The Seventh Day

THE SEVENTH DAY

“I have never been so clean as I am now,” Mouse Girl said. “I feel almost transparent.”

“We have bathed you.”

“I know, many of you have done that.”

“Not many of us — all of us.”

“It felt as though all the water in the river was washing me clean.”

“Everyone lined up to bathe you.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“Here we’re good to everyone.”

“And you’re seeing me off as well.”

“You’re the first to leave here to rest.”

We walked along the road, thronging around Mouse Girl as she proceeded to the funeral parlor. The road was a broad wilderness, so long and wide you could not see its end, as vast as the sky above our heads.

“When I was over there,” said Mouse Girl, “I liked spring best, and hated winter. Winter was too cold, so cold it made my body shrink, whereas in spring the flowers blossomed — and my body bloomed as well. But here I like the winter and was dreading the spring, thinking my body would rot when spring arrived. But now everything’s fine — I don’t need to worry about the spring.”

“Even if spring were to move as fast as an Olympic sprint champion can run in the world over there, it wouldn’t be able to catch up with you,” one of us said.

Mouse Girl chuckled.

“You’re so pretty,” another said.

“You’re saying that to please me, aren’t you?” Mouse Girl responded.

“You really are pretty,” we assured her.

“When I walked down the street over there, they would turn their heads to look at me. Now, over here, you turn around to look at me too.”

“It’s called a high head-turn rate.”

“You’re right — that’s what they call it over there.”

“That’s what we call it over here too.”

Mouse Girl chuckled once more. “There and here, everyone calls it a high head-turn rate.”

“The head-turn rate goes wherever you do,” we said.

“You’re sweet-talking me!”

Mouse Girl was wearing the dress she had made out of the pair of pants. The dress was so long that we couldn’t see her feet — all we could see was her dress trailing along the ground.

“The way your dress trails along the ground,” someone said, “it looks like a wedding dress.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Really,” we answered.

“You’re just saying that to humor me, aren’t you?”

“Not at all, it really looks like a wedding dress.”

“But I’m not going off to get married.”

“It looks like that, though.”

“I’m not wearing makeup, and brides always doll themselves up.”

“You may not be wearing makeup, but you’re more dazzling than any woman in makeup over there.”

“I’m not going off to marry Wu Chao.” A melancholy note crept into Mouse Girl’s voice. “I’m going to my burial place to rest.”

Mouse Girl’s tears began to flow, and we fell silent.

“I was too impulsive,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left him.”

She walked on with a heavy heart, saying dejectedly, “How will he manage by himself? It was I who got him into this.”

Mouse Girl wept as she made the long trek across the open country.

“I often got him into trouble,” she said. “When we were hairwashers in the salon, he had his sights set on something better, so he sought advice from the stylist on how to cut hair. He learned so quickly that the manager praised him and said he planned to have him be a hairdresser. Privately Wu Chao told me that once he officially became a hairdresser he’d make a better income, and once he was really proficient he would quit the job and the two of us would rent a space and open up a little salon of our own. There was a girl in the salon who liked him and was always sidling up to him and coming on strong. This got me mad, and I’d give her a hard time every chance I got. Once, we actually started to fight. She grabbed my hair and I grabbed hers, and Wu Chao came over to pull us apart. I shouted at him and asked him if he wanted her or wanted me and got him very embarrassed. I yelled at him so loud that all the clients in the salon turned around to look at me. The manager was furious and told me to clear the hell out. While the manager was still cursing me, Wu Chao went up to him and announced that we were both handing in our notice and told the guy he was an asshole, then came back and put his arm around me and led me out of the salon. I said we still had two weeks’ wages due, and he said the hell with that, I don’t give a shit. That drove me to tears. We walked down the street for a long time, him with his arm around me, and all along I was crying and saying I’d let him down and made him lose face and wrecked his future, because he was just about to become a hairdresser. He had one hand around me and kept wiping away my tears with the other, saying, ‘The hell with being a hairdresser, the hell with losing face, I couldn’t care less about any of that!’

“Later I suggested we look for work at another salon, given that he already had mastered the skills of a hairdresser, but he refused. I promised not to get jealous again and told him if another girl took a fancy to him I’d just ignore it, but he insisted there was no way he would work in a salon. So the only option was to work in a restaurant. The manager said since I was good-looking he’d have me serve in an upstairs private room, while Wu Chao could service the large dining room downstairs. The manager liked how dedicated and nimble he was, and it wasn’t long before Wu Chao was promoted to captain. In free moments he would go chat with the chef and pick up some cooking tips. Once he’d really learned the ropes, he told me, we’d quit and set up our own little restaurant.

“It was often businessmen and officials who booked the private room. There was one time when a whole bunch of them had a bit too much to drink, and one put his arms around me and started squeezing my boobs. I shouldn’t have made an issue of it, I should just have found an excuse to leave the room, but I ran downstairs sobbing to complain to Wu Chao. He could never tolerate anyone taking advantage of me, so he barged into the private room and started a fight. He was way outnumbered, and they got him down on the ground and started kicking him, kicking him in the head. It was only when I threw myself on top of him and begged them to stop that they finally left him alone. The restaurant manager came up and bowed and scraped and apologized to them. They had been the ones doling out abuse, but the manager didn’t stand up for us at all and cursed us out instead. Wu Chao’s face was covered in blood. I put my arms around him and helped him out of the private room, but once we got downstairs he pushed me aside, wanting to go back upstairs and fight another round. He only made it up a few steps before I dashed over and clung to one of his legs for dear life, crying and begging him not to. He came back down and helped me to my feet, and we left the restaurant clinging to each other. His nose was bleeding the whole time, and it was raining outside, and when we got to the other side of the road he didn’t want to go any farther, so he sat down on the sidewalk and I sat next to him. The rain poured down, drenching our clothes, and cars kept driving past and splashing us with the water from the puddles. ‘I want to kill someone!’ he said again and again, and I just couldn’t stop crying, begging him to calm down.

“Once more I’d ruined things for him — he never got to be a chef, and now we were never going to be able to open a restaurant. For two months we didn’t go to work. We never had much money in the first place, and now we could just eat one meal a day, and after two months of that our money was almost gone. We needed to find jobs, I said, but he refused — he said he wasn’t going to take any more abuse. I said that if we don’t have jobs we don’t have money, and without money all we can do is to wait around until we die of hunger. Even if it means we die of hunger, he said, I refuse to be pushed around. I wept, wept with heartbreak, not because I was angry with him but because the world is so unjust. Seeing me weep, he went out, and it was very late that night when he got back, bringing me two big, steaming-hot stuffed buns. Where did he get the money to buy these buns? I asked. He had spent the day collecting discarded cans and plastic bottles and selling them to a recycler, he said. When he left the room the next day, I went out with him. Why are you coming with me? he asked. To pick up bottles and cans with you, I said.”

“It looks like we’re there.”

We had all walked a long road and now we had arrived at the funeral parlor. As we swarmed inside, a hum of amazement arose in the waiting room. Seeing so many skeletons crowding in, the crematees turned to one another in confusion. “What are these things, and why have they come here?”

“I guess they just got here late,” one among the plastic chairs said.

“They got here way too late,” someone else said.

“They’re fucking old, these ones!” someone in one of the armchairs exclaimed.

“We’re vintage spirits,” one of us muttered, “and they’re draft beer.” A wave of titters rose from the line of skeletons.

There were a dozen or so crematees seated in the ordinary section of plastic chairs, and only three in the elite armchair zone. Several skeletons walked over to the armchairs, struck by how spacious and comfortable it seemed there. The man in the faded blue jacket and the grubby old white gloves approached and said wearily, “That’s the VIP zone. Please sit over here.”

His empty eyes suddenly saw me, and both delight and consternation rose and fell in his glance. This time he recognized me, because Li Qing’s hand had restored my face to its original shape.

I wanted to greet him with a gentle “Dad,” and my mouth opened, but no sound came out. I felt that he too wanted to greet me, but he made no sound either.

Then I felt the sad expression in his eyes as he asked with a trembling voice, “Is it you?”

I shook my head and pointed at Mouse Girl. “No. Her.”

He seemed to give a long sigh of relief, as though temporarily released from sorrow. He nodded, went and collected a slip of paper from the number dispenser by the entrance, then walked back and handed it to Mouse Girl. I saw that the number A53 was printed on it. He studied me carefully, and I heard a deep sigh as he walked away.

We sat down on the plastic chairs.

Mouse Girl gripped her ticket earnestly, for it was her passport to the place of rest. “Finally I’m going there.”

We felt that the whole waiting room was enveloped in a certain emotion, an emotion that Mouse Girl then expressed. “How is it I’m so reluctant to leave?”

We felt another emotion form, and this one too Mouse Girl expressed. “Why do I feel so upset?”

We felt there was one other emotion, and this too Mouse Girl put into words. “I should be happy.”

“That’s right,” we said. “You should be happy.”

No smile appeared on Mouse Girl’s face, for a matter of concern now occupied her mind. “When I leave,” she instructed, “please don’t any of you look at me, and when you leave here, please don’t look back. That way I can forget you and find true rest.”

We nodded in unison, the way leaves rustle in the wind.

Number A43 was called, and from one of the plastic chairs in front of us a man in a cotton Mao-jacket burial suit rose to his feet and shuffled off. We sat quietly, and as late-arriving crematees continued to enter, the usher in the faded blue jacket and worn white gloves greeted them and picked up numbers, then conducted them to the plastic seating.

All was quiet among the plastic chairs, but a hum of conversation could be heard coming from the armchairs. Three VIPs were discussing their expensive burial outfits and luxurious burial sites. One of them was wearing a fur burial robe, and the other two were quizzing him about the need for it.

“I can’t stand cold,” he explained.

“It’s not actually cold there,” one of the others observed.

“That’s true,” the third chipped in. “The winters are mild and the summers cool.”

“Who says it’s not cold?”

“That’s what the feng shui masters say.”

“No feng shui master has ever been there, so how would they know?”

“It doesn’t necessarily follow. You may not have eaten pork, but you’ve probably seen a pig run around.”

“Eating pork and seeing a pig are completely different things. I’ve never set any store by that feng shui business.”

The other two fell silent. “Nobody who’s gone there has ever come back,” the man in the fur robe said, “so nobody knows whether it’s hot or cold. If by any chance the conditions are harsh, I’m all prepared.”

“He doesn’t understand,” a skeleton near me muttered. “Fur comes from animals. He’s going to be reborn an animal.”

The other two VIPs asked the man in the fur robe where his burial site was. On a tall mountain peak, they were told, and one where the mountain falls away on all sides, so that he could enjoy a 360-degree view.

The other two VIPs nodded. “Excellent choice.”

“They don’t have a clue,” the same skeleton muttered. “A mountain should have high spurs on both sides rather than fall away sheer. If it has high spurs, one’s children will prosper, but if it falls away on both sides, one’s children will end up beggars.”

The number V12 was now called. The VIP in the fur robe rose with a slight stoop, as though from extensive experience of emerging from sedan cars. He nodded to his two peers, then walked smugly toward the oven room.

It was now the turn of A44. The number was slowly called three times, and then it was on to A45. This number too was called slowly three times, and then it was on to A46. When the numbers were called, it was like the sound of soughing wind on a dark night — drawn out and lonely. This lonesome sound made the waiting room seem empty and unreal. After three unanswered summonses, A47 stood up — a female figure who came forward hesitantly.

We sat quietly around Mouse Girl, conscious that the hour of her leaving was growing closer. After the VIPs V13 and V14 left, the call went out for A52 and our eyes could not help but turn toward Mouse Girl. She sat lost in thought with her hands clasped in front of her chest, her head bowed.

After A52 was called three times, we heard Mouse Girl’s A53 called and we bowed our heads in unison, conscious that Mouse Girl was walking away from the plastic chairs.

Although I had averted my gaze, I could still in my imagination see Mouse Girl, trailing a wedding-gown-like dress behind her, walking off to her resting place. I could see her walk off but did not see the oven room and did not see the burial ground. What I saw was her walking toward a place where ten thousand flowers bloom.

Then I heard the plastic seats give a slight creak and I knew the skeletons were rising from their places and leaving, withdrawing gently, the way a tide goes out.

I stayed put. In the row in front of me, five remaining crematees were seated, and my father in his faded blue jacket and worn white gloves stood in the passageway to their left, looking ready to respond to any need they might have. I felt as though my father’s erect figure was like that of a silent mourner. When a crematee turned his head and said something, my father stepped forward promptly and responded quietly to the person’s question, then withdrew to his post in the passageway. My father was always sedulous in performing his duties, no matter whether in that departed world or in this one.

After the remaining five crematees entered the oven room in turn, the waiting room seemed so empty it was almost as though it had run out of air, with only a dim light emanating from the widely separated candle-shaped sconces. My father came over with heavy steps and I rose to meet him. I clutched his empty sleeves — the bones inside seemed as slender as a cord. Supporting his weight, I was planning to head toward the VIP zone, where comfortable chairs awaited. But my father stopped me, saying, “That’s not the place for us.”

We sat down on the plastic chairs and I clasped my father’s gloved hand. Through a hole in the glove I could feel the bones of his fingers, and they seemed so brittle that they would break at the slightest impact. My father’s dim eyes peered at me as though determined to confirm my identity. “You’re here so soon,” he said mournfully.

“Dad,” I said, “were you afraid of being a burden, and that’s why you left?”

He shook his head. “I just wanted to go back there and have a look,” he said.

“Why?”

“I was upset. The thought of having abandoned you upset me.”

“Dad,” I said, “you didn’t abandon me.”

“I just thought of that rock, and wanted to sit there for a bit. I’d always wanted to go there. When it got dark, I would want to go there, but in the morning I would see you and change my mind, because I couldn’t bear to leave you.”

“Dad, why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.”

“I thought of telling you — I thought of that many times.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were you worried I’d be upset?”

“No, that wasn’t it,” he said. “I preferred to go there myself.”

“So you left without saying goodbye.”

“No,” he said, “I meant to come back on the evening train.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I did.” After he died, he meant. “I stood a long time opposite the shop and saw it was someone else who came out from inside.”

“I went to look for you.”

“When I saw that someone else had taken over the shop, I knew you had gone to look for me.”

“I kept looking and looking,” I said. “I went to the department store, because there had been a fire there the day you left and I worried you might have been trapped.”

“What department store?”

“The big silver one not far from the shop.”

“I don’t remember that.”

I realized that when the department store opened he was already struck down by illness and pain. “You never went there,” I said.

“You’re here so soon,” he repeated.

“I looked all over the city, and I went to the countryside to look for you too,” I said.

“Did you see your uncles and aunts?” he asked.

“I saw them, yes. There’s a lot of change there too.” I didn’t tell him how desolate things looked.

“Do they still bear a grudge?” he asked.

“No, they were very upset by the news.”

“I should have gone to see them long ago,” he said.

“I looked for you everywhere,” I said. “It just never occurred to me that you had taken the train there.”

“I boarded the train—” he muttered.

I smiled, thinking how we had been looking for each other in two separate worlds.

Once more he picked up his mournful refrain: “You’re here so soon.”

“Dad, I never thought I would find you here.”

“Every day here I was hoping to see you, but I didn’t want you to come so soon.”

“Dad, we’re together now.”

After a long parting, my father and I had run into each other again. Although we now had no body warmth and no breath, we were together once more. I removed my hand from the slender, bony fingers inside his old glove and carefully placed it on his bony shoulder. I very much wanted to say “Dad, come with me.” But I knew he loved to work, loved this waiting-room usher’s work, so I simply said, “Dad, I’ll often come visit you.”

I felt a smile appear on his skeletal face.

“Does your birth mother know?”

“Not yet, I don’t think.”

He gave a sigh. “They’ll find out before long.”

I said nothing more, and he said nothing either. The waiting room fell back into the quiet of remembrance. We treasured this moment of togetherness and in silence felt each other’s presence. I was conscious that he was gazing intently at the scars on my face. Li Qing had only restored my left eye, nose, and chin, without erasing the scars left there.

His hands, encased in those old white gloves, began to rub my shoulders. His skeletal fingers were trembling, and I felt his caress was designed to signal a reunion just as much as a final parting.

His fingers froze when they reached my black armband. He hung his head, sinking into a distant grief. He knew that after he left I had become a lonely orphan in that other world. He did not inquire what events had led to my arrival here, perhaps because he didn’t want to upset me, or perhaps because he didn’t want to upset himself. After a little while he told me softly that he wanted to wear the armband. This was genuinely his wish, I could tell, so I nodded and took it off and passed it to him. He removed his gloves, and ten trembling skeletal fingers received the armband. He placed it on his empty sleeve.

After he put the worn white gloves back on his skeletal hands, he raised his head to look at me, and I saw two tears fall from his empty eyes. Although he had arrived here before me, he still shed the tears that white-haired people shed for dark-haired ones.

On my way back, a young man hailed me. His left hand clutching his midriff, he was walking in haste but with a slight stoop, as though still recovering from a major illness. “Somebody told me that if I keep going in this direction I can see my girlfriend,” he said to me.

“Who’s your girlfriend?” I asked.

“The prettiest girl around.”

“What’s her name?”

“Her name’s Liu Mei. She’s also called Mouse Girl.”

“You must be Wu Chao,” I said. A fur hat now covered his unruly hair. It must have been a long time since he had dyed his hair, or cut it.

“How do you know that?”

“I recognize you.”

“Where have we met?”

“In the shelter.”

My reminder gradually cleared away the confusion on his face. “I do feel I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“Yes, in the shelter.”

Now he remembered, and the wisp of a smile appeared on his face. “That’s right, that’s where I saw you.”

I looked at the area on his waist that his left hand was clutching. “Is it still sore there?”

“Not anymore,” he said.

His hand left the spot, only to return to the same place out of habit soon after.

“We know you sold a kidney to buy a burial plot for Mouse Girl,” I said.

“We?” he looked at me in confusion.

“Me and the others over there.” I pointed up ahead.

“The others over there?”

“Those of us without graves.”

He nodded, seeming to have understood. “How do you know about me?” he asked.

“Xiao Qing came over, and he told us.”

“Xiao Qing’s here too?” he said. “When did he come?”

“It must be six days ago now,” I said. “He kept getting lost and didn’t get here until yesterday.”

“How did he come over?”

“A traffic accident — it happened in the thick fog.”

“I don’t know anything about fog,” he said, perplexed.

He couldn’t have known, I realized, recalling that Xiao Qing had said Wu Chao was lying in the underground bomb shelter the whole time.

“You were in the bomb shelter then,” I said.

He nodded, then asked, “How long have you been here?”

“This is my seventh day,” I said. “How about you?”

“It seems to me I just came over,” he replied.

“Today, in other words.” I realized that he and Mouse Girl had just missed each other.

“You must have seen Mouse Girl.” An expectant look appeared on his face.

“I did.” I nodded.

“Was she happy?”

“She was,” I said. “But when she realized you had sold a kidney to buy her a burial plot, she wept. She wept her heart out.”

“Is she still crying now?”

“Not anymore.”

“I’ll be able to see her very soon.”

Joy appeared on his face like the shadow of a tree leaf.

“You won’t be able to see her,” I said after a moment of hesitation. “She has gone to rest.”

“She’s left for there already?”

The joyful shadow left his face, to be replaced by a shadow of grief.

“When did she leave?” he asked.

“Today,” I said. “Just as you were coming over, she left. You missed each other.”

He lowered his head and walked on, weeping silently. After walking some distance, he stopped weeping. “If I’d just come a day earlier,” he said sorrowfully, “that would have been perfect — I could have seen her then.”

“If you’d come a day earlier,” I said, “you would have seen a dazzling Mouse Girl.”

“She was always dazzling,” he said.

“She was all the more dazzling on the way to the place of rest,” I said. “She wore a long dress like a wedding dress, which trailed along the ground—”

“She doesn’t have such a long dress. I’ve never seen her in such a dress,” he said.

“It was a dress made from a pair of man’s pants,” I explained.

“I see. I heard that her jeans split — I read about it on the Internet,” he said mournfully. “She must have worn someone else’s pants.”

“Some kind person dressed her in them.”

We walked on in silence. The empty plain was absolutely still, making us feel that our walking was simply walking in place.

“Was she happy?” he asked me. “Was she happy as she went off in her long dress?”

“She was happy,” I said. “She was happy that you had bought her a burial plot and that before the winter was out she could go to rest, taking her beauty with her. We told her she looked like a bride going off to her wedding. When she heard this she cried.”

“Why did she cry?” he asked.

“She thought of how she wasn’t going off to marry you, but going to rest at her burial spot. That’s what made her cry.”

Wu Chao was distressed. As he walked on, he rubbed his eyes with both hands.

“I shouldn’t have deceived her,” he said. “I shouldn’t have tried to fob off a fake iPhone on her. She was so keen to have an iPhone and would talk about this every day. She knew I was broke and couldn’t afford a real iPhone — it was all just fantasy talk. I shouldn’t have tried to fool her with a fake. I understand why she wanted to take her own life — it wasn’t that I’d bought her a knockoff, but that I hadn’t come clean with her.”

He lowered his hands. “If I’d said to her that this is a knockoff, because it’s all I can afford, she would have been pleased, she would have thrown herself into my arms and hugged me, knowing I’d done everything I could.

“She was so good to me, staying with me for three years, three years of hardship. Being poor made us quarrel. Often I lost my temper, cursing her or beating her. I feel terrible when I think about it, for I should never have lost control like that. No matter how poor or hard our life was, she never once mentioned leaving me — it was only when I was mean to her that she wept and threatened to leave me, but after crying she still stayed on.

“She had a girlfriend who was an escort at a nightclub, turning tricks every night, and the girlfriend could make tens of thousands a month, so Mouse Girl wanted to work at the nightclub too, because if she just did that for a few years she’d make enough money to go back home with me and build a house and get married — marrying me was her greatest wish, she said. I said no, I wouldn’t tolerate other men touching her, and I beat her, beat her that time till her face swelled up and she wept and screamed that she was going to leave me. But she woke up the next morning and hugged me and said sorry to me over and over again, saying she would never let another man put his hand on her, even if I died she wouldn’t let another man touch her, she would live as a widow. We’re not married yet, I said, and if I die you don’t count as a widow. She said that’s crap, if you die I’m your widow.

“Last winter was even colder than this one, and after we moved into the bomb shelter we’d spent all the money we had and had yet to find new work, so we lay for a day in bed and just drank some hot water, hot water she’d got from a neighbor. In the evening we were so hungry it was driving us mad, and she got out of bed and got dressed and said she was going out to beg for some food. How are you going to do that? I asked. Stand in the street and beg, she said. I said no, that’s begging. She said if you don’t want to, then just stay in bed, I’ll go and get something for you to eat. I wouldn’t let her leave. I’m not going to be a beggar, I said, and I’m not going to let you be one, either. We’re starving, she said, who gives a shit about being a beggar or not? She insisted, so I had no choice but to put on a jacket and follow her out of the bomb shelter.

“It was freezing that night and the wind was strong, gusting down our necks and chilling us to the bone. The two of us stood in the street and she would say to people as they came up, we haven’t eaten all day, can you give us a little money? Nobody paid us the slightest attention. We stood in the icy wind for over an hour, and she said, this is no way to beg, we need to wait outside the door of a restaurant. She took my hand and we walked past a brightly lit bakery, and she turned around and walked me back and told me to stand outside the door while she went in. Through the window I saw her say something to the girl behind the counter and the girl shook her head; then she went over to people sitting there eating baked goods and drinking hot drinks and said something to them, and they too shook their heads. I knew that they were refusing to give her bread. She came out of the shop as though nothing had happened, then took my hand and led me to the entrance of what looked like a very posh restaurant, and she said, let’s wait here: when the people inside have finished eating and come out with boxed leftovers, we can ask them to give us stuff. By this time I was both cold and hungry and could hardly stand up straight in the bitter wind, but she seemed to be neither cold nor hungry, standing there watching one group of diners after another as they emerged from the restaurant. None of them seemed to be carrying leftovers, and one car after another pulled over and took them away. The place was just too ritzy, and everyone who ate there had lots of money and none of them would have dreamt of taking their leftovers home.

“Later a guy who looked like a businessman was saying goodbye to some people who looked like officials, and then he stood at the door of the restaurant talking on the phone to his driver, so she went up to him and said, We haven’t eaten all day, but we’re not begging, we’re not asking for money, we’re just asking that you do us the kindness of going to the bakery next door and buying us a couple of loaves of bread. The man put away his phone and looked at her, saying, A girl as pretty as you can’t rustle up a couple of loaves of bread? You can’t eat your looks, she said. The guy laughed and said, It’s true you can’t eat your looks, but they’re intangible assets, at least. Intangible assets are empty, she said, but bread is real. Hey, the guy went, you’re smart as well as pretty, why don’t you come with me, I’ll feed you anything you like. She turned around and pointed at me, saying, I’m spoken for. The guy looked at me as if to say, that little down-and-out!

“The guy’s Mercedes came over and he opened the door and said to the driver, go over to the bakery and get four loaves of bread. The driver got out and trotted over to the bakery. The guy’s phone rang and he picked it up. His driver ran back with the bread, and as he talked on the phone the man said to the driver, Give it to them. The driver gave her the bag of bread, and she said, Thanks. The guy got into his Mercedes and the car drove off. Her hand reached into the bag and broke off a piece of freshly baked bread and popped it into my mouth, then she put the bag inside her jacket. Her ice-cold hand took my ice-cold hand and she said to me, ‘Let’s go back home to eat.’

“We returned to our underground home and she went over to a neighbor’s to ask for a cup of hot water. We sat on the bed and she had me first drink some hot water, before eating the bread — she was afraid I might choke. She was beaming with pleasure as though we had nothing more to worry about. As I was eating, I suddenly burst into tears, but I swallowed my tears as I swallowed the bread, saying to her, we’d still better separate, best not to keep suffering with me. She put down the loaf she was eating and tears spilled from her eyes. Don’t even dream of dumping me, she said, I plan to stick with you all my life — even if I die and become a ghost I will still stick with you.

“She was so pretty and was pursued by so many men, all of whom made better money than me, but she steeled herself to live in poverty with me. Sometimes she would complain, complain that she’d chosen the wrong guy, but that was just talk, and after she said it she would forget she was with the wrong guy.”

A smile appeared on Wu Chao’s face. We had already walked a long way and on all sides was still an empty plain; we were walking on in isolation. A sweet smile now appeared on Wu Chao’s face — he was talking about the scene when he first met Mouse Girl.

“When I saw Mouse Girl for the first time three years ago, she was washing hair in a salon. I just happened to pass by and casually glance into the salon, and I saw Mouse Girl standing by the door and greeting clients. She looked at me too, and my heart started pounding right there and then, for I’d never seen such a pretty girl before — when her eyes rested on me it was as though she was stealing my soul. I walked ahead some twenty yards but couldn’t go any farther. I hesitated for a long time, then walked back, to find her still standing at the door. When I gazed at her, she gave me another look, and that look was enough to make my heart jump. After passing, I hesitated once more, and when I walked back again, the girl at the door to welcome clients was not Mouse Girl anymore. Mouse Girl was inside washing someone’s hair. Through the window I saw her face in a mirror, and she saw me in the mirror and gave me the once-over.

“After four times back and forth in front of the salon, I summoned up the courage to go inside. The girl by the door thought I had come to get my hair cut and said, Welcome. I stammered out a question, Is the manager in? A man standing by the cash register said, I’m the manager. Do you need a hairwasher? I asked. Not just now, he said. But the salon opposite is looking for someone, you could try there.

“I walked out of the salon rather forlornly, not daring to look Mouse Girl in the eyes. I walked for ages but simply couldn’t get her out of my mind. A couple of days later, I summoned up the courage to go in again and ask the manager if he needed a hairwasher. Again the manager suggested I try the salon opposite. In the month that followed I went back every week, and each time I felt that Mouse Girl was looking at me. The fourth time, as luck would have it, a male hairwasher had quit and I was able to fill his position. His work number had been 7, so now I was Number 7. Mouse Girl threw me a glance and her face twisted into a grin.

“On my first evening at the salon there weren’t many customers getting their hair done, so Mouse Girl sat in a chair flipping through a hairdressing magazine, occasionally raising her head and fluffing her hair in the mirror, as though contemplating different options. I sat down in the chair next to hers, and because I was nervous I was wheezing for breath, so Mouse Girl turned to me and said, ‘You got asthma?’ I hastily shook my head, and said no, I didn’t have asthma. ‘Your wheezing is scary,’ she said.

“I got more and more tense the longer I sat next to her, worried that my wheezing sounded like asthma, and I breathed carefully, as though holding my breath underwater. She kept flipping through the hairdressing magazine and experimenting with different hairstyles. Finally I summoned up the courage to ask, ‘What’s your name?’

“ ‘Number 3,’ she said, not even raising her head.

“Her tone was frosty, and I felt deflated. But a moment later she raised her head and looked at me with a smile. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

“ ‘Number 7,’ I said in a fluster.

“She chuckled. ‘What’s Number 7’s name?’ she asked.

“Only then did I remember my name. ‘Number 7 is called Wu Chao.’

“She closed her magazine. ‘Number 3 is called Liu Mei,’ she said.”

Wu Chao broke off his account and came to an abrupt halt as he gazed at the view before him. A look of awe appeared on his face, for now he saw for the first time the scene that had made such an impression on me — streams flowing, grass covering the ground, trees in luxuriant growth, with fruit hanging from their branches and heart-shaped leaves that fluttered to a heartbeat rhythm. And people — some fully fleshed, many just bones — were strolling at leisure, back and forth.

He turned to me in astonishment, and his perplexed expression seemed to be posing an inquiry.

“Go on over,” I said to him. “The tree leaves there will beckon you, the rocks will smile to you, the river will greet you. There’s no poverty here and no riches; there’s no sorrow and no pain; no grievances and no hate….Here everyone finds equality in death.”

“What’s the name of this place?” he asked.

“The land of the unburied.”