mad dog again,” Old Gu turned back and said. “Just wait to get bitten.”
After graduating from her studies in Europe, Xiao Dan chose to return to China to develop her career in Shanghai.
Life and work in Europe moved at too slow a pace, while Shanghai’s rhythm was faster and faster, charging ahead at a pace befitting its ambitions as a world-class city. That year, Shanghai announced the start of construction on its second skyscraper landmark — the Shanghai World Financial Center. Also that year, Xia Lei went through another breakup — his third girlfriend left him, following an elderly foreign man abroad. This became a knot he couldn’t untangle.
Learning that Xiao Dan was coming to Shanghai, Xia Lei got a new haircut specially and arranged to meet at People’s Square. People’s Square is located at the origin point of Shanghai’s urban coordinate system — the zero-kilometer starting point of National Highway 318. After meeting up, the two of them went to the zero-kilometer marker at the square’s entrance to take a photo.
“Welcome back to the country — the start of a new chapter,” Xia Lei said encouragingly. “May your life be like National Highway 318 beneath your feet — beautiful scenery at every turn, and a bright road ahead!”
“Thank you! The road ahead is long, but if you keep walking, you will arrive!” Xiao Dan put one foot on the manhole cover engraved with the zero-kilometer marker and struck a pose for the photo.
A group of cyclists preparing to set out for Tibet were also taking photos at the same spot. Xiao Dan and Xia Lei watched the cyclists set off, lingered at People’s Square a while longer, and then walked in the direction of South Huangpi Road.
“How have you been lately?” Xiao Dan asked Xia Lei as they walked.
“Work is going reasonably well.”
“And life? How is your girlfriend?”
“Well… we broke up. She went abroad with a foreign man.” Xia Lei shook his head with a bitter smile. “Another wound to add to the heart.”
“Actually, the opportunities for getting ahead abroad are really far fewer than here at home,” Xiao Dan said.
“Maybe what she wanted was a comfortable life, and I couldn’t give her that.” Xia Lei sighed. “A lot of girls in Shanghai feel the moon is rounder abroad.”
“I think girls like that probably aren’t suited to you anyway,” Xiao Dan analyzed. “Maybe it’s just this outcome — the breakup itself — that’s made you unhappy. But it doesn’t quite rise to the level of a genuine heartbreak.”
“How can you say that?” Xia Lei still protested. “We were together for quite a long time.”
“Xia Lei — this isn’t a matter of how much time you spent together. The truth is, you probably didn’t really like her that much,” Xiao Dan said, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m just speaking plainly and puncturing the illusion — because…”
“Because what?”
“Because you feel slighted. You’ve always cared a great deal about how others see you — ever since you were young. So you carry a heavier burden than the rest of us.”
“Maybe so.” Xia Lei had no rebuttal this time.
The two of them walked along South Huangpi Road searching for a restaurant. The small eateries along the street had all manner of fanciful names — “Cloud-High Light Bites,” “Sigma Bistro,” “Encounter Lisbon.”
“What exactly are you taking me out to eat?” After walking a good while, Xiao Dan asked Xia Lei.
“I heard there’s a French restaurant over there that girls really like,” Xia Lei said.
“Xia Lei, oh Xia Lei,” Xiao Dan stopped walking. “You didn’t actually ask for my opinion, did you?”
“I’m sorry — I forgot.” Xia Lei quickly apologized.
“We’re not strangers who just met. We really don’t need to put on such a performance. Let me tell you right now — what I actually want is some crispy pork and smashed cucumber with garlic!”
“But you’re from Suzhou — how can you eat garlic?”
“Don’t forget — I grew up in Xi Tie Cheng until I was eighteen. My tastes have long since been the same as yours.” Xiao Dan said. “When I was abroad, I would sometimes miss the pickled garlic that Xiao Man’s grandmother used to make so much I’d toss and turn all night.”
“Same, same! All these years I’ve never been able to forget the taste of the food from Xi Tie Cheng.”
“Oh, by the way — I want to go back to Ticheng to visit Xiao Man,” Xiao Dan turned around and said. “All these years, he’s been living such a lonely and difficult life, and none of us have been at his side to help.”
“You want to go to the Anning Hospital in Ticheng to see him?”
“Yes.” Xiao Dan nodded. “By the way, does Xiao Man have a mobile phone yet?”
“Not yet. Xiao Man says the Anning Hospital doesn’t allow patients to bring mobile phones.”
“He’s hiding from the world inside the hospital,” Xiao Dan said. “Maybe he doesn’t want people disturbing him.”
“Which day do you plan to go? I’ll arrange for him to be there.”
“How would you arrange it if he has no mobile phone?”
“Every time I want to reach him, I call the doctors’ office.”
“All right then, I’d like to go… next weekend.”
On that weekend, Ticheng was still its usual bustling self.
Xiao Dan stepped out of the train station and was struck by how different the city before her looked compared to the Ticheng in her memory — all wide streets and tall buildings, nothing like the old Ticheng of “three streets and five buildings, one traffic cop and one monkey.” She carefully studied the bus stop signs at the station plaza, and found that none of the familiar stop names were there anymore. North Third Street, Wujing Street, Seventh Latitude Road had all disappeared, replaced by strange new names like Seine Gardens, Rhine Mansion Court, California Sunshine Estate.
Unable to make any sense of the new bus routes at all, Xiao Dan hailed a cab and went directly to the Anning Hospital, arriving at the Level Three Ward building.
In the shade of the trees below the ward building, a group of patients were playing chess. The chess pieces were worn and battered, missing pieces replaced by small stones. A patient with salt-and-pepper hair picked up a stone and said hesitantly: “I think this stone is supposed to be a pawn, not a knight!” Another bald patient disagreed: “Didn’t we agree earlier? The stone is clearly a knight — what kind of memory do you have?”
Xiao Dan walked over and asked: “I’m sorry to disturb you both. Could you tell me which floor a patient named Xiao Man lives on?”
“What Xiao Man or Big Man? Never heard of him,” said the patient with salt-and-pepper hair.
“Xiao Man? I’m starting to remember now — I think the bell-ringer is called Xiao Man,” the bald one said.
“Right, right — the bell-ringer is called Xiao Man,” the salt-and-pepper-haired patient also said. “We’ve been calling him by his nickname so long we’ve forgotten his real name.”
“What does bell-ringer mean?” Xiao Dan asked.
“Xiao Man is responsible for ringing the bell — when he rings it, we get up,” the bald patient said. “Go check in the southernmost room on the third floor. He’s there every day.”
Xiao Dan thanked them both and walked into the ward building. At the end of the third-floor corridor, she stopped to smooth her hair, then gently pushed open the half-open door.
The room had only Old Gu sitting in meditation, wearing glasses. Xiao Dan felt a slight pang of disappointment. A decade had passed, and she no longer remembered how the invigilator teacher Gu Dening had looked — only a vague sense of familiarity came over her.
Hearing the door, Old Gu let out a long breath, unfolded his cross-legged meditation posture, and looked up at Xiao Dan: “Who are you looking for?”
“I’m a friend of Xiao Man’s. Could you tell me where he’s gone?”
“Xiao Man isn’t in the hospital these past few days. He went back to the city with his girlfriend.”
“You’re saying — Xiao Man has a girlfriend?” Xiao Dan was completely at a loss.
“Yes — Xiao Man goes into the city every weekend to be with his girlfriend,” Old Gu said.
“My head is spinning,” Xiao Dan said, plopping down onto Xiao Man’s bed, then after a moment asked again: “How can a patient just leave the hospital whenever he wants?”
“Don’t you know Xiao Man’s situation?”
“We haven’t seen each other in six or seven years. I found out about him piece by piece along the way — I only know he’s been hospitalized.”
“No wonder,” Old Gu said. “Xiao Man’s illness actually recovered long ago. He just doesn’t want to leave.”
Xiao Dan nodded. This was exactly what she had suspected.
“Xiao Man was brought in by the police. Keeping him here is a political task.” Old Gu said. “Xiao Man also does a lot of work for the hospital — ringing the bell, overseeing medicines — practically an unpaid orderly.”
“But how does he support himself?”
“The Anning Hospital feeds him. A public hospital isn’t going to begrudge him a bed and a pair of chopsticks.” Old Gu pointed to the hospital-issue clothes hanging on the rack. “Besides, no one treats him like a patient. He comes and goes freely. When he wants to be a patient, he puts on those clothes. When he doesn’t want to be a patient, he takes them off and goes out to play — much freer than the rest of us.”
Xiao Dan listened, dumbfounded: “Xiao Man is treating the Anning Hospital like a holiday resort?”
“Holiday resort is the least of it — it’s practically a full-service department store.” Old Gu pointed to Xiao Man’s locked cabinet. “He buys food and drinks wholesale from outside and resells them to everyone in the ward.”
“How has this come about?”
“Because the rest of us can’t go beyond the hospital gates — only he can go out and buy things.” Old Gu said. He pulled open a crack in Xiao Man’s locked cabinet and gestured for Xiao Dan to take a look. She peered through the gap and sure enough saw stacks of instant noodles and cigarettes inside.
“So what about this girlfriend?” Xiao Dan still couldn’t quite believe it.
“Young people’s affairs — I don’t know the details. All I know is there’s a girl who often comes to the hospital to see Xiao Man.”
“Where is this girl from? She and Xiao Man — they’re all right together, are they?”
“I really don’t know these things. Oh — let me find you a photo.” Old Gu felt under Xiao Man’s pillow and pulled out an electronic alarm clock about the size of a mooncake. “Here — this is the girl.”
Xiao Dan took it. Stuck to the back of the alarm clock was a sticker photo booth print: Xiao Man with his arm around a girl, both of them pulling exaggerated peace-sign poses.
“Why… is it stuck on the alarm clock?” Xiao Dan asked. “Sticker photos are supposed to go on the back of a mobile phone.”
“Xiao Man doesn’t have a mobile phone. The alarm clock is very important — he’s Bell-Ringer Xiao Man. Every morning when he rings the bell, we have to get up.”
Xiao Dan couldn’t think of anything more to ask. She deflated, gazing blankly, sitting on Xiao Man’s bed.
“Come child, sit for a while. I’m going downstairs to play chess.” Old Gu shuffled out of the room in his slippers.
The room held only the ticking of the alarm clock. Sunlight fell through the window frame onto the floor, and dust drifted in the shaft of light. Xiao Dan’s thoughts were even more scattered than the floating dust. She replayed in her mind, frame by frame — the smile of Xiao Man as a child, Xiao Man singing as a young boy, Xiao Man’s embrace as a young man. At the end of these thoughts, she reached out and took down Xiao Man’s hospital-issue clothes from the clothes rack, and held them tightly in her arms.
After a long while, Old Gu returned to the room to get his meal bowl.
“No need to wait, child — at this time, if he’s not back yet, he won’t be back tonight,” he told Xiao Dan. “The last bus from the gate, the last meal at the canteen — if he doesn’t rush back, he’ll be staying in the city tonight.”
“If he doesn’t come back, where would he stay?” Xiao Dan asked.
“Maybe at his girlfriend’s place, maybe not — I don’t know.” Old Gu shook his head.
Xiao Dan hesitated for a moment, then stood and said goodbye to Old Gu: “When Xiao Man gets back, please let him know I came. Since he’s living such a full and happy life, I have nothing more to worry about.” She picked up her backpack, pushed the door open, and added: “Oh, by the way — my name is Yan Xiaodan.”
Xiao Dan went downstairs and walked straight toward the bus stop by the hospital gate. Her mind was in complete disarray, the image of the sticker photo on the back of the alarm clock floating before her eyes — she even failed to notice her mobile phone slipping out of her trouser pocket.
Meanwhile, Old Gu, carrying his meal bowl, also came downstairs. Instead of heading toward the canteen, he turned and made his way directly to the small recreation building for staff. He stopped below it, tilted his head back, and called out: “Bell-ringer! Bell-ringer! Xiao Man! Xiao Man…”
Xiao Man stuck half his body out of a second-floor window, a table tennis paddle still in his hand: “Has she left?”
“Gone, gone. Come down.” Old Gu waved for Xiao Man to come down. “You two young people playing out your drama and pulling me in as a supporting actor. Alas — I must really have too much time on my hands.”
“Old Gu, stop grumbling. It’s not as if I’ve never helped you!” Xiao Man shouted back.
“Come down quickly. I need to have a serious talk with you,” Old Gu said. “I think that girl is quite good. You played that empty-city stratagem to deceive her — if you ask me, you’re the one who’s truly not well…”
On the train, Yan Xiaodan sat with her head foggy, her mind turning over and over the sticker photo on the back of that alarm clock. She felt like a fish swimming back upstream to its spawning grounds, yet could find no trace of the river it once knew. When the train reached Shenyang, she stood to gather her bag, and only then realized her phone was gone.
Xiao Dan quickly borrowed a phone from a fellow passenger and called her own number. The call connected, and it was a young woman’s voice: “Hello?”
Xiao Dan said: “Hello — this is my phone. I accidentally lost it. Thank you for keeping it for me.”
The young woman on the other end said: “You’re welcome. Could I ask where you lost it?”
“It should be at the Anning Hospital, or possibly the train station.”
“Then that’s right. I picked it up at the Anning Hospital entrance.”
“Thank you! But I’ve already left Ticheng. Could I ask a favor — do you work at the Anning Hospital? I’ll ask a friend to come and collect it from you.”
“I don’t work at the hospital, but I go there often,” the young woman said.
“I’m so sorry to put you out,” Xiao Dan said at last. “The next time you go to the Anning Hospital, could you please hand the phone to my friend? His name is Xiao Man. He lives in ward 301 of Building 3. People also call him Bell-Ringer Xiao Man.”
Apart from ringing the bell and selling goods, Xiao Man had little else of substance to do at the Anning Hospital day after day. One day, he was playing cards with a few patients in the ward recreation room, and all four players had strips of paper stuck all over their faces as forfeits. While waiting for the cards to be shuffled, Xiao Man glanced at the television behind him.
On screen, the Ticheng cable channel was running a local business advertisement. A local entrepreneur wearing a traditional Chinese jacket was clasping his hands together in a respectful salute and saying something. Xiao Man had a vague sense he recognized the man. He was about to go get a closer look when the advertisement ended. Not willing to give up, he simply dragged a chair over and sat right in front of the television. Twenty minutes later, another advertisement break: the entrepreneur in the traditional jacket appeared again, clasping his hands and bowing, with subtitles scrolling along the bottom of the screen: “East China Seafood Palace — Chairman Yu wishes the city’s people a happy holiday.”
Xiao Man slapped his knee. No doubt about it — this was him, the Yu Ge from his Japan days!
The next morning, Xiao Man went into the city and found East China Seafood Palace on the pedestrian street. This was the first time he had seen a restaurant four stories high in Ticheng. The massive neon sign on the roof blinked and flashed even in broad daylight.
The moment he entered the lobby, four greeters in high-slit cheongsam dresses bowed in unison and called out “Welcome!” in one voice. Xiao Man hurriedly bowed back and nearly called out the Japanese equivalent.
“Sir, how many in your party? Do you have a reservation?” one of the greeters asked.
“I’m not here to eat. I’m here to see the owner.”
The greeter called for the floor manager, who bowed to Xiao Man: “Do you know Chairman Yu? Do you have a business card?”
Xiao Man returned the bow: “I don’t have a card. I’m a friend of Chairman Yu’s — I used to drive for him in Japan.”
The floor manager produced a walkie-talkie and called for the restaurant manager. The restaurant manager was a heavyset man in a suit with his hair slicked back. He looked Xiao Man over from head to toe and asked: “Did you really spend time with Chairman Yu in Japan? Say something in Japanese and let me hear it.”
Without a second thought, Xiao Man rattled off a few sentences.
The slicked-back hair man couldn’t understand a word of it, but nodded his head all the same, turned away, and made a phone call. A moment later, he put down his phone and turned back with a beaming smile: “Honored guest, please follow me!”
Xiao Man followed the slicked-back hair man into the chairman’s office. The office was lavishly decorated — a set of golf clubs stood in the corner, and on the bookshelf sat several copies of “The Matsushita Konosuke Biography” and “Toyota Management Wisdom.” Xiao Man picked one up and found they were hollow decorative shells.
At that moment, Yu Ge, with his hair slicked back with pomade, emerged from behind a partition screen and gripped Xiao Man’s hand: “Brother Xiao Man, I’ve been looking so hard for you!”
“Thank you for still thinking of me, Elder Brother Yu.” Xiao Man quickly covered Yu Ge’s hand with his other hand.
“Where have you been all these years?” Before the door had even closed, Yu Ge was already asking. “After you were deported, I had friends back home try to contact you, but they went to Xi Tie Cheng Factory and couldn’t find you.”
“After coming back to China, I’ve been hospitalized the whole time.” Xiao Man pulled the medical records out of his trouser pocket. “After that jump into the sea, my mind was damaged.”
“Brother, you’ve suffered!” Old Yu took the medical records without looking at them and let out a sigh. “Let’s have a drink together at noon and catch up.”
“No need for drinks. You and I are in very different places in life now — no need to force ourselves to mix. I’m really only here to ask: is there any news of Old Guo?”
“Why are you asking about him? After we parted ways, Old Guo and I stopped being in contact.”
“When the trouble happened, all the money was in Old Guo’s car. My share hadn’t been distributed to me yet.”
“I see…” Old Yu nodded and asked: “How much was your share, roughly?”
“About a hundred thousand yuan,” Xiao Man said.
Yu Ge stopped nodding and instead fixed Xiao Man with a strange look. Xiao Man said nothing, his eyes not meeting Old Yu’s. The room held only the tick-tock of the wall clock’s hands.
“How about this, Xiao Man — go back and wait for my news,” Yu Ge finally said, slapping his knee. “These next few days, if I manage to get in touch with Old Guo, I’ll make sure to help you get the money back.”
Xiao Man said nothing more. He stood and gave Yu Ge a deep bow. “Chairman Yu, I’m counting on you.”
Yu Ge was taken aback by the depth of Xiao Man’s bow. Then he seemed moved, and regained something of his former humility from his Japan days — he returned a two-second medium bow.
A week later, the restaurant manager with the slicked-back hair came to the Anning Hospital carrying a briefcase.
“Brother Xiao Man, Yu Ge got back the money Old Guo owed you. But only thirty thousand was recoverable. There’s nothing else to be done.” The slicked-back hair man gave a hollow laugh. “Count it, and sign a receipt. Also — some things about what happened in Japan, best not to say too much to too many people. Everyone has their difficulties…”
Xiao Man took the pen and signed the receipt, then handed it back: “Please convey my thanks to Yu Ge for his kind gesture! From now on, I won’t go looking for him. I don’t even know who he is. Goodbye!”
After seeing off the slicked-back hair man, Xiao Man went back to the staff recreation building to play table tennis. Before he’d finished more than a few rallies, he heard Old Gu calling him from below: “Xiao Man, come down! Someone else is here to see you.”
Xiao Man put away his paddle and looked out the window — he saw Old Gu standing with a young woman.
“You’re here to see me?” Xiao Man asked, wiping off sweat as he went down.
“Yes!” The young woman looked up and said. “Yan Xiaodan asked me to come and find you.”
Xiao Man grabbed his towel and came downstairs. Walking up to the girl, he suddenly felt she looked somewhat like Xiao Dan: “Are you Xiao Dan’s relative? Cousin? First cousin?”
“No — I don’t know Yan Xiaodan. I simply picked up her mobile phone. She said she had already left Ticheng and asked me to leave the phone with you for safekeeping.”
“Oh — thank you! You actually look quite a bit like her. So, how can I repay you?” Xiao Man said, turning to look at Old Gu. “Hey, Old Gu — do you have a hundred yuan on you? Lend me some.”
“No, no need,” the young woman quickly waved her hand. “I wasn’t specifically coming here to deliver the phone — I was here to pick up medicine anyway. Dropping off the phone was on the way.”
“You’re here… picking up medicine? What’s the matter?”
“I’m… a bit depressed.”
“All right, regardless — you should at least let me give you taxi money.” Xiao Man pressed the money into her hand.
“I have a bus pass — no need for a taxi.” The young woman still wouldn’t take Xiao Man’s money. “There’s really no need to thank me. It was nothing at all. You’re busy — I’ll be going.”
“Then at least leave me your name. In the future, if you ever need any help at the Anning Hospital, you can come find me.”
“My name is Chunchun.”
“Thank you, Chunchun!” Xiao Man gave her a bow.
“Goodbye, Xiao Man.” Chunchun said, and turned to leave.
Watching Chunchun walk away, Xiao Man returned the money to Old Gu. Old Gu pocketed it and asked Xiao Man: “Bell-ringer — have you noticed something?”
“What?”
“All the girls who come looking for you are good girls.”