Chapter Twenty-Six: The Tedious Married Life

Three days before New Year’s Day, I married Yang Bo. I didn’t invite many people to the wedding—not for lack of money, but because it all felt utterly pointless. Two people in their thirties, making a big deal out of something that had long lost its novelty—what was the sense in that? The so-called wedding was held at Kuai Bin’s restaurant. Kuai Bin acted as the witness; he didn’t seem interested, mumbled a few words, then wandered off to drink with a few friends. Wang Dong and Big Guang, perhaps scared the room would grow dull, roamed about with beer in hand, clinking glasses with everyone and chanting, “It’s a day of joy, we drink till we drop.” Ke Zhi and Ma San showed up too, their boisterous banter filling the air.

What truly surprised me was that Xi Zhen also came.

During a lull, I pulled Yang Bo aside—she’d grown as plump as Lin Baobao—and asked her who’d invited Xi Zhen.

“I did,” Yang Bo replied. “He chased after me for so many years. Now that I’m getting married, I should at least let him see for himself and put his mind at ease, right?”

A sourness welled up inside me; I said gloomily, “Yeah, he should feel at ease—you’re marrying a scoundrel.”

Yang Bo didn’t get upset. She twisted my nose and forced me to drink. “Drink up, drink up—let me drown you so you’ll never have the energy to be a scoundrel again.”

I took a sip, tried to look gentle, gazed at her in silence, but inside my heart was growing cold, turning to stone.

“Zhang Kuan, from now on, I’m yours—completely,” Yang Bo looked at me with deep affection, teasing and tender at once. “If you don’t cherish me, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”

I replied, “Of course, you’re my dearest treasure.” Yet as I said it, the names “Nana” and “Xi Zhen” kept echoing in my mind. If you could imagine a duck pressing his tongue into the private parts of a rich woman as he licks her with all his might, then you might understand the state of my heart just then.

I remembered a conversation with Lan Xieyan. I’d asked, “Brother Yan, Shufen’s been with Wang Dong, Jin Long, and Jia Guan. When you sleep holding her at night, can the Party still command the gun?” Lan Xieyan replied, “Command the gun, of course, command the gun… oh, oh, command the gun…” He was being evasive. I guessed that at first, he probably took great care of his “gun,” but in the end, it must have been impossible to command. That’s not something a normal person can endure. Now I understood why Lan Xieyan was so indifferent about Shufen. He no longer saw her as his wife—maybe, in his mind, she was just a pig, as long as she could be sold for meat and money, nothing else mattered.

So what about Yang Bo and me? At this thought, my mouth filled with a bitter, foul taste, as if I’d bitten into a gall bladder.

Lai Shun and his group of young friends played host to the guests, carrying themselves like grown men in charge. Lin Baobao sat at the table with Ke Zhi and Ma San, refusing to drink; when others urged her, she fended them off with girlish innocence.

My father sat in his wheelchair, holding a glass of wine and grinning at me, as if he couldn’t grasp why the day was so lively.

I walked over, gave him a hug, and said, “Dad, your son’s married now. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

He looked at me blankly for a moment, then tossed back the wine, stroked his chin, and said, “Marriage is good. Liu Mei’s a good girl.”

A wave of sorrow washed over me, and I squeezed my father’s shoulder before slumping into my seat.

Liu Mei had been married for five years, to Wei San. I knew exactly what she was after—Wei San was old enough to be her uncle. I’d heard from Lan Xieyan that Wei San treated his wife well, always getting her new cars, buying her more than a dozen fur coats worth over ten thousand each. Liu Mei no longer taught, helping Wei San with his business instead. Once, I asked Lai Shun, “Remember that teacher Liu Mei who used to come to our house and look after you and Grandpa?” Lai Shun, probably afraid I’d be hurt, shook his head. “Don’t remember. I just remember our homeroom teacher was a big-bottomed English lady. She said she taught you once, and you cut holes in your textbook to peek at her.” I laughed. That big-bottomed teacher sure had a good memory. Lai Shun had quit school, just started working—thanks to Ke Zhi, he got a job as a security guard at the steel plant.

Lai Shun really kept me on my toes. He was punctual at work, but after hours he’d hang out with other young guys his age, wandering the streets. Once, while cleaning his room, I found a tattered jacket under his bed. Inside was a five-shot hunting rifle, rusted but intact. I put it back without a word. That night, when Lai Shun came home, I called him into the hallway. I said, “It’s fine for a young man to be a little wild, but you have to know your limits. Cross the line and you’ll get in trouble. Your dad Zhang Yi is an example, and so am I—that’s two right next to you. I won’t bother with other examples.”

Lai Shun clapped me on the shoulder. “Dad, don’t compare our generation to yours. Do you know what kind of education we’ve had? Did you have TV or computers back then? Even if you did, what did you watch, and what do we watch? It’s different. Honestly, your son’s got a good head on his shoulders—no worse than yours.”

I was left speechless. I dragged him inside, pulled out the rifle, and shoved it in his face. “What’s this?”

Lai Shun replied offhandedly, “A gun. No big deal, just for self-defense. You see how chaotic it is outside? All kinds of crooks and robbers…”

I jabbed him hard with the barrel. “Just don’t go robbing anyone yourself!”

He sprang up, grabbed me in a hug. “Dad, calm down. I’d never use it for anything bad. Your son’s not stupid.”

I shoved the rifle into his arms, enunciating every word. “Lai Shun, remember what I say: you have a mother who loves you deeply—she’s your real mother.”

Carrying the gun, he retreated toward his room, then suddenly turned at the door. “I remember. But I also remember I once had a father who loved me just as much!”

What was really going on in this boy's mind? His actions made me ache with worry and exasperation, tinged with a subtle anxiety and dread.

The wedding ended before night fell. On the way home, I felt hollow, as if someone had scooped out my brain.

That evening, our family sat down together for dinner. My father kept smiling at Yang Bo, asking, “Is this Miss Liu or is it that girl from Xiao Huang Lou?”

Yang Bo tossed down her chopsticks, flicked her evening dress, and stormed into our room, slamming the door behind her with a cry that sounded almost like, “Heavens!”

Lin Baobao shivered, covered her face, and shook her head as if remembering my brother.

On New Year’s Day, I called Kuai Bin, asked him to send over some good dishes. I wanted to celebrate the third day of my marriage to Yang Bo. Once the food arrived, I called Yang Bo, who was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, to come out and “raise a golden cup and sing a song of praise.” Yang Bo slouched at the dressing table, tearing at her hair with a comb, listlessly saying, “You all go ahead and sing. I don’t want to, and I can’t. Your dad sings best anyway.”

Suppressing my annoyance, I went over and took her arm. “Come on, dear wife, come out with me. No need to dress up, everyone already knows how pretty you are.”

She glared at me in the mirror, pouted. “Hmph, as long as you know. Back in the day, I was even prettier—until you, you scoundrel, ruined me… Look at my hair, all split ends. It used to be so nice—shiny and soft, like a black flag waving. You said so yourself.”

I chimed in, “Exactly! You were so beautiful I doubted you even pooped.”

Yang Bo burst out laughing. “Calling me names, huh? Saying I don’t have an asshole? Well, your son won’t have one either… pfft! You rascal…” She tackled me onto the bed.

At dinner, I helped my dad up, placed him in his wheelchair between me and Yang Bo, chatting with him nonstop—I was afraid he might confuse people again.

Lin Baobao glanced nervously at Yang Bo, then at me, finally fixing her eyes on my father. “Old folks are like that, their minds aren’t as sharp as mine anymore.”

Yang Bo agreed, “Yes, yes, he often mistakes me for that girl—what was her name, Mei?” She kept piling food onto my father’s plate.

She was always like this—her moods swinging wildly, sometimes even a little strange. Those days, I wasn’t even sure how to get along with her. Sometimes, I was actually afraid of her.

When I calmed down, I’d think maybe we were like two hedgehogs—too close, and we’d only hurt each other.

As the end of the year approached, my business suffered; I had almost no income during those days. I still had to pay the workers’ wages and cover various expenses on time, so I even started dipping into my savings—the money I’d set aside for buying a house. Yang Bo’s temperament really wasn’t suited to living in a crowded household, so I planned to buy a new place in the spring. I’d already chosen one next to Xiao Hui Lou, a newly built apartment, sixty-eight square meters, costing 160,000. I already had 130,000 saved, almost enough… Yet lately, I’d become so strapped for cash that soon there was less than 80,000 left in my passbook.

One day, I showed the passbook to Yang Bo. She pouted and said, “I don’t care. I married a man, I expect food and clothes—I can’t be homeless, can I?”

That left me speechless. She was right—such a beautiful woman married to a terrifying-looking ex-con like me, how could I not even get her a house? I made up my mind: next year, I’d buy a place, even if I had to borrow the money! I told her, “Don’t worry, since I married you, I won’t let you live worse than Liu Mei. I refuse to believe I can’t match up to Wei San!”

Yang Bo had known about me and Liu Mei for a long time—thanks to Lan Xieyan and his big mouth. Years ago, I’d thought that as long as I kept quiet, she would never learn about my past, since she’d been away from Xia Street for years. But it turned out she’d known even before I got out this last time.

One night, after a round of “brotherhood duty,” Yang Bo lay in my arms, her tone full of mockery. “Old man, not bad. I thought you’d grown tired of me, that you couldn’t cut it anymore. Now I see you’ve been keeping yourself in shape…”

Seeing my confusion, she went on, “Didn’t catch my drift? Fine. When you couldn’t find me, you used a village girl for practice. What was her name—big thick glasses, like the bottom of a wine bottle? Liu Mei? Nice name. Slender brows and cherry lips…”

I couldn’t stand it anymore and kicked her out of bed! I rushed down the stairs and ran along the deserted street, the wind at my back. Alone in the biting sea breeze by the great pond, my mind tangled in knots, I kept asking myself: Who bore witness to this love? That innocent, slender, long-haired girl, or this foul-mouthed, plump woman?