Cry Me A Sad River Chapter 1

01

The morning fog rose in the longtang*, the gradually brightening lights reflected cloud after cloud of yellow glow on the alleys.

The morning was not completely bright yet, in the cold blue of the sky, you could still see remnants of the light from stars.

The temperature had dropped quickly in the past few days.

Breathing turned into frost.

The river froze three feet deep.

The distant bright, clear and s.h.i.+ning day paused in the memories.

02

“Qi Ming, bring along the milk”, just as he was about to pull open the door, his mother rushed out from the living room, in her hand was a packet of milk freshly warmed from the rice cooker, the steam rose from the packaging, “Hey, you boys must drink more milk, do you know that, especially boys like you in the first year of high school, how can you not drink it.” After saying that, she pulled unzipped the backpack on Qi Ming’s back before shoving the milk in. As her height was quite a lot shorter than her son, his mother stood on her tippy toes for it. After putting in the milk, his mother pinched Qi Ming’s arm and started nagging again, “Hey, how can you dress so lightly in winter, this will not do, boys can’t just think about being handsome and nothing else.”

“Okay okay,” Qi Ming answered in a low tone as he pulled open the door, “Ma, I’m about to be late for cla.s.s.”

The dense fog rushed into the room.

Above his head was the pale daylight of mid-winter.

It was still the wee hours of morning; the light wasn’t strong enough to light up the entire longtang. Boxes, pots and rubbish bins piled along the sides of the longtang, only their grey outline could be seen through the fog.

Qi Ming closed the door along with his mother’s nagging. Only half of “Early after school” could be heard faintly before being cut off by the coldness of the winter day.

Qi Ming lifted the straps of his bag higher, his breaths hung white in the air before him, shrugging his shoulders, he walked towards the mouth of the longtang.

Two steps in and he saw Yi Yao who staggered out from her house, almost b.u.mping into him. Just as Qi Ming was about to open his mouth for a morning greeting, he heard the sharp voice of a woman call from within the house:

“Rush rush rush, are you rus.h.i.+ng for reincarnation, why don’t you die! b.i.t.c.h that causes me to lose money!”

Yi Yao raised her hand and her eyes met Qi Ming’s awkward expression. No expression can be determined on Yi Yao’s pa.s.sive face through the weak light of the winter morning.

In Qi Ming’s memory, Yi Yao’s expression as she met his eyes was a slow-motion scene that lasted the duration of an entire century.

03

“Fought with your mom again?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Forget it, don’t mention it”, Yi Yao rubbed the bruise on her arm from her mother’s pinching the day before, “You know my mom, she’s mad, I can’t be bothered about her.”

“……Yeah. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

The morning of the mid-winter. The entire longtang was still silent. As if immersed by the dense fog, there was no sound at all.

Today was Sat.u.r.day, adults need not attend work. Yet highschoolers had no choice but to go for extra lessons on Sat.u.r.days. Hence, only the two of them walked unhurriedly in the entire stretch of the longtang.

Qi Ming suddenly remembered something as he dropped a bag strap and heaves his bag towards his chest, taking out the milk, he shoved it into Yi Yao’s hand, “Here.”

Yi Yao sniffled and took it.

The two walked towards the bright mouth of the longtang, disappearing together in the white fog.

04

How should the world they’re living in be described?

Above their heads were the intersecting antennas, segregating the sky that was neither light nor dark. The low clouds floated on the long strip of sky. The disjointed clouds were the colour of pencil lead, casting alternative shades on the longtang pathway.

Every single day when they went to and from school, they’d always pa.s.s by the walkway resembling the corridor of time. Atop their heads were clothes hung by other families, they never dry in the monsoon season, yet the clothes were always there. Since young, they were taught to never walk under a hanging woman’s pants for it was unlucky.

A variety of objects piled at the sides of the longtang, engulfing the small s.p.a.ce day after day.

Quarrels always broke out in the shared kitchen.

“Oh yo, why are you using our water?”

The person who had been discovered could only laugh awkwardly as they pretended to not know what had happened before saying “Sorry, we used the wrong one.”

The damp grounds and walls.

Small windows. The light so weak that they barely hit them. Curtains pulled to the side so that more light could enter, letting the house seem slightly brighter.

A world like this.

He lived here for sixteen years. He had lived her, at ease and justified, content and comfortable. Just like a cotton sweater, inexpensive but a cooling feeling of reliance. Although this was an article of clothing that makes a boy seem very unattractive in winters, yet the moment autumn arrived, even if the temperature was still boiling, his mother could prepare it in advance, nagging at him to put it on.

He lived just like this for sixteen years. Yet everything was ending soon.

Four years ago, his father had quit his office job and turned towards business. He was now the owner of a large restaurant. Customers come and go daily, his business exceptionally good. They were doing so well that they could arrogantly say that “I’m sorry, we are no longer accepting reservations” when people called in to reserve a seat.

The new house of theirs was in a high-cla.s.sed district. Multi-storied apartments with a beautiful view of the river.

They only needed to wait till the summer before the handover of the apartment; they would leave this frustrating and damp longtang. They could even use the word ‘escape’. Like pulling their sinking feet out entirely from quicksand.

His mother became more and more proud awaiting the move. Her conversations with neighbours often steered towards “Aiya, after moving my rheumatistic leg would be so much better, this house is way too damp, all forms of illness would grow” or “I think you guys should move as well.”

Words like this often attracted admiration and envy, and the last sentence they’d always say would be “You’re so fortunate. Not only does your husband know how to earn money, but your son lives up to your expectations as well, always the top scorer in exams. Unlike our little coffin, aiyo.”

At times like this, Qi Ming only listens from a distance, sitting in front of his window doing his homework; occasionally he’d raise his head to see his mother surrounded by a group of women with outdated perms, her look of pride and arrogance unable to be suppressed.

Actually, there have been many times when Qi Ming heard malicious debates on his way home from school, such as.

“That woman from the Qi family, she’s going to die from arrogance, she’s going to fall sooner or later, I hope it hurts.”

“I think so too, men all turn bad after getting rich, don’t look at her being all boastful now, maybe in the future she’d be black and blue from being beaten by her husband.”

“Her son though, she must have done a lot of good thing sin her past life to have a son like him.”

“I heard that he already clinched first prize for a national mathematics compet.i.tion right as he entered school.”

A world like this, day after day, like spinning silk, forming into a transparent coc.o.o.n. Vanity and envy lived in the heart, thick and dark ink being poured in on a daily basis.

The stench was overwhelming.

05

When he pa.s.sed by Yi Yao’s house, he’d often see her cooking in the kitchen with an ap.r.o.n around her waist.

Her mother, Lin Huafeng, would be eating sunflower feeds or flipping through the newspaper every single afternoon at the door.

He’d hand a notebook to her through the kitchen window, “Here, I helped you copy everything.”

Yi Yao lifted her head and wiped the sweat on her brow before saying, thank you, but my hand is dirty right now, pa.s.s it to my mom.

When Qi Ming handed the notebook to Yi Yao’s mother, she would always take it and throw it into the room. Qi Ming could always here the slap of the notebook against the floor.

A few more steps and it would be his home.

Before the key was even in the hole, his mother would have pulled the door open before taking his bag from him, tugging him to eat diner.

Halfway through his diner, he’d hear Yi Yao saying, “Ma, diner is ready” from across the wall.

For a period of time during diner, the television channel would be broadcasting a Taiwanese television series , apparently an adaptation from a famous movie, every time his mother ate diner she’d eat and sigh, immersed in the world where the maternal love was selfless. During that period of time, his mother would always wipe invisible tears from the corners of her eyes before telling Qi Ming about the greatness of mothers.

Qi Ming would always eat silently, occasionally letting out a sound to affirm his mother.

Like fibres lying across blood vessels, locking the flow of blood. “The blood is clotting up.” His heart always felt repressed. He always felt that one day, a thorn would pierce from his blood vessel, through his skin and become exposed to the air.

Every time his mother wipes a crocodile tear, the pain in his blood vessel could increase.

Yet this was just a pa.s.sing thought, for not every person could face their disgust towards their mothers calmly. This was abnormal and unethical. Hence these thoughts only bubbled up from the bottom of his heart occasionally, and then they would disappear immediately on the surface of the water, breaking apart with a loud sound. A little splash of water.

Unlike Yi Yao.

Yi Yao’s hatred was vivid and straightforward.

A conversation when he was thirteen.

Qi Ming said: “My mother is a teacher, she always likes talking about principles, it’s annoying. What does your mother do?”

Yi Yao had turned and said: “You’re talking about Lin Fenghua, she’s a prost.i.tute, a horrible woman. I hate her. Yet sometimes I still love her.”

Yi Yao’s thirteen-year-old face had been calm as it was exposed to harsh sunlight; her skin had seemed almost translucent, as if the red capillaries would appear at any second.

I hate her. Yet sometimes I still love her.

Prost.i.tute. Horrible woman. These words, that summer when they were thirteen, submerged the young lives like high tide.

Like a handful of bramble seeds had been sowed in Qi Ming’s thirteen-year-old heart.

After dinner. Qi Ming stood to put away the cutlery but his mother yelled for him to stop, telling him to revise in his room, saying, “how can you waste your time on

Things like this.” To be frank, Qi Ming disliked his mother making a fuss.

He put down his chopsticks, picking his bag up from the sofa, he walked towards his room. From the gap in the door as he entered his room, he could see the satisfied expression on his mother’s face as she cleared the table and moved towards the kitchen.

Just as the door closed, Yi Yao’s voice drifted over from the other side.

“Ma, are you going to eat or not?”

“Who cares!”

“If you’re not going to eat then don’t ask me to cook, it’s hard……”

Before her sentence finished, the sound of plates shattering on the ground could be heard.

“It’s hard?! Cooking is hard? Do you think you’re some rich princess?”

“You better not break plates,” Yi Yao’s voice did not betray her emotions, “If you break it, we’d have to buy it, we don’t have that much money.”

“You’re talking money with me?! What right do you have to talk money with me! ……”

Qi Ming got up to close the window; the words became blurred, only the shrill voice of the woman could be heard, exploding continuously. A while later, the kitchen light from the other side turned on. Under the dim yellow light was Yi Yao’s silhouette. Qi Ming opened the window again, listening to the running water.

A long time later, the sound of another plate being smashed could be heard.

He didn’t know who threw the plate.

Qi Ming turned on the desk light, his pen flying across the paper densely packed with numbers.

Densely packed. Filled the heart.

Just like a piece of paper full of calculations. Not a single s.p.a.ce left unwritten.

As if he couldn’t breathe.

“Why don’t you die early!” could be heard from the other side.

Everything became quiet again.

06

A line with two points is a segment.

A line with one point is a ray.

A straight line has no point.

Qi Ming and Yi Yao were like lines that set off from the same point, yet they moved towards different directions. Hence, further and further away. Further and further away.

Every day, things become even more different that the day before, their lives written in two versions – scribbles and proper. And then time washed away the colours. Hard to decipher.

Before they were twelve, their lives were at the same point.

Grew up in the same suffocating and long longtang. Put on the red scarf of communism in the same year. Liked watching Doraemon during dinner. Back then Qi Ming’s family had been an average family. His father hadn’t earned two million to buy a luxurious condominium yet. The sunlight had shone on the lives in the darkness at the same angle.

Yet the year they were twelve, the rays of life shot through to two different directions rapidly.

In Qi Ming’s memory, it had been dusk in summer Yi Yao’s father dragging his heavy suitcase leaving this longtang. When he left, he had squatted down to embrace Yi Yao, Qi Ming had been leaning against the window, looking at the hot tears that had rolled down her father’s face.

When they were thirteen, he heard Yi Yao say, my mother is a prost.i.tute. She is a horrible woman.

07

Like a wrinkled yet strong seed.

Yi Yao laid in the darkness. Thinking like this.

Outside the window was the cool air of winter. The grey skies had large grey clouds. The moonlight could not s.h.i.+ne through.

Then again, what moonlight?

It was just that Qi Ming’s light from across was still on.

Her curtains looked like there was a ring of fluffed glow from the yellow light of his windows. He was probably still reading, beside him sitting a cup of hot coffee or milk tea. Maybe even a freshly cooked bowl of wonton.

In the end, he was not a person like her.

The seventeen-year-old Qi Ming had a face that practically radiated the gleam of youth. Under his white s.h.i.+rt and black uniform were muscles and bones that grew stronger by the day. A boy’s seventeen year old is like a time where they could hear their bones creak as they grew.

Top in the school. Cla.s.s representative. Second place in town for a short run compet.i.tion only because he injured his foot the day before. Average family, yet was about to move out of this longtang soon, into a high-cla.s.s district where they had a view of the river.

Wore his uniform according to the school rules, never dyed his hair, had no piercings, would never wear a t-s.h.i.+rt in place of his s.h.i.+rt in order to look more handsome like the other guys.

Liked biology. Also liked European art history.

From the moment he set foot in the school, he had started receiving love letters from seniors and juniors alike. Yet no matter how many letters he received, every single time, his face would flush pink.

And herself?

Using the slightly venomous words from her mother, she was, “dank”, “lifeless”, “if you stay at home any longer you’d have a body full of bugs”.

A girl like that, yet every single morning in the longtang, she’d meet Qi Ming who was the complete opposite of her.

And then walk together towards the mouth of the longtang where the light rays gathered.

Walking towards the entrance to the source of light.

This seemed like such a sorrowful metaphor.

*longtang refers to the narrow alleyways of old Shanghai