So she started to write back. “Mr. Fang Jing, how are you?” she wrote. Then she would tear the letter up and start over. He was so important and she was so insignificant. She lacked confidence and was afraid of making a fool of herself—but how could she write a letter of the same quality as a celebrity like Fang Jing? It was impossible; she had neither the writing talent nor the emotional maturity his letter displayed. Just based on the letter alone, Tiao felt that she had already fallen in love with him. And she had to fall in love with him because she believed he had fallen in love with her—and it was her good fortune to be loved by him, she thought selflessly. At her age and with her lack of experience, she couldn’t immediately tell the difference between admiration and love, or know how quickly a feeling driven by vanity might get the better of her. Maybe at those times she thought about her senior-year roommate. Compared to Fang Jing, who was that writer of her roommate’s, with his “overflowing talent”? How could her love affair match Tiao’s secret life now? College life, the flare of red-hot emotion that came and went quickly.
Once again she started to write a reply to him, but finally could only come up with those few words, “Dear Mr. Fang Jing, how are you?”
She went out and found a second-run cinema to watch a movie of his, to meet him on the screen. She listened to his voice, studied his features, and savoured his expressions. She tried very hard to memorize his looks, but when she returned home and lay in her bed, she found she had completely forgotten. It frightened and worried her, and seemed like a bad sign. The next day she took the opportunity to watch the movie again. She stared at him on the screen, as if she had found a long-lost family member. She still couldn’t compose the letter. Then she received his phone call at her office.
He phoned at a time that everyone was in the office. The chief editor said to her, “Tiao, your uncle’s calling.” As soon as she walked to the phone and picked up the receiver, she recognized his southern-accented Mandarin. He said the following paragraph in one breath, with some formality and a tone that left her no room for contradiction: “Is this Comrade Yin Xiaotiao? This is Fang Jing. I know there are a lot of people in your office. You don’t have to say anything. Don’t call me Mr. Fang Jing. Just listen to me. I’ve returned to Beijing and haven’t received a letter or phone call from you. It’s very likely that you’re laughing at me for being foolish. But please let me finish. Don’t hang up on me and don’t be afraid of me. I don’t want to be unreasonable. I just want to see you. Listen to me—I’m at a conference at the Beijing Hotel. Can you arrange to come to Beijing to solicit manuscripts? I know editors come to Beijing all the time. You come and we’ll meet. I’ll give you my phone number for the conference. You don’t have to respond to me right away, though of course I want to have your immediate response, your positive response, very much. No, no, you should think it over first. I have a few more things I want to ramble on about, I know I don’t seem very composed, but I have somehow lost control of myself, which is very unusual for me. I would rather trust my instincts, though. Please don’t be in a hurry to refuse me. Don’t be in a hurry to refuse me. Now I’m going to give you the number. Can you write it down? Can you remember it …?”
She was very bad at memorizing numbers, but she learned Fang Jing’s number by heart even though he said it only once. She went to Beijing three days later, and saw him in his room at the Beijing Hotel. When she was alone with him, she felt he seemed even taller than when she had first met him. Like so many tall people, he stooped a little. But this didn’t change his bearing, that arrogant and nonchalant attitude he was famous for. Tiao thought she must have appeared affected when she walked into his room, because Fang Jing seemed to catch an uneasiness from her. He gave her a broad smile, but the easy, witty manner of the conference was gone. He poured her a cup of tea but somehow managed to spill the hot tea, scalding Tiao’s hand as well as his own. The telephone rang endlessly—that was the way the celebrities were, always pursued by phone calls. He kept picking up the phone, lying to the callers without missing a beat: “No, I can’t do it today. Now? Impossible. I have to go see the rough cut in a minute. How about tomorrow? Tomorrow I’ll treat you at Da Sanyuan …”
Sitting on the sofa listening quietly to Fang Jing’s lies, Tiao sensed an unspoken understanding grow between them, and in herself a strange new feeling, dreamlike. She was grateful for all those smooth lies, thankful that he was turning those others down for her, with lies made for her, all of them, for the sake of their reunion. She started to relax; the phone calls were precisely what she needed to give herself the time to regroup.
Fang Jing finally finished the calls and came over to Tiao. He crouched down right in front of her, face-to-face. It was a sudden movement, but the gesture was quite natural and simple, like a peasant tending crops in the field, or an adult who needs to crouch down to talk to a child, or a person who crouches down to observe a small insect like an ant or beetle. With his age and status, the crouching gave him an air of childish naughtiness. He said to Tiao, who was sitting on the sofa, “How about we go out? Those phone calls are pretty annoying.”
They left the room and went to the hotel bar. They chose a quiet corner and sipped coffee. He was holding his pipe. After a short silence, he began to speak, saying, “What do you think of me?”
She said, “I respect you very much. Like so many people, I admire your movie A Beautiful Life. Like me, a great many people hold your talent in high regard. In our editors’ office, you’re often the topic of discussion. We—”
He interrupted her and said, “Are you going to talk to me in this sort of tone all night? Are you? Tell me.”
She shook her head and then nodded. She’d wanted to restrain her excitement in this way. She already found herself liking to be with him very much.
Then he said, out of the blue, “You stood apart from the crowd at the conference, naïve but also seeming to have a mind of your own. I saw at a glance that you were the person that God sent to keep an eye on me. I can’t lie to you; I want to tell you everything. I … I … I …” He puffed on his pipe. “Do you know that what I wrote to you was what was on my mind? I had never written to a woman, never. But I couldn’t help it after I saw you. I am well aware of my talent and gifts, and I am also well aware that they’re far from being fully developed. I will be much more famous than I am now. The day will come. Just wait and see. I also want to talk about my attitude towards women; I simply don’t reject any women who approach me. Most women want me for my fame, maybe my money, too. Of course, some don’t want anything from me, just want to devote themselves to me. They are especially pathetic, because in many respects … I am actually very dirty—I hope I am not frightening you with my words.”
His words did frighten her quite a bit. All exposed things are frightening, and why would he treat her to such an exposed view of himself? She felt sorry for him because of that “dirtiness.” She’d thought what she was going to hear would be much more romantic than this. Just what kind of man was he exactly? What did he want from her? Tiao was puzzled but knew well she didn’t have the ability to take the initiative in their conversation. She was passive; she had been passive from the very start, and she could have no idea that the passivity would later produce something evil in her.
“Therefore …” He took another puff of his pipe and said, “Therefore, I don’t deserve you. It looks like I’m pursuing you now, but how could I possess you? You’re a woman who can’t be possessed—by anyone. But I’ll be with you sooner or later.”
She finally spoke. She asked, “What leads you to such a conclusion?” His directness made her heart race.
But he ignored her question completely; he just continued, “You and I will be together sooner or later. But I want to tell you that even though someday I will be madly in love with you, I will still have many other women.