Every city has an institution called a Peaceful Hospital — also known as a Mental Health Center, or more plainly, a psychiatric hospital. These Peaceful Hospitals are situated on the outskirts of cities, tucked away in forests, or standing alone amid rice paddies — isolated from the world, quiet and remote. At the entrance of every such hospital, there is invariably a solitary bus stop. Most of the people who board and alight there are family members visiting patients, weighed down with bags and packages, their faces drawn with exhaustion. Some families arrive by taxi instead, and all the way there, the taxi driver keeps glancing up at the rearview mirror, quietly trying to read their expressions.
Xiao Man had spent two years at the Peaceful Hospital, and his identity had grown increasingly ambiguous — it was hard to say whether he was a patient or a caretaker. As a caretaker, he didn’t earn a single cent in wages, and like the other patients, he took medication, underwent examinations, and slept in the ward. As a patient, he ate and lodged for free without paying a thing; the department staff often included him in their meals together, and the ward director had even given him a key to the on-call room. Day after day, Xiao Man rang the bell from the on-call room to notify the patients to wake up and to signal lights out. Everyone jokingly called him Daling. Xiao Man didn’t mind the nickname at all — Daling sounded like “Darling,” and in the movies, Song Meilng was always calling Jiang Jieshi that, which had a wonderfully foreign flair to it.
As a long-term resident of the ward, Xiao Man had formed close bonds with two successive resident physicians. “Resident physician” was not a technical title but a grueling one-year posting that required being on duty in the ward six days a week, around the clock. Xiao Man often helped them copy medical records, sometimes covered for them when they snuck off to meet their girlfriends, and even taught them how to use an X-ray film to pick a door lock. Whenever medical students came for their clinical rotations, Daling Xiao Man was even more enthusiastic and attentive than the resident physicians, often stepping forward on his own initiative to instruct them: “Students, remember — in a Level Two ward, the most important thing is safety! Safety! You must develop three good habits. First, always stand to the side, stand against the wall, and never let anyone stand behind you. I won’t say more — you understand. Sometimes a patient picks up a broken piece of tile and can slash your throat. Second, make it a habit to close doors behind you. A secured door is only secure when it’s actually closed. Leave it open? Then it’s an invitation. Third, hmm… what was the third one? Alright, I’ll remember it next time and tell you then.”
Compared to the lengthy lectures of the supervising physicians, Xiao Man’s impromptu guidance was refreshingly concise. The students looked at each other in puzzlement — how could such grounded wisdom come from a patient? Some speculated that Xiao Man had become medically knowledgeable through years of illness, like a fish who understood water; others guessed he was a reclusive sage hiding from the world in the hospital, a floor-sweeping monk who had withdrawn from society.
Xiao Man was displeased when he heard this. What monk? Do I look that withered and old?
Beyond the three realms, outside the five elements. Daling Xiao Man could take off his patient’s gown at any time, stroll out of the hospital with a swagger, go into town to buy household goods or play a few rounds of outdoor billiards. At the Peaceful Hospital, he could be a patient or he could not be — it depended on the situation, on how he felt.
Not all patients at the Peaceful Hospital were wild and frenzied.
Besides schizophrenia, the ward also housed patients with depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, severe anxiety disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder, among many other conditions. Inpatients were divided into three levels according to their stage of recovery. Level One held the most severely ill — those who had completely lost control of their emotions and, given the opportunity, would attack others or harm themselves, and might even attempt to jump from a building. Fortunately, the Level One ward was a single-story structure, so there were no floors to jump from. The most agitated patients were restrained with binding straps tied firmly to their beds, and their excess energy could only be released through their mouths. Some hurled obscenities at the air, tirelessly, for an entire day and night; others puffed their cheeks and spat, shooting saliva all the way up to the ceiling — a feat of force that rivaled the formidable Qiu Qianchi from The Legend of the Condor Heroes.
Level Two patients were in a recovery period. They could wander freely within the ward and play cards or table tennis in the activity room, but they were required to use plastic spoons at mealtimes, and the windows of their rooms were fitted with iron bars. Level Three patients had the most freedom — they were like half-wild free spirits, permitted to smoke in designated areas, with a daily limit of no more than three cigarettes. Those who wanted more had to privately arrange for Xiao Man to smuggle them in from outside.
Every morning at six o’clock, all Level Three patients were woken by Xiao Man ringing the bell, and after washing up, they would flood downstairs to do morning exercises and eat breakfast. After the meal came mandatory medication time. The nurses supervised each patient’s intake, while Xiao Man stood watchfully to the side as an enforcer — and if he spotted anyone hiding their medication and refusing to take it, Xiao Man would reward them with a slap.
Patients frequently resisted the nurses distributing medication. At such moments, the nurse would toss Xiao Man a meaningful glance, and Xiao Man would rush forward swinging wild punches. Some unruly patients traded blows with Xiao Man all the way from the ward to the hallway, the whole corridor clattering with the noise. Xiao Man’s signature finishing move was the spinning punch — technically known as a hook. The invincible Xiao Man would strap any opponent he’d knocked down with restraining bands and escort them to the Level One ward to bunk beside Qiu Qianchi.
On one occasion, a newly admitted patient who wore glasses became inexplicably manic, absolutely refusing to take his medication, and even threw a cup of water in a nurse’s face. The young nurse burst into tears with fury, while the bespectacled patient swayed his head back and forth and began to recite poetry: “Pour the wine — let the cups never be empty…” Xiao Man rushed over and landed a spinning punch squarely on his face. The glasses clattered to the floor, and the man lay sprawled there for quite some time before managing to struggle back up.
Xiao Man asked whether he would submit.
The man spat out a broken tooth, thought for a moment, and said: “Last night the west wind withered the green trees…”
“Wither your mother!” Xiao Man followed up with a kick, sending the bespectacled man toppling again. “You know classical Chinese? I know Japanese!”
After a few rounds of such instruction, all the new patients in the ward — whether timid or bold, slight or sturdy — gradually came to understand the fundamental truth of the hospital: obedience. Open your mouth when it was time to take medicine; never argue when arguing was not the time.
In the Level Three ward, only Xiao Man stayed year after year without leaving. The other patients all underwent treatment in stages, coming and going with each season. That summer, a notable figure was newly admitted — reportedly a former deputy mayor, who had, by some unfortunate twist of fate, tumbled from the turbulent currents of officialdom all the way down into the Peaceful Hospital.
Director Huang came personally to help with the admission. He carried the deputy mayor’s bag, walking alongside him and offering reassurances along the way: “Some people call the Peaceful Hospital a Little Thunder Sound Temple, saying we’re all demons and monsters in here. In truth, the Peaceful Hospital is the simplest and most tranquil place — far better than the outside world. The outside society is the real Thunder Sound Temple: gracious on the surface, but full of scheming and infighting underneath. Even Tang Sanzang had to pay bribes to obtain the true scriptures, and the Buddha himself shielded the corrupt monks!”
The deputy mayor paid no attention, walking ahead and muttering to himself: “I haven’t hit bottom yet. Bottom would be prison — that’s what it means to be truly ruined, locked up in a cage!”
Director Huang arranged for the deputy mayor to stay in a premium private room, then offered one final round of pleasantries: “Esteemed leader, please rest here and recuperate your spirit. If you happen to notice any aspects of our hospital’s work that could be improved, please do share your valuable opinions with us!”
The deputy mayor considered for a moment, then finally said: “Old Huang, it would be best if you established a dedicated ward for senior officials. It’s too lonely being hospitalized alone — I’d like to bring in all the people who opposed me.”
The lonely deputy mayor soon grew close to Daling Xiao Man, and the two of them frequently played chess and smoked together. The deputy mayor had brought along a bag of soft-pack Zhonghua cigarettes and insisted on giving Xiao Man a carton. Xiao Man refused no matter what.
“How about this, Comrade Daling Xiao Man — let’s exchange as equals,” the deputy mayor said with his characteristic formal manner, still dignified despite his reduced circumstances. “Let me try your cigarettes too. New environments and new things are all worth trying.”
Xiao Man fished a pack of “Lishi” cigarettes from his pocket and lit one for the deputy mayor. After two puffs, the deputy mayor’s eyes almost watered from the harshness: “These cigarettes are fine — just a bit too strong.”
“At two or three yuan a pack, the cheap tobacco is always harsh,” Xiao Man explained.
“You’ve been hospitalized here a long time. Let me ask you something.” The deputy mayor rubbed his eyes through the cigarette smoke. “Did the police bring in a patient two or three years ago?”
“Lots of people get brought in by police cars. I’m not sure which one you mean.”
“Here’s the thing — a few years back, a mentally ill person hung a tire on the statue at White Bird Square, then photographed it and posted it online, stirring up a whole commotion that put us in a very difficult position. We eventually caught this mentally ill person and sent him here.”
“That does sound like someone I vaguely remember. Are you looking for him?”
“Help me find him — I want to see this person.” The deputy mayor said: “At the time, I had just become second-in-command, and the people below me said a mentally ill person did it. But when I thought about it afterward, this mentally ill person was probably just taking the blame, and there must have been someone else pulling the strings behind the scenes.”
“It was just hanging a tire, wasn’t it? Couldn’t you just have taken it down and been done with it?”
“The statue is that tall — getting a tire up there wasn’t easy. It would have required tools and accomplices.” The deputy mayor said: “This matter may have been orchestrated by a political enemy. Back then our two factions were fighting fiercely, and the other side was constantly finding new ways to tarnish my record.”
“I say, great leader — now that you’ve landed here of all places, why are you still dwelling on all that old rubbish?”
“I want to settle this account clearly. When the day comes that I get out, I’ll go after them, one by one, and reckon with them in detail.”
“Fine — when you’ve been reinstated, get me a department chief position or something, will you?” Xiao Man said with a grin.
“Reinstatement is out of the question. But I can file reports — I still have a box full of materials that could send them to prison, that could make every last one of them sink to the bottom!” The deputy mayor grew increasingly agitated as he spoke.
“Still fighting? Give it a rest!” Xiao Man shook his head repeatedly.
“Ah, I’m deeply conflicted about this,” the deputy mayor sighed, stubbing out his cigarette. “If I don’t fight, I can’t swallow this humiliation. If I do fight, it might destroy everyone involved — and my nerves will take another beating.”
“It’s actually quite simple,” Xiao Man said. “If your own record is clean, then go out there and deal with them. But if your own record is murky and unclear, then hold back and stay out of it. Isn’t things fine as they are right now? Being hospitalized is the perfect excuse to step aside gracefully. Even if a great storm is raging out there, it’s got absolutely nothing to do with someone like you — a person with a mental illness.”
“Hmm, not without reason.” The deputy mayor fell into thought for a moment, then his brow relaxed. “I didn’t expect you to have quite a sophisticated political sense, Xiao Man. Letting you be just a department chief would be a waste — you’re the kind of material that should be a bureau chief.”
“Being a bureau chief isn’t so hard. The bureau chiefs in your city don’t even rank as high as the factory director back home. Our factory is at the full divisional level!”
“Oh? Then your hometown must be the Xi Tie Cheng factory — am I right?” The deputy mayor slapped his forehead. “What a pity though — your Xi Tie Cheng factory doesn’t fall under our local jurisdiction!”