Old Colour never showed up. In his heart he knew that Wang Qiyao was throwing the party especially for him; he also knew that going would bring him nothing but discomfort and sadness—those were the delicacies that Wang Qiyao was preparing for him. But he still couldn’t resist riding around Peace Lane that night at around ten o’clock, when most parties reached their climax. Coming down the alley, he saw a flickering light in Wang Qiyao’s window—not, he knew, a light bulb, but candlelight. Gazing up at the window, he was lost in a daze for several minutes, wondering,
What year is this scene from?
He could hear the sound of music but couldn’t date it. Then he turned around and left, reassuring himself that no matter what, he now could say that he had dropped by. That was his way of replying to her invitation! That was their official good-bye, accompanied by music and dance. He was neither happy nor sad: he just numbly turned his back on the gaiety and left. The partygoers caught up in the excitement of the music and dancing were creatures of illusion—if he were to reach out to try to grasp at them, his hands would come up empty. As for the past that flowed like water—he could cross bridges and ferry his way across rivers, but in the end it would always elude him.
Wang Qiyao actually knew that he wouldn’t show up. Her invitation was simply a message, a way of telling him that she couldn’t let go of him, and that without him all gatherings were pointless. She ran around the apartment busying herself with making the guests comfortable, but all that was just to fill the emptiness in her heart. After she had turned off the lights and lit the candles, she felt some of the good times from her past coming back to her. The apartment filled with young friends singing and dancing made her forget that time was passing. Everyone was carrying on about what a wonderful time they were having. Then before they knew it, the clock had struck twelve and the night was gone. The wine bottles were empty and all that was left of the enormous cake was messy bits and pieces. Her friends bid her an affectionate farewell and, one after the other, filed down the stairs. Long Legs was the last to leave; he wanted to stay behind to help her clean up the plates and cups.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I’m too tired to worry about it tonight,” she told him.
As soon as Long Legs was out the door, she blew out all the candles; silence fell over the apartment and the stairway was plunged into pitch-black darkness.
“Good-bye,” Long Legs called out as he went softly down the stairs. He closed the door behind him as he exited through the back. When he got outside, a shiver suddenly came over him. A handful of scattered stars emitted a dull light, and there was a chill in the wind. Long Legs continued to shiver slightly as he undid his bicycle lock and peddled out of the
longtang
.
That night’s excitement left its mark on Peace Lane. All those who were accustomed to turning in early went to sleep thinking that the lights would be burning all night long at Wang Qiyao’s apartment. This was something quite out of the ordinary for Peace Lane, and it spiced up their dreams that night. The first thing anyone who happened to wake up in the middle of the night did was to look up at Wang Qiyao’s window to see if the party was still going on. People coming home from the late shift and those leaving for the night shift also gazed up at her window and thought
, They
’
re still at it
! Actually, it was only midnight then, and they had no idea of what transpired after that. The hours between two and three o’clock in the morning are the most peaceful hours, a time when even the insects are dreaming. The dreams of that hour are the soundest of all dreams—airtight, so that not even the wind can creep in—this is the hour people need to recover from the exhaustion of the previous day. The streetlights on Huaihai Road continued to shine quietly, lighting up the deserted road.
At the far end of Peace Lane there is only a single rusty iron lamp. It has been there for many years and emits a dirty, dull glow. It was during that hour of deathly silence that a long shadow crept into Peace Lane—it was Long Legs. Long Legs quietly parked his bicycle by the rear entrance to Wang Qiyao’s building, took out a key from his pants pocket, and unlocked the door. There was a sharp click as the lock popped open, but it was far from enough to break the deep silence of the world that night. Like a cat, he tiptoed up the stairs. Halfway up the staircase there was a small window, through which the moonlight shone down on him, but Long Legs was not himself that night and the light seemed to be shining on someone else. He surprised even himself with his own dexterity as he navigated around the staircase cluttered with junk. But he didn’t bump into a single thing and continued on up the stairs until he found himself standing outside Wang Qiyao’s door. The door to the common kitchen was ajar, letting in a little light and projecting his shadow onto the apartment door; his shadow too looked like someone else’s shadow. He paused for a moment before feeling for the other key.
Long Legs pushed open the door to find the interior bathed in moonlight, which projected the flower patterns from the curtains onto the floor. He felt calm and completely at ease. It was the first time that he had seen the room in the middle of the night like this and it looked completely different, yet he was able to find his way smoothly, without a single misstep. He saw the walnut chest against the wall, shimmering in the moonlight like a bride waiting to be taken to the altar. Anticipation overcame Long Legs.
That
’
s it! So elegant and mysterious, it
’
s there waiting for me.
It was like an assignation, at once stirring and tormenting. Long Legs’ heart pounded as he approached the chest; he pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket, itching to get it open. But in the moment that he fitted the screwdriver into the drawer lock, the light suddenly turned on.
The sight of his own shadow leaping onto the wall caught Long Legs by surprise, but as he scanned his surroundings, his eyes were reassured by the familiar scene. Even now he still hadn’t realized quite what had happened; out of habit, he wedged the screwdriver further in and, pressing down, popped open the drawer. Under the lamplight, the sound that it made was quite pronounced and it was only then that, startled, he turned around to find Wang Qiyao. She had gone to bed fully clothed, and was now sitting up, propped against the pillow. This had been a difficult night for Wang Qiyao to get through, and she had been awake the whole time. She had been counting the minutes, counting the seconds until sunrise, hoping that some miracle might turn up with the coming day. When she first saw Long Legs come in, she wasn’t in the least scared. She was aware that all kinds of bizarre events take place deep in the night, when even the most devilish of behavior seems normal. Even when she saw him pry open the drawer she wasn’t at all surprised, the middle of the night being a queer time when people witness all kinds of outlandish things with perfect composure.
“I told you,” Wang Qiyao said, “I don’t have any gold.”
Avoiding her gaze, Long Legs laughed in embarrassment, “But that’s not what everybody says.”
“What does everyone say?”
“Everyone says you were once Miss Shanghai and caused quite a stir on the Bund back then. Then later you got involved with some rich guy who left all his money to you before running off to Taiwan. They even say that he still sends you remittances in U.S. dollars every year.”
Wang Qiyao listened with curiosity to his version of her story. “And what else?”
Long Legs went on, “You have a chest filled with the yellow stuff, but you’ve only tapped into a fraction of it over the past several decades. You cash in a few bars at the Bank of China at regular intervals. If not for that, what would you live on?”
Wang Qiyao didn’t know what to say. After a brief pause, she said, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
Long Legs took a step closer and fell forward, kneeling before her bed. His voice trembled as he begged, “Please help me. Just loan me a little bit. I’ll pay you back double as soon as I get back on my feet.”
Wang Qiyao laughed. “Long Legs, has there been a time when you were
ever
on your feet?”
Long Legs’ pleading voice betrayed a hint of desperation, “Look at what I’ve been forced to resort to. Why would I lie to you? Please, Auntie, help me. Everyone knows what a good heart you have and how generous you are.”
Wang Qiyao had originally been ready to continue this little conversation, but as soon as she heard him start calling her “Auntie,” she found herself losing her temper. Her face became stern and she scolded him, “Who are you calling ‘Auntie’?”
Long Legs leaned on the edge of the bed and clung to Wang Qiyao’s leg as he pleaded yet again, “Please help me. I’ll write you an IOU.”
Wang Qiyao pushed his hand away. “Why are you coming to me for help and not your father? Everyone says that your father is a millionaire! Didn’t you just come back from Hong Kong?”
Those words pierced Long Legs to the heart. His face turned ashen and he withdrew his hands. Getting up from the floor, he brushed the dust off his knees, “What does this have to do with my father? If you aren’t willing to help me out, then just forget it!”
With that, he strutted toward the door.
But Wang Qiyao stopped him.
“You think it’s that easy to just walk out of here? I’ve never heard of someone trying to borrow money by sneaking into people’s homes in the middle of the night!”
Long Legs had no choice but to remain standing there.
Deep in the night, when people should be sleeping, their thoughts often wander off to strange places: they utter words that do not make sense and everything tends to degenerate into a farce. It seemed as if Wang Qiyao had successfully headed off a disaster and the story would end there, but just as the curtain was falling, she called “Stop” . . . and forced the action to go on.
“What do you want from me?” asked Long Legs.
“Go to the police station and turn yourself in,” replied Wang Qiyao.
Long Legs began to grow anxious. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll go report you to them.”
“You don’t have any proof.”
Wang Qiyao smiled complacently. “What do you mean, I don’t have proof? You pried the drawer open and your fingerprints are everywhere.”
Long Legs suddenly felt as if he had been struck by a train—he felt dizzy and his forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He stood there for a while and then a sinister smile appeared on his face. “Looks like the result will be the same whether I do it or not, so I might as well finish what I started.”
With that, he walked over to the chest and pulled the wooden box out of the drawer. Unable to lie still any longer, Wang Qiyao got up from the bed to take back her possession. Long Legs ducked out of the way and held the box behind his back, out of her reach.
“What are you worried about, Auntie? Didn’t you say you didn’t have anything?”
Now it was Wang Qiyao’s turn to feel anxious. She began to perspire and screamed at him, “Put it down! You thief!”
“If you call me a thief, then that’s what I am!” A shameless, even brutal, look came over his face.
She tried to twist the box out of his hand, and he let her struggle all she wanted, but he wasn’t letting go. By then he had got a sense of the box’s weight. Excitement swelled inside him because now he knew that he had not gone through all this trouble in vain.
Anger contorted Wang Qiyao’s face. Gnashing her teeth, she cursed him. “You wretched thief! You’re a thief! You think I believed all that garbage you tell everyone? I saw through you a long time ago—I just didn’t want to embarrass you!”
The words made Long Legs swallow his smugness. He put down the box and grabbed hold of Wang Qiyao’s neck.
“Say it again! I dare you!” he screamed.
“Thief!” cried Wang Qiyao.
Long Legs wrapped his large hands around Wang Qiyao’s throat.
Look at how thin her neck is, just skin and bones, it
’
s enough to make me sick!
Wang Qiyao struggled to break free of his grip, cursing him all the while. His grip tightened. He looked at her face: so ugly and desiccated. Her hair was brittle and the roots were gray, but the rest was dark and shiny with hair dye—how comical! Wang Qiyao’s lips quivered, but no sounds came out. Long Legs hadn’t finished getting his kicks. He had exerted only a fraction of his strength and her neck was too skinny for his hands to dig into. That feeling of excitement rushed into his heart again and he squeezed tighter and tighter until the neck grew soft and lost its elasticity. He sighed a little regretfully, gently put her down, and released his grip.
Too impatient even to take a second look at her, he turned his attention to the box. The floral engravings on it indicated that it was highclass and expensive—a prized object. It didn’t take much effort for Long Legs to pry the lock off with his screwdriver and get the box open. He couldn’t help being a bit disappointed, even though it wasn’t a complete loss. He took out the contents and put them into his pockets, which felt heavy. He remembered what Wang Qiyao had just said about fingerprints and found a cloth with which he wiped the whole place down. He then turned off the light and quietly crept out of the apartment. Over the course of the entire episode, the moon had barely shifted; everything had transpired during the dead hour between two and three o’clock in the morning, a time when even the darkest of deeds can be carried out in absolute secrecy. Who would ever know what had happened here on this night?