TYSUF – Chapter 70 The Green Hills Remain (2)

When he was young, he often had stages set up one after another in the pavilion of the back garden, with strings of beaded lanterns hanging from the eaves and curtains made of silk and gauze… The lamps were not to be lit before the guests arrived. Once the guests came, every light would blaze forth, and the scene was beyond description.

Just now, the thought of this memory made him draw the curtains halfway. He intended to wait until sunset, until she returned home, before lighting the lamps.

Unfortunately, Shen Xi returned too early.

“Before you came back, listening to the play just wasn’t the same,” he murmured, his nose brushing across her forehead, inhaling the fragrance she wore—a scent of blush and powder, the unique aroma of a Chinese girl. “The moment you return, everything changes.”

He kissed her, savoring the aroma of coffee lingering on her lips.

“Hm, it’s milk coffee,” he remarked. “These past few days I could only drink water. It’s meaningless.”

Fu Tongwen tilted his head and smiled, as if lost, waiting for her to light the lamps like a dutiful young master.

Shen Xi met his gaze.

She feared losing him more than anyone else—besides him, there was no family left in the world. In her life, scenes from plays kept repeating themselves: the loyal and righteous wronged, the good dying prematurely. She did not want to endure a final separation from a loved one.

A world at peace was only a hopeful wish; she could not see the path ahead.

Was it really impossible to remain together for a hundred years…?

Shen Xi had just met Chen Languan, and the lingering melancholy still weighed on her. She feared that her mood might affect him, this patient, so she avoided looking at Fu Tongwen’s face. Her eyes fell on the newspapers spread on the low table.

“Don’t read the papers anymore. It won’t do your health any good.”

“All right,” he obediently closed the papers. “If you say not to read them, then I won’t.”

“If only you truly listened to everything I said…”

It hadn’t come to that, not even today.

He pleaded, “You went out for coffee with a friend, and I waited anxiously in the apartment. Just now, you reappear, so please don’t scold me, Third Master.”

Shen Xi cast him a reproachful glance and took away the newspapers.

“Go have Qingxiang make the preparations,” Fu Tongwen leaned back in the armchair. “The Director-General and his wife will be staying for dinner after dark.”

“Have you told Mr. Tan?”

“I wouldn’t dare. Lately, both you and he have had rather bad tempers,” he said self-deprecatingly.

And it’s all because of you…

Shen Xi didn’t want to expose his “grievance.” Hugging a stack of newspapers, she headed out.

“More than two will be coming, at least four or five. Also, the lady prefers smoked sausages and raw oysters,” he added.

“Not Chinese cuisine?” she asked, glancing back. “I thought since they haven’t been home for so long, they might want it.”

“To please everyone, the lady has been making Chinese food at the consulate,” he replied. “Tonight, we’ll change it up.”

After arriving in France, they had hired a French woman to help around the house, and occasionally she would make Western dishes.

Tonight, her skills would come in handy.

After dark, the guests arrived promptly. Besides the Director-General and his wife, the rest were foreign envoys who had dealings with Fu Tongwen. Shen Xi had met them at the welcome banquet in January. That day, everyone had worn cheerful expressions at the dinner table; today, they looked older by several years, still polite and bringing gifts, exchanging pleasantries, but their eyes no longer held any joy.

Dinner was scheduled for three hours, but in less than half an hour, all except the Director-General and his wife had departed.

On the dining table, fresh oysters glistened in the candlelight, floating in their own juices.

No one had the appetite to eat them.

“I sent several telegrams back home, but received no replies,” the Director-General said.

An agreement had been reached among the great powers to transfer Germany’s interests in Shandong to Japan.

China had no right to discuss or oppose it.

The delegation had informed the home government immediately.

Yet as the date to sign the treaty drew near, the Beiyang government remained evasive, making no decisions.

Thus, the delegation became a target of blame, isolated in Paris. Bearing the purpose of avenging past humiliation, they had endured hardships on the journey and struggled in negotiations after arriving in Paris… only to be abandoned in the end, reduced to pawns.

If they signed the unequal treaty, the responsibility—and the shame before their country—was theirs; if they refused, they would offend the great powers.

“This must not be signed… it must not be signed,” the Director-General sighed deeply.

Fu Tongwen was not from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; he was merely a businessman, without authority to comment.

He stirred the half-eaten bread on his plate with a silver fork.

Shen Xi pretended not to be paying attention. By candlelight, she noticed the lady’s hands resting on the edge of the table—blue-tinged, veins protruding, extremely aged. Only then did she realize the lady was already sixty-five, yet still accompanying her husband on travels…

Outside the window, commotion was rising.

Shen Xi put down the glass jug she had been holding. “I’ll go see.”

She stepped into the living room, where Tan Qingxiang was also present.

“There are students studying in France, over a hundred of them,” Tan Qingxiang said quickly. “Haven’t they been protesting in front of the consulate all this time? How did they find this place?”

“The General’s car is just outside the lawn; it wouldn’t be hard to find,” Shen Xi replied.

“I’ll go out first to take a look. Could you call the consulate and have someone come pick them up?”

Before Tan Qingxiang could finish, Fu Tongwen and the General, followed by his wife, came out of the dining room.

“They’ve been outside the consulate these past few days. I’ve interacted with some of them,” the General said wryly. “Let me go out and talk to them first.”

Fu Tongwen wanted to stop him, but his wife shook her head.

So they had no choice but to follow him to the garden. The garden outside the apartment was semi-open; the lawn connected to the road. Under the streetlights, Shen Xi looked out and saw nothing but young faces. Because of Fu Tongwen’s past incident in Shanghai, she had always been wary of student demonstrations. Luckily, these university students showed no intention of acting violently—they only sent one female student to briefly talk with the General.

She thought she saw the girl holding something but couldn’t make it out clearly.

Not far off, French police were observing as well.

“Are we really not going to inform the consulate?” she asked Fu Tongwen quietly.

He said nothing.

After the brief conversation ended, the General turned and walked across the lawn toward Fu Tongwen and the others.

Tan Qingxiang immediately ushered everyone inside and locked the door.

Through the glass, the General looked at the crowd and murmured, “That student representative hid a flower in her sleeve, pretending it was a gun, threatening me not to sign the contract.”

His wife smiled wryly.

“I saw it when she picked the flower,” the General suddenly laughed, glancing at Fu Tongwen. “What flowers are growing outside?”

“Roses,” Fu Tongwen replied playfully, “a bouquet of romantic guns.”

Soon, the consulate sent another car to pick up the visitors.

As the car drove away, the girl pretending her flower was a gun gave an impassioned speech: “If he dares to sign, we’ll take his life! He absolutely dares not sign!”

On the road, the gathered students cheered her on, surrounding the female representative and raising their fists in excitement.

…

Tan Qingxiang had no interest in watching this. He returned to the dining room, moved the uneaten dishes in front of him, and began eating slowly. Tonight’s dinner was special; he had stayed out earlier so that no one would feel uncomfortable discussing serious matters in his presence.

But today, there was nothing left to discuss.

Paris in fleeting glimpses—this was the finest era of France.

Artists from all over the world gathered here, meeting in cafés, sharing their works in bars and on streets. Every night at the Moulin Rouge, revelry abounded. Red windmill models, the towering Eiffel Tower… Those who lived through that era later described Paris as “a moving feast.”

And all of this was someone else’s brilliance.

Domestic newspapers called Shanghai the “Paris of the East,” but it was just the emperor’s new clothes. Ask yourself: in Paris, were there foreign concessions? Were there exclusive places the French couldn’t enter?

Fu Tongwen pulled out a chair beside Tan Qingxiang and sat down.

For the past half month, he had seemed to be waiting for the flowers to fall.

Knowing the outcome, he refused to leave before the signing day.

The white wine on the table was for the General’s wife; the raw oysters were strong in scent, pairing perfectly with white wine. He poured wine from the narrow-necked bottle for Tan Qingxiang, filling the glass to the brim—a Chinese way of pouring.

When he tried to pour for himself, Tan Qingxiang covered his glass. “You’re married now. Pay attention to Shen Xi’s feelings.”

Fu Tongwen smiled. “I’m not drinking, just to make a toast.”

He pulled away Tan Qingxiang’s hand and filled his own glass.

Raising the cup and lightly clinking it with Tan Qingxiang, he gave a look as if the party were ending, even though he hadn’t drunk: “Today is a day worth toasting.”

“The first cup is for the Shen family,” he said, pouring the full glass onto the floor, looking toward Shen Xi through the candlelight. “If not for your father, I wouldn’t have taken the revolutionary path.”

Tan Qingxiang had no connection with the Shen family and didn’t pour any wine.

Fu Tongwen picked up the bottle and poured again.

When the glass was nearly full, the bottle ran dry. He leaned lazily on the table with one hand, fetched another unopened bottle of red wine, and filled the glass.

“The second cup is for Tongzan,” he said, raising the glass. “It’s my failure. He’s been gone so long, and I haven’t accomplished anything significant.”

The dark red wine poured onto the floor.

This time, Tan Qingxiang joined him in the toast.

The empty glass was filled again.

“The third cup…” Who should it be for?

Not for lack of people, but too many had died.

“Qingxiang, you didn’t live through the reform movement, but they were all fine young men,” Fu Tongwen asked.

“I laugh at the world with my sword across the heavens; in life or death, my loyalty remains,” Tan Qingxiang smiled. “Who hasn’t heard it?”

“In the past, someone advised me not to get involved in the reform,” Fu Tongwen recalled. “A prominent court figure gave me a phrase—‘Do not be the only one awake.’”

In truth, there is no single awakened person in China—only a group of those who awaken early.

On the day the nation was divided and compatriots were bleeding, he was awakened, and found people already standing all around him.

“The final drink… to the departed.” Fu Tongwen said at last.

“To the departed,” Tan Qingxiang echoed.

To all the patriots, those who strove to strengthen China and reclaim its lost territories… the departed who, like ants shaking a great tree, fought foolishly yet relentlessly.

The two brothers of different surnames lifted their glasses together, pouring out all the remaining wine.

It was an absurd toast. Others would pour from small cups; they held up large glass tumblers… The streams of wine converged, spreading everywhere. Half of the dining hall floor was soaked, their shoes wet through, and hers too.

Shen Xi looked down at the flowing liquid at her feet. She didn’t want to disturb them, so she sipped quietly from her own cup. She wasn’t a heavy drinker; after a few sips, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glistened with moisture.

After three cups, Fu Tongwen sank back into his chair, staring at the wine-soaked floor in silence.

Long enough for Shen Xi to sense something amiss. Just then, he reached for a glass of water. As he drank, she clearly saw a drop slide down his jaw. From this angle, Tan Qingxiang couldn’t see it.

Tan Qingxiang showed no reaction, and neither did Fu Tongwen as he drank. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would have thought it an illusion.

…

Shen Xi’s throat caught, and she drained her cup in one gulp.

Pretending concern, she turned toward the window: “It seems they’ve all left… those students studying in France.”

“This isn’t a consulate,” Tan Qingxiang said, picking up a fork to eat raw oysters. “If they wanted to surround someone, it’d be there. But there’s nothing left to surround.”

That night, Fu Tongwen spoke at length.

Later, the young master’s temper flared, and he dragged the record player from the study into the bedroom.

He said, “When Third Brother gets the acting itch, no one can stop him.”

He added, “Still, ‘Man Jiang Hong’ is the best.”

Then again, “The line ‘Wait to reclaim the old mountains and rivers, and face the heavenly gates’—that’s the best.”

Shen Xi boiled water, carried it to the room, and wiped his face and hands.

“Third Brother, want me to teach you to sing properly?”

Shen Xi protested: “I have no talent.”

“Just like Tongcheng,” he teased her.

“You laugh all you want. It’s because people like us can’t sing well that you, Third Master, sound so good,” she said, praising him to make him happy.

With her warm towels on his face, he felt utterly comfortable, murmuring “Mm,” and even joined her in their playful singing: “You’re getting more disciplined.”

They laughed for a while, and Fu Tongwen was persuaded to sleep.

That night, he suffered two episodes of angina.

Putting on a brave face was easy; the hard part was getting past this in his heart.

Within a couple of days, Fu Tongwen was back in the hospital. Since arriving in France in January, he had spent more time hospitalized than at the apartment. French doctors didn’t talk about “emotional repression,” but they often instructed family members to ensure the patient’s mood stayed pleasant. After saying it, even the doctor felt it was a meaningless reminder.

Every day, newspapers reported on the Paris Peace Conference; all of France knew what China was about to lose again.

Fu Tongwen knew too—he was walking a tightrope these days. To prepare for the unexpected, he summoned Zhou Lixun.

Shen Xi, seeing Zhou Lixun enter, immediately understood his intention. Her eyes reddened, unable to hide it. Fu Tongwen, fearing Zhou Lixun would notice her fragility, waved him away: “Go, come back in later.”

Zhou Lixun, usually hot-tempered, was unusually compliant today.

He waited outside, turned, and left without a word.

Fu Tongwen took Shen Xi’s hand: “What’s wrong now?”

“Why did you call him?” Shen Xi’s breathing was unsteady.

He sighed: “Being too clever isn’t always good. Third Brother learned that the hard way early on.”

He paused and explained patiently: “My business is vast and complex. Everything must be discussed beforehand—residences, apartments, mines, trading companies, corporations—all require review.”

Seeing her teary eyes, he dared not continue. Softly, he said, “Third Brother has delayed you. A fine girl, married to me… remarrying would be troublesome.”

“Fu Tongwen…” she glared at him.

He whispered in her ear: “Enough. Go, bring him in.”

Rationally, Shen Xi knew it was necessary; only he could manage his complex assets properly.

Emotionally, no one could bear it.

Once Zhou Lixun entered the ward, Shen Xi closed the door for them and sat alone on the corridor bench, emptying her mind. She wanted to re-enter later, controlling her emotions, trying not to cry again…

“Mrs. Fu.” The attending physician at this hospital approached, accompanied by a nurse who spoke English.

Shen Xi hurriedly stood.

The doctor spoke, and she anxiously watched the nurse translating, fearing it concerned Fu Tongwen’s condition.

“The doctor asked if you remember the professor he recommended?”

“I… I remember,” Shen Xi replied with a nasal tone. “But I didn’t succeed; I couldn’t even get an appointment.”

The doctor listened carefully to the nurse’s translation.

Anxiety surged. Shen Xi held her breath, waiting for the doctor’s response.

The doctor nodded and had the nurse continue translating.

The nurse spoke quickly, conveying: “This is good news, Mrs. Fu. The best cardiologists in France have contacted us and want to consult on your husband’s case.”

Caught off guard, it was like a curtain opening in darkness.

The light was blinding; she could only cry. Tears fell nonstop, uncontrollable…