KN | Chapter 4

Keats

Chen Wan had no appetite. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it. He lowered his eyes and glanced at his watch, only for the principal wife’s lady of the house, Cao Zhi, to seize on that too as something to remark on. “Is the food not to your liking? How has Ah Wan gotten so much thinner?”

Everyone looked over. Chen Wan wiped his hands with a napkin and said, “No. It’s just too hot, so I can’t eat much.”

Cao Zhi’s nephew, Cao Zi, joked in a seemingly offhand way, “Ah Wan’s used to bell-and-cauldron banquets. How could he think much of this? A friend was even praising him to me the other day, saying Ah Wan showed up in Central the day before yesterday looking every bit the grand young gentleman.”

Everyone’s expression turned subtle. Zhao Shengge’s welcome banquet had been held in Central the day before yesterday.

The Haita Restaurant, one of a kind in all of Haishi, had been booked out for two full days.

Chen Bingxin questioned Chen Wan. “What did you go to Central for?”

Unhurried, Chen Wan wiped his hands and lied with perfect composure. “I went to help Zhuo Zhixuan park the car.”

Chen Bingxin’s clouded gaze rested on him. Chen Wan turned his head and met it steadily.

Chen Bingxin had no choice but to believe him. Everyone knew that when Chen Wan was little, he had happened to save a classmate of very high status while swimming.

Master Liao Quan of the second branch laughed. “Then Ah Wan really ought to hold tight to that rope. It’s no good climbing up by yourself. Only if the Chen family prospers can you stand more firmly too, isn’t that so?”

Chen Wan said nothing. Chen Bingxin snorted first. “What can anyone expect from him? To them he’s nothing more than a runner they can order about. Why would they really give him face?”

Said so bluntly in front of everyone, it drew a round of stifled laughter. Song Qingmiao was furious but did not dare speak. Her face flushed red with anger. Chen Wan, however, did not feel embarrassed.

The words were unpleasant, but in principle Chen Bingxin was not wrong. Chen Wan had always had a clear sense of himself. He had never dared to be too optimistic about whether that circle truly accepted him. His birth, class, and status were all there, with a gulf like heaven’s moat between them.

But whatever the case, Chen Wan still felt it was far better than this place. Leaving aside whether those young masters treated him as a friend, at least they treated him as a person.

Chen Wan nodded in agreement and said evenly, neither servile nor overbearing, “That’s how it is. A handyman who runs errands like me doesn’t get to say much.”

Quite apart from the fact that he would never do anything for the Chen family, he would not even use the favors and conveniences of that circle for his own business.

It was a strict line of defense.

Chen Wan, from the inside out, from head to toe, from his gaze to his smile, was not pure. But this one scrap of feeling in him could still count as pure.

He had to do everything he could to keep that part pure.

Everyone had wanted to watch Chen Wan make a fool of himself, but the person involved wore a thoroughly unconcerned expression and took none of it to heart, so the topic shifted to the marriage prospects of the eldest daughter of the third branch.

The rules at the Chen residence were severe, and the empty formalities endless. After dinner, Chen Bingxin pressed his palms together, recited a prayer, and led everyone in offering incense before the statues of Allah and Mazu.

More than once, Chen Wan had wondered whether this kind of half-native, half-Western, neither-Chinese-nor-foreign formalistic faith might not anger deities from both East and West alike.

Standing among a group of cousins his own generation, repeating kneeling and kowtowing, Chen Wan felt for one moment as though he were living in some year at the end of the Qing dynasty.

As in previous years, Chen Bingxin had invited several feng shui masters to drive out ghosts and make offerings to the Buddha, spending heavily on spirit talismans in a vain attempt to restore glory to the Rongxin mansion, a great house rotten from the foundations up.

The masters went around touching wall corners and door lintels. Once they had divined a favorable hexagram, everyone felt reassured enough to return to their mahjong tables. Guests came wave after wave. Tiles crashed and rattled, and with every triumphant cry of “Hu!” even Guanyin and the Buddha would have had their peace disturbed.

The redwood wall clock had only just pointed to eight. It would still be a long while before he could leave.

Chen Wan went to the side hall to get some air. He never took work calls at the old residence, so he stood by the window in boredom, watching the rain.

The No. 8 typhoon signal had been hoisted fiercely and urgently, yet the storm refused to leave cleanly and kept dragging its tail. Night rain struck the broad palm leaves with a rustling sound, and petals from the begonia trees lay scattered all over the courtyard.

It was not the weekend, but with a typhoon holiday in effect there were many more children about, some from collateral branches of the Chen family, some brought by guests, all of them running wild in the front hall.

Chen Wan watched for a while in utter boredom, then moved with sharp instinct toward a girl with braided pigtails. She was pressed against the wall in a strange, stiff posture.

He drove off the several boys circling her like flies, then crouched down and asked, “What are you doing?”

The girl was probably mixed-race. The hair at her temples curled slightly, and her light-colored eyes watched Chen Wan with wariness. Chen Wan gave her a very faint smile.

Hardly anyone could withstand Chen Wan’s smile, whether they were seventeen or seven. The girl shook her head and said in English, “I’m fine.”

Seeing no obvious injuries on her, Chen Wan simply went to stand beside her and leaned against the wall the same way she was.

Perhaps that pointless act of passing time somehow won her trust. After a while, the girl turned her head and solemnly held out her hand. “Hello. Judy.”

Chen Wan held out his hand too and shook hers with equal solemnity. “Hello. Chen Wan.” Afraid she might not understand Chinese, he added, “Or, Keats.”

The girl seemed more interested in his Chinese name, though her pronunciation was not very fluent. “Chen… Wan? Which wan?”

“Wan as in wanliu. To retain, to keep from leaving.”

Judy blinked. Her Chinese was not good enough yet to understand the word.

Chen Wan felt in his pocket, took out a very simple business card, and pointed to the characters on it. Judy studied it carefully for a while, then accepted it.

The two of them stood side by side again, silently watching the night rain for a while. Chen Wan grew thirsty, picked up a mangosteen from beside the offering table, and asked, “Judy, do you want some?”

Judy hesitated for a moment and said, “Sorry, Chen Wan. It’s not convenient for me to eat.”

Chen Wan found her prim seriousness funny.

“Why?”

Judy said awkwardly, “My dress is damaged. It’s not convenient for me to leave this wall.”

Only then did Chen Wan notice the cut marks along the hem of her dress, the traces of scissors. He lost his smile and asked softly, “They did that?”

The boys were seven or eight, at that age when even dogs found them hateful.

Judy silently confirmed it.

Chen Wan took off the shirt he was wearing over his clothes and handed it to her, telling her to tie it around her waist. “Cover it up for now.”

Judy thanked him. Chen Wan asked, “Do you want me to tell your mother?”

Judy’s mother was Madam Du Rui, who was currently playing cards in the sitting room.

This society beauty, the widow of what had once been Haishi’s richest man and the owner of half of Repulse Bay, had no shortage of lovers. Judy’s father’s identity had once been one of Haishi’s favorite mysteries.

Madam Du Rui was immersed in glitter and excess and did not pay Judy much attention, so Judy still said there was no need. Madam Du Rui would only scold her for lacking ladylike decorum.

Chen Wan respected her wishes. His shirt was long enough that Judy could wear it as a dress, and it even looked fashionable.

Chen Wan broke open the mangosteen and gave her half. Judy ate with delicate restraint.

It was peak mangosteen season. They had been air-freighted in from Yue that very day, each one round and full, the flesh gleaming white and sweet, like a few petals of packed snow, clear sweetness and rich juice spilling across the teeth.

When they had finished eating, Chen Wan glanced at the fruit basket and asked, “Have another. Pineapple or melon?”

Now wrapped in his shirt, Judy could move much more freely. She craned her head to look and said, “Melon.”

Chen Wan picked up a knife to cut it. Suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder from behind. His reaction was lightning fast. He swerved aside and turned, the knife tip aimed straight at the newcomer. The other person hurriedly withdrew his hand and raised both hands in surrender, grinning so broadly that his gums showed. “Ah Wan, it’s me.”

Chen Wan took half a step forward, shielding Judy behind him. He did not lower the knife. Making two small warning motions with it in the air, he said, “And what if it is you? Step back.” He did not even need to turn around. One whiff of that rotten stench was enough for him to know exactly which foul fly it was.

Liao Quan kept smiling and pointed at the knife in Chen Wan’s hand. “Put that down first. I just haven’t seen you in a long time and wanted to chat.”

Chen Wan ignored him. Liao Quan went on, “When the family is in harmony, all things prosper. If your brother-in-law sees this, he’ll start lecturing you again.”

“Let him see.” Light from the staircase fell across Chen Wan’s face. When he was not smiling, there was in fact something faintly cold and sinister about his air. Tilting his head, Chen Wan said slowly but clearly, “Do you think you can still send me to Xiaolan Mountain a second time?”

Liao Quan’s smile faded a little. He licked at his gums.

Xiaolan Mountain was Haishi’s madhouse, the place where patients of special status were kept: officials’ mistresses and illegitimate children, top-grade political prisoners, celebrities who had lost their minds.

Chen Wan had spent three years there, starting from the age of nine.

He extended the knife tip another inch, pointing it straight at the center of the man’s brow, tapping lightly there, and said in a calm voice, “You can’t do it anymore. But I can cut your fingers again.”

The knife point was far too close. At last, some fear showed in Liao Quan’s greedy, murky eyes.

The year Chen Wan had been brought back from the Tang building in the outer district, he was nine years old. During a midday nap, Liao Quan had locked him in a room.

Liao Quan touched the boy’s feet with his hands and pulled at his white socks. Chen Wan, however, was abnormally alert and wary. Almost at once, he lashed out with his foot and stamped hard on the man’s wrist.

Liao Quan cried out in pain, slapped Chen Wan across the face, and grabbed his hair. Chen Wan was young, but vicious and sparing with words. Without a word, he seized the scissors on the desk and cut at the man’s fingers.

He had never been some powerless young master. He was a feral child who had run wild in the tenements of the outer district with no one to discipline him, an evil cur raised in a place where the weak were meat and the strong ate them, never domesticated, his whole body bristling with spikes. Liao Quan ended up with both hands streaming blood from those spikes.

By the time the Filipino maid heard the appalling screams in the corridor, Chen Wan had nearly stabbed through the man’s palm and was about to go for his eyes and face as well.

The incident caused an uproar. A doctor came to the house to treat the injuries and said Liao Quan’s right hand might well be crippled. Madam Liao Liu of the second branch kicked Chen Wan in public, then cracked Song Qingmiao across the face with a resounding slap.

Still not satisfied, she cried, made a scene, and threatened suicide, demanding that Chen Bingxin give her younger brother justice. Liao Quan was the only son of the Liao family.

People from every branch looked at Chen Wan as though they were looking at a crazed, baleful madman. What ordinary child could be so ruthless and vicious as to cause a near-fatal incident like that?

Chen Bingxin flew into a rage. To him, Chen Wan was like Nezha, one who protected his mother and slew his father, lawless, untamable, disobedient, an ungrateful wretch who could never be raised properly. He ordered the family doctor to forcibly inject him with a sedative, produced a medical certificate diagnosing him with mental illness, and had him sent to Xiaolan Mountain.

Chen Wan withdrew the knife. Without sparing Liao Quan a single glance, he went on cutting melon for Judy. “You know what I’m like. A barefoot man isn’t afraid of one wearing shoes. If I say it, I can do it.”

Liao Quan had not been able to get the better of him in the past, and still could not now. Unwillingly, he looked at Chen Wan’s beautiful, fine-featured profile. The softness on Chen Wan’s person that could mislead others, and that hard edge when he turned fierce, were both alluring in their own way. But Liao Quan was afraid of him losing his mind. A moment ago, Chen Wan had really seemed ready to drive the knife into his eye.

It was not the right time yet. Liao Quan looked at Judy, took two steps back, and left.

Chen Wan handed Judy a slice of melon. “Are you scared?”

Judy’s lips were shiny with juice. “What?”

“Did I frighten you?” The way he had handled the knife just now had looked like he meant to kill someone. He did not know whether it might leave a shadow on a child, so when he handed her the fruit he smiled at her and used a napkin to wipe the juice from her hand.

“No.” Judy tipped her face up to look at him. Probably because Madam Du Rui did not avoid flirting with her lovers in front of her, the little girl was somewhat precocious. In English she said, “Chen Wan, you are a gentle gentleman.”

“…”

Pointing a knife at someone, a gentle gentleman?

Judy’s eyes moved around the fruit basket, and she said sincerely, “Like the mangosteen, Keats.”

Mangosteen, solid and sturdy on the outside, white and soft within.

“…”

Chen Wan did not really understand the marvelous imagination and childlike mind of little children. He choked on the words for a moment. Not daring to hand her the knife, he stuffed several fruit forks into her pocket for self-defense instead and instructed her, “If you see that man again, go where there are more adults.”

Judy trusted him, so she nodded obediently.

Author’s Note:

Chen Wan’s English name is Keats.

The child thinks he is like a mangosteen, a tropical fruit. When you break it open, the inside is like soft, gentle cat paws, sweet and tender. Something like that.