TYSUF – Chapter 69 The Green Hills Remain (1)

The disappearance of the T-shaped wooden box was supposed to be a secret.

Yet the news traveled fast.

By the time the delegation arrived in Paris, there were already several versions of rumors about the lost documents. Some said that when the chief delegate passed through Japan, Japanese spies bribed his attendants and stole the documents; others claimed the papers were taken during a theft while the cruise ship was at sea; still others said that when the chief delegate was in Yokohama, an imperial physician came to examine him, and due to his weak will, he handed the documents over to the Japanese… Newspapers were rife with rumors, and the Japanese were pressing the chief delegate to refute them, claiming that someone was deliberately trying to influence Sino-Japanese relations.

The rumors kept multiplying, unstoppable.

A war of public opinion had already begun even before the Peace Conference officially opened.

As for that document box, Fu Tongwen never mentioned it to her on the cruise, or even when they reached New York. Shen Xi only learned of it from the newspapers she saw in the apartment they rented in Paris.

…

Now, Shen Xi discovered that this newspaper from mid-December last year had somehow appeared again on Fu Tongwen’s desk.

Outside the window, early summer had arrived—it was June.

Shen Xi held the newspaper, her heart adrift like a boat on water.

Ever since renting the apartment, newspapers were everywhere in the study: English, French, Japanese, and Chinese publications. Fu Tongwen and Tan Qingxiang had told her that newspapers were a battlefield—they could guide public opinion and win hearts.

So, as soon as they arrived in Paris, the delegation wired back home, requesting the first installment of funds for public relations, to handle Parisian newspapers and secure more support for China. Fu Tongwen himself had invested heavily, taking care of Japanese and domestic newspapers alike, which was why most of the packages he received were newspapers.

Shen Xi moved aside the December edition; beneath it was a May issue, reporting on student movements in China.

Fu Tongwen entered the study. He wore a white shirt and trousers, but over his shoulders was draped a traditional Chinese long gown, grayish-white in color.

He never wore his old clothes; this gown had been specially tailored by a Chinese tailor in France, whose address Shen Xi had discreetly obtained from the Chinese minister. Suits were too restrictive and heavy, whereas the long gown was light and practical.

At first, Fu Tongwen was surprised to see the gown. Though unaccustomed, he followed Shen Xi’s suggestion and wore it to keep warm.

Over time, he came to appreciate its advantages, as Shen Xi had said.

“Newspapers are just for reading—they’re all old news,” he said as he approached, handing her a cloche hat, the latest Parisian style with a turned-up brim. “You’ll be late.”

“I’ll be back quickly.”

“No rush,” he said. “It’s rare for you to meet a friend in Paris. Just don’t stay out until dark.”

“Mm.”

Shen Xi took the hat in her hands. If it weren’t important, she wouldn’t leave him for a single second.

She hadn’t told him who she was meeting, only that it was a university classmate—and Fu Tongwen hadn’t pressed.

Before leaving, she briefed Tan Qingxiang briefly, leaving him the restaurant’s address and phone number, and only then did she step out with peace of mind.

On Boulevard Saint-Michel, she found the café. The outdoor area was packed.

Small round tables, each barely twenty centimeters in diameter, were filled with cups and saucers. The wicker chairs around each table were larger than the tables themselves. The dozen or so tables were arranged casually; gentlemen and ladies sat leisurely, enjoying their afternoon coffee. Chairs pressed against one another—a common scene in crowded city gatherings.

Gentlemen had to keep their newspapers low to avoid brushing against strangers.

Most readers—seven or eight out of ten—were likely following news about the Peace Conference, though Shen Xi didn’t understand French.

She thought again of the piles of newspapers at home.

…

In a quiet corner, a rare empty round table held only two cups of coffee, occupied by a gentleman.

Shen Xi stopped in her tracks at the sight of the man by the window. He noticed her reflection in the glass and turned to look. Both friends laughed simultaneously.

“You really haven’t changed a bit,” Chen Lingguan said, standing to pull out the chair across from him.

“This place is crowded. Don’t bother with pretense,” Shen Xi interrupted.

She set her hat on her lap and sipped her coffee.

Chen Lingguan rested his elbow on the table, smiling as he waited for her to drink.

Shen Xi had left New York for Paris last December, sending him a telegram from the cruise—but by coincidence, Chen Lingguan had just departed for New York on an academic exchange. They missed each other at sea.

It was only a few days ago, when Chen Lingguan returned to Paris, that this meeting became possible.

When Shen Xi had left New York, she hadn’t had time to say goodbye. Over the years, they had resumed correspondence but never met in person.

Now, seeing each other face-to-face felt different from reading each other’s letters. Chen Lingguan recalled their days in New York, racing to outdo each other in studies, obsessed with learning.

Shen Xi had always been someone he admired from the heart, his truest friend.

“Why choose the Peace Conference to meet?” Chen Lingguan asked with a smile. “In your letter, you were so secretive, wouldn’t tell me.”

Shen Xi smiled faintly. She couldn’t answer.

Luckily, Chen Lingguan understood the situation and, seeing her smile, didn’t press further.

“There’s something I’ve been holding in my heart for many years. Do you regret it?” he asked abruptly.

Regret? She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You were most interested in cardiac surgery in New York, and you had the talent to become an outstanding cardiologist. Do you regret it? Suddenly returning to China and ruining your own future?”

Since they had reconnected, Chen Languan had spared no effort in persuading her to study in Europe. When he learned she had given up the opportunity to go to the UK, he mercilessly judged her in his heart for being short-sighted and wasting her talent.

He had always been troubled by her past decision to abandon cardiology, unable to let it go. Even now, he still felt the same way.

Shen Xi shook her head. “No regrets.”

“You’re just being stubborn.”

“I mean it. In these past few years in China, I’ve saved over a thousand lives, and the patients I’ve treated are countless. Also—” she smiled, “I’ve even donated money to General Cai’s army. You see, I’ve done quite a lot.”

“You could have achieved even greater things.”

Perhaps. She gave up the argument and sipped her coffee indifferently.

Shen Xi put down her cup. “I want to ask a favor of you.”

“I knew it. You’re a utilitarian,” Chen Languan said, as if seeing through her, happily adding, “There’s always a reason when you come to me; it’s never just for old times’ sake.”

Once again, Shen Xi did not argue.

When they were in school, their conversations were always a back-and-forth battle—neither ever willing to show weakness. Two consecutive silences made Chen Languan uncomfortable. “I’m joking with you. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without your support. Anything I can help with, just say it. And please, don’t use the word ‘ask.’”

“I want… you to recommend a cardiologist for me.”

Chen Languan was taken aback. “You mean my professor? For your friend?”

She paused before answering, “It’s for Fu Tongwen. I want to find him a primary doctor—his heart isn’t well. These past six months, due to the upheavals at the Peace Conference… his condition…”

The smile faded from Chen Languan’s eyes.

“I’ve consulted many people and classmates; they all said your professor is the best clinician and the most suitable doctor for him.”

Shen Xi stared at him. “I sincerely hope you—”

Chen Languan shook his head, gently refusing.

The emotional, impulsive boy outside the New York apartment had grown up. He had learned to control his emotions and respect his friends, but that didn’t mean he could forget how impoverished his family had been.

“I’m sorry,” Shen Xi said softly.

“No need,” Chen Languan replied. “Dou Wanfeng told me he’s your husband’s older brother.”

“He is my husband now.”

Chen Languan froze.

He had heard the news of Shen Xi’s marriage from classmates and had even sent a telegram to scold her, thinking she had forgotten to share it.

Now the truth was revealed.

Shen Xi wanted to speak.

“I know what you’re going to say. When you were in New York, you kept reminding me to remember the benefactor’s kindness,” Chen Languan said, looking at her. “Now you want me to repay him?”

“No. What I said back then was to remind you of the purpose of studying medicine—to save many lives, so the money Fu Tongwen spent on us wouldn’t be in vain. I didn’t mean for you to repay him.”

“He is a great philanthropist, a patriotic businessman, and has supported many people,” Chen Languan replied. “But Shen Xi, he’s kind to others, not to me. I’m an ordinary person, not a saint. If you want my professor to treat him, you don’t need to ask me.”

“I tried contacting your professor, but…”

Chen Languan understood her difficulties immediately. “Of course. My professor is gravely ill and no longer sees patients.”

“That’s why I came to you. Because I knew you were his most accomplished student.”

“Don’t try to manipulate me, and don’t lecture me on medical ethics. I’m a selfish person.”

After a long silence, Shen Xi said again, “I’m sorry.”

She had anticipated this outcome but still wanted to try.

If this path didn’t work, she would have to prepare to go to the UK to see Tan Qingxiang’s former professor. Cardiac surgery is a field even other surgeons tend to avoid; specialists are rare, and those with rich clinical experience even rarer… she feared that even in the UK it might be futile.

Shen Xi and Chen Languan parted on uneasy terms.

She walked along the cobblestone slope toward her apartment, flanked by small cafés and bars. Her first impression of Paris came from a set of colored photos Fu Tongwen had given her. At that time, the city struck her as neat rows of houses like orderly matchboxes, their colorful walls perfectly aligned.

Fu Tongwen later mentioned that he had spent a large sum buying the photos from a reporter when he first arrived in Paris. He never hesitated to praise any Western country, its open-mindedness, and its industrial achievements.

Behind his praise was a beautiful hope—that China might one day shine as brilliantly in the world.

A few children gathered around an ice cream cart, receiving their treats and sodas.

Shen Xi noticed a popcorn vendor and bought a bag. The elderly vendor gestured toward her handbag, reminding her that while Paris is prosperous, it’s also notorious for theft. Seeing her black hair and eyes, walking aimlessly like a tourist, he guessed she was a young woman visiting Paris for the first time and kindly warned her.

Shen Xi thanked him in French, as she had learned from Fu Tongwen, and took the paper bag.

Back at the apartment, she checked the floor clock—Fu Tongwen was still napping. She placed the popcorn on the low table by the door. The person sent to pick up Peide sat in the living room; seeing Shen Xi, he stood and greeted her, “Young Madam.”

She glanced at the cloth-covered suitcase by the door. “Where’s Mr. Tan?”

“He’s saying goodbye to Miss Peide in the kitchen.”

Shen Xi reached the kitchen doorway and coughed.

“No need to come in. We’re going out,”

Tan Qingxiang said as he led Peide out of the kitchen.

This time, he had brought Peide to France to personally escort her to Europe and hand her over to the German consulate in France. In a few days, the Peace Conference would conclude. He knew there could be no further delay, so he contacted the German consulate last week and arranged to send her over this week. Peide had argued against it before, but no matter how strong she was in overcoming difficulties, there was one insurmountable barrier—Tan Qingxiang did not love her. Seeing Germany about to be sanctioned, and worried for her grandparents back home, she reluctantly agreed to the plan to leave after much consideration.

Peide held a food box in her hands—Chinese food she had begged Tan Qingxiang to prepare, planning to eat on the way.

Shen Xi and Tan Qingxiang accompanied her to the apartment entrance.

“Do not send letters to this address. After the conference, the apartment will return to the landlord, and we’ll go back to China,” Tan Qingxiang instructed.

“After you return to China, where will you live?” Peide’s gray-blue eyes brimmed with tears she could not hide.

“Not sure yet,” Tan Qingxiang replied.

Peide lowered her head and spoke for a long time in German, words only the two of them could understand.

From her tone and inflection, Shen Xi guessed it was a final confession.

Tan Qingxiang, being the same age as Fu Tongwen and experienced in life, kept a smile on his face so that Peide would not feel too embarrassed. In the end, he gave the young girl a sincere hug and softly said a few words in German.

Peide blinked, tears running down her cheeks and soaking into her collar.

“Goodbye, Miss Shen. Say goodbye to Third Brother for me too,” Peide whispered to Shen Xi, then turned and got into the car.

The car disappeared around the street corner.

Tan Qingxiang exhaled lightly.

“What did she say?” Shen Xi asked quietly.

“What would you do if I didn’t tell you?” he smiled.

“Lose sleep over it?” Shen Xi teased, “Like watching a show at the Moulin Rouge but leaving just before the finale, never knowing how it ends—it’s not a pleasant feeling.”

“She said… that even though her name is Peide, even though it’s a cross-national love, even though she fell for a Chinese man, why does she not get a happy ending? She said that Director Lu and his wife’s love was a ‘sign of fate,’ but I had to ignore it.”

Girls were all alike in love.

They liked to grasp any small clue, convincing themselves and hinting to themselves that a good outcome awaited.

“And you?”

“Me? You mean what I said?”

“Yes.”

“I said,” Tan Qingxiang smiled, “Little girl, I do not love you.”

Almost exactly what she had imagined.

Shen Xi and Tan Qingxiang went over the results of the afternoon.

Fu Tongwen did not know about Chen Languan, but Tan Qingxiang did. Since May, he and Shen Xi had been discussing whether to stay in France or go to England.

To avoid being overheard by Fu Tongwen, they spoke quietly in the kitchen.

As people age, they often dwell on memories. Tan Qingxiang, speaking, recalled the year on the cruise: “It was also Shandong then. Tongwen even said that if he really couldn’t make it, he would strap explosives to himself and die together with the Japanese.”

Shen Xi could still maintain her composure outside, but facing Tan Qingxiang, her facade crumbled; her heart was in turmoil.

After a while, she softly said, “When I think of us, restless in Yokohama, afraid of missing our departure to the U.S., afraid of making Wilson doubt our sincerity… it’s just…” How ridiculous.

These were things she could not discuss with Fu Tongwen, so she spoke freely here.

“In the end, the U.S. chose Japan. How ridiculous we were,” Tan Qingxiang continued.

Suddenly, opera sounds drifted from upstairs. They exchanged a glance.

He had woken from his nap.

“I’ll go upstairs,” she said, “You should contact your professor quickly. Once the conference ends, we’ll depart immediately.”

“It’s already arranged,” Tan Qingxiang smiled, reassuring her.

Yet both knew, missing Chen Languan here meant missing something…

She took the bag of popcorn and followed the sound to the study.

Fu Tongwen was still wearing the same gray-white long robe, sunk deep into the black velvet sofa, his feet in soft leather slippers. The fireplace was unlit; sunlight streamed through the glass and most of the study, landing on his feet and the legs of his trousers.

His lower body bathed in sunlight, his features in the dim room, eyes closed, with a faint smile, fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm.

The sunlight was too short to reach his face.

Shen Xi knew well that her sighs and heartbreak over the failed Paris trip were nothing compared to the depth of his disappointment. He pursued reform, failed, supported the revolution, saw Yuan Shikai enthroned as emperor, spent half his life in vain, and in the end in Shandong achieved nothing—it was destined to bring disappointment…

And people around him, one by one, left or died, leaving countless old friends on the road to the underworld.

She stood for a long time, silently watching him, her heart aching.

Fu Tongwen, adjusting his posture, opened his eyes and saw her.

He smiled: “This idle man, still waiting for you to come home and keep me company.”

“When I was leaving, you said, it’s rare for me to meet a friend in Paris,” Shen Xi stepped forward, half crouching in front of him, holding the paper bag in both hands, “I owe you popcorn for many years. Remember?”

He took the bag, opened it, pinched one piece and popped it into his mouth. “Cinderella.”

They had watched the premiere together in New York.

Fu Tongwen fed her a piece too, softly saying, “When Third Brother returns to the country, he should open a hundred theaters for Yangyang, lively like an opera house. On premiere day, we’ll show Cinderella.”