"—Get back inside!" the father snapped, grabbing the two of them and dragging them inside. It was cold, really cold, and they'd been waiting for quite a while.
The sleepy Zhigao hurriedly urged, "Go in, go in!" He then winked at Huaiyu, but Huaiyu ignored him and her father.
That night, the two slept on the same kang (heated brick bed) by mistake. Zhigao even had many sweet dreams: eating duck, the biggest duck. In his dream, the boy certainly didn't go hungry. This continued until dawn.
Summer of 1932, Beiping (Beijing).
"Awake, little brother?"
Zhigao heard a faint sound of human voices.
"Oh dear, it's already dawn. Get up and let the guests take their seats."
Zhigao wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
In a dream, everything was perfect. Suddenly startled, I realized I was no longer in this world; the sky was no longer cold, the night was no longer dark, and I was no longer young.
When I woke up, I found that the world had quietly changed.
It was the summer of 1921. The events of the previous autumn, the September 18th Incident, had occurred, and within six months, the Japanese had gradually occupied Northeast China. The ordinary people who remained in Beiping (Beijing) were still bewildered. Chinese troops? Foreign troops? It wasn't a matter of personal pain. Even some Manchu bannermen, unwilling to delve into the past, were haunted by their former glory. Though now ordinary people, their extravagance and hobbies persisted. They lived a meager existence, but had managed to cultivate an eagle. The eagle represented their fierce memories, a fleeting dream, ultimately returning to the hands of their masters.
Eagles are wild by nature; they never sleep during the day, only at night. To temper their wildness, you must never let them rest, never even give them time to close their eyes. Eagle trainers would take their eagles with them at night, five or six close friends, eat their fill, then head from Qianmen to Tiananmen Square, along Chang'an Avenue to Xidan, Xisi, and finally to the night teahouses in Pinganli to meet. They would greet each other, exchange pleasantries, inquire about each other's weight and size, and discuss the color of their plumage.
Eagles are afraid of the heat, so they couldn't be brought into the teahouse. Instead, they sat on benches outside, brewed a packet of tea leaves, drank a few bowls, and had some Huai peanuts. They ate and chatted in the air.
The source of light in the East has been illuminated.
Zhi Gao struggled to his feet, covered in sweat, and looked around. He heard a strange sound: flapping flapping flapping. The eagle's spirit was awakened; it straightened its body and flew wildly. Immediately, the falconer put a hood over its head to ward off its wildness, to make it more accustomed to human nature, and to curb its ambition.
Zhigao, who had been staying overnight, had to get up and make room for a bench. It seemed that the bench was too short to accommodate Zhigao's grown body, but he was as nimble as a monkey, as if he could find a place to sleep soundly, even a tree.
He jumped up, rubbed his eyes, and while very understandingly helping the teahouse staff wipe tables, move benches, and tidy up, he chatted with the men:
"Is this eagle tamed? It's hopeless. Yes, even if we release it, it won't fly far!"
“No,” the man said, “I’m having a hard time. I’ve been keeping it company for more than ten days. One of us takes care of it the night before, another the night after, and then we hand it over to the day shift. The three of us take turns keeping it company. It’s been more than ten days, and it’s still not tamed. I can’t let it out to roam.”
—Yes, in this dazzling world, eagles, like people, are tamed wherever they are born, while others are always restless. Taming eagles is the vanity of the eagle breeder. An untamed eagle is the vanity of the eagle itself.
In any case, life is incomprehensible.
During the hottest days of summer, when even dogs panted with their tongues hanging out, this few-acre pond, long known as "Wild Island Pond" or "Southern Depression," was a low-lying area in the southwestern part of Beiping (Beijing). Year after year, grease and sewage were continuously poured into the pond, and after rain, under the scorching sun, it became even more foul-smelling and thick.
This place is unworthy of its original, beautiful name: "Taoranting".
To the north was a row of bungalows, to the east were rows of abandoned trees, to the south were bare city walls, and to the west was a reed marsh. There were some trees nearby, but they were scattered and not lush greenery, only disturbed by flying insects.
Taoranting is not a "pavilion," but a mound with a small, exquisite temple built on top. The incense burns sparsely. Taoranting gained its fame solely because it was a good place to practice singing and vocal exercises; it was the "first stage" for street performers.
A handsome young man was practicing with two hammers, performing hammer tricks. The two large hammers seemed to be glued to his hands, and he could maneuver, throw, and catch them at will. No matter how far they were from his hands, he would always flip over and catch them with his hands behind his back.
For many years, seven years now, Tang Huaiyu has been learning all eighteen martial arts skills under the tutelage of his master, Li Shengtian. His master was a renowned martial arts performer, proficient in the "nine long weapons": long spear, broadsword, broadsword, shield, halberd, spear, lance, and sculpted weapon; and the "nine short weapons": hammer, sword, axe, blade, shield, hook, bow, and staff. However, Huaiyu's specialty was the hammer.
That day, he practiced "hammer balancing" diligently, tossing the hammer high into the air, letting it spin once in mid-air, and then balancing it as it falls. He was determined to make the hammer spin twice in mid-air.
Huaiyu tried many times, but couldn't hold on. Zhigao, biting his lip, mumbled, "How's the 'boat zombie' been lying down these past few days?"
Huaiyu wielded her double hammers, twisting and parrying them with ease, not even seeking higher ground, uttering only a single word with each move:
"No matter how I lie down, it hurts!"
Zhigao smiled:
"Okay, one day, I'll really become a zombie!"
It turns out that Li Shengtian had been having Huaiyu practice opera for the past few days. Her skills were quite good. After the opera at Guanghe Tower ended in the evening, she lay down on the blanket like a zombie.
On stage, after a dramatic battle, the martial arts actor is about to die, but he never dies carelessly; he always dies as a "lying zombie." When he does this, the audience applauds and cheers enthusiastically, praising him for dying a good death.
This exercise involves first holding your breath, then, with the powerful and resounding beat of the drum, suddenly bending your body so that you fall flat on your face with your back to the ground.
Li Shengtian teaches Huaiyu:
"You must hold your breath and not let it out at all. That way, no matter how you fall or lie down, it won't hurt and you won't damage your brain."
But who knows the tricks to the initial practice? Huaiyu lay in bed for several days, either paralyzed and unable to straighten up properly, or landing headfirst. —And she dared not let her father know.
The father was just pretending; his son was grown up, nineteen, with a slender figure and handsome looks—he was definitely a promising talent. Besides, his master, Li Shengtian, had treated him well, looking after him in every way. This master-disciple relationship, based solely on title without any reciprocity, had always been close. Tang Laoda had even sent Li Shengtian tea bags during the New Year.
"Huaiyu, have you cleared your throat yet?" Master asked.
"They shouted it."
—Actually, Huaiyu had no voice. After he choked, he prioritized practicing his martial arts, which affected his voice, making it difficult to open up. Whenever he practiced sounds like "ah—" or "cough—", he was not flexible, so he couldn't pull the notes, shorten the notes, extend the notes, or pause properly. He also had difficulty breathing, often failing to breathe when he should, which is why his volume couldn't reach far or be clear.
"Let's do it again."
Huaiyu had no choice but to hastily sing a few lines, like a cat washing its face.
Let's start with three loud laughs:
"Haha, haha, ahaha..."
Zhigao covered half of his mouth to suppress a laugh.
Huaiyu sings "Narcissus":