IT IS IN MAO'S CAVE that the girl learns politics. She learns that Chiang Kai-shek has recently increased the price for Mao's head. It frightens her and at the same time flatters her. She learns that Japan's invasion has deepened and China's provinces have been falling into the enemies' hands one after another. She learns that not long ago one of Chiang's generals, Zhang Xue-liang, initiated a rebellion during which he took Chiang hostage and brought him to the Communists. The Communist Politburo intended to kill him; Mao, however, proposed a negotiation.
It's a good opportunity to show the masses that our benevolence is beyond any personal grudge, Mao says, setting his eyes on pushing the Communist Party toward acceptance as China's major political force. In exchange for his life, Chiang agrees to resist Japan and unite with the Communists.
At home, Mao gains control over the Politburo. He selects his own cabinet members and attacks those who try to adopt the Russian formula over his guerrilla style. Using the Politburo's name he rids himself of his political enemies, the Moscow-trained Wang Ming and Zhang Guotao, by assigning them to remote posts. To his soldiers Mao continues to preach his own interpretation of Marxism and Leninism. His booklet Eight Laws and Three Disciplines is printed on a hand press and distributed to every soldier.
Mao makes laws but he doesn't expect himself to be disciplined by them. In mid-1938, stories of his betrayal of Zi-zhen spread widely. Mao's partners, Zhou En-lai and Zhu De, advise him to put a stop to his affair with the Shanghai actress and go back to his wife.
My lover continues to see me regardless of the pressure. I am a monk without hair-I am the law-he says. Our affair is fueled by the force to break us. Mao is a rebel by nature. In me he finds his role. Nevertheless I know what I am risking. I am nobody in Yenan. I could be removed any time in the name of the revolution.
So I run from the trouble. I move back to the barracks. I don't wait to be "assigned" to a remote post. I have already learned the style of punishment within the Communist Party. I take action before the Politburo seizes me. I must make my lover work for his pleasure. Our love has to be put to the test.
The girl leaves Mao a letter saying that his career and reputation are all that matter to her. The Chairman tries to keep his composure, but gradually his strain shows-he has a hard time performing his job. His feet were burned by the foot-warmer stove and his curtains caught the candle flames. He has been losing his temper in Politburo meetings. His decisions are not sound. He often beats the table with his fists. He complains that documents are too messy and telegrams don't make sense-he is not himself anymore.
She doesn't go back. She wants him to go on. She wants him to see her in every corner, in his tea cup, on his maps and telegrams. Later on he tells her that he saw more. He saw her inside his young general's mosquito net. During those days, his chest swelled. The ache was pushing out everything else that was there.
One night when the wind is strong with furious gusts, my lover drops himself at my door. I tell him that I have made up my mind never to see him again.
Please stop coming, I say.
He is quiet. After a while he asks me to take a walk with him.
I refuse.
He starts walking.
I hesitate, then my feet follow him.
The riverbank path leads them into deep reeds. After a half mile she suddenly pivots, says that she can't go on, that she has to leave. Like a lion to a deer he catches her and picks her up from the ground. She struggles to free herself. He becomes intense. His hands tear at her uniform.
You can't do that! She pushes him. Not anymore!
But she opens herself. Leans over him, lies in his arms. She spreads her legs, weeps and melts in his heat. He caresses her, murmurs, groans and wails madly. She lets her body tell him how much she misses him.
Everyone expects me to be a stone Buddha without desire or feelings, he gasps on top of her. My comrades would like me better if I were a eunuch. But I am a tiger who can't be a vegetarian!
1938. Mao is finally acknowledged by Moscow. In September the Communist Party opens its sixth convention with Mao as the chairman. The Russian advisor shows up and announces the abandonment of Stalin's old friend Wang Ming, Mao's rival and the head of the Party's right-wing group. The advisor pronounces Mao Moscow's new partner.
The news hits my friend Kang Sheng as a surprise-he has been a loyal follower of Wang Ming. They were classmates in Russia. After coming to Yenan Kang Sheng has tried hard to gain Mao's trust, but people haven't forgotten his past. On September 14, in an extended meeting investigating Wang Ming, Kang Sheng's name is repeatedly brought up as Wang's partner in several political crimes. The Politburo is set to have Kang Sheng removed.
The goat-beard man sits in the meeting as if sitting on a carpet of needles.
It is at this moment that Kang Sheng receives a crucial piece of information that turns the danger into a blessing. A telegram from Shanghai is sent by the Party's branch officer Liu Xiao. It is a report of an investigation ordered on Lan Ping during her imprisonment in October 1934. The report states that Lan Ping had denounced Communism and is thus a traitor.
Although she has not caused any harm to the Party, the behavior is serious enough to destroy her chance to marry Mao.
During the contemplation of this telegram, Kang Sheng sees his own future dawning.
Evening dissolves. The cave is filled with smoke. Kang Sheng has been smoking. Lan Ping sits by his desk reading the telegram. Her face is pale.
This is a conspiracy, a setup, she cries. Where is their proof? It's jealousy. They are jealous of my relationship with the Chairman! She gets up but suddenly feels short of breath and she falls heavily back into the chair.
I am not here to discuss whether or not they have proof. I am sure they have. Kang Sheng speaks slowly and looks directly at Lan Ping. The problem is what will happen when the Politburo sees this. You will be suspended-it doesn't matter what the truth is. You will be interrogated and expelled, if lucky, from the Party. If not, shot. The Chairman will be in no position to defend you, neither will I. You know my job. The procedure. You are too big a target.
The sweat begins to seep through the roots of her hair. She wants to argue but her mind has gone blank. She stares at the ceiling and feels her senses paralyzing.
Master Kang, she calls him as if he were still the principal of Zhu-Town Elementary. I love the Chairman more than anything. I beg your help.
Kang Sheng doesn't respond for a long time, then he sighs, expresses his difficulty, describes how he has been attacked at the meetings because of Wang Ming. Only Mao can prove my innocence, he hints.
She grabs the deal. Taking out her handkerchief she wipes her tears. I'll see what I can do about this. I'll talk to the Chairman for you.
She keeps wiping. Her face, neck, shoulders, arms, hands and fingers. And then all over again. I'll say that the boss was Wang Ming. You did what he had ordered, didn't you? It was he who tried to kick Mao out of power. You can produce evidence, can't you? Should I say that you in fact had tried to protect the Chairman? Would it be exaggerating to say that you have suffered a great deal of Wang Ming's resentment?…I am sure I can get a word from the Chairman for you.
Kang Sheng is satisfied. Color returns to his face. Comrade Lan Ping, I promise that I won't let this telegram travel an inch farther.
Peace comes out of war, my lover teaches me. Life is paid for by death. There is no middle ground. There are times when we have to make decisions. Doubt is the substitute word for danger. It is better to clear the way than call out a question when unsure who is approaching. You have a lot to learn from Comrade Kang Sheng.
I am learning. He can appear kind, delicate and even vulnerable, but behind the mask it is the face of death. The truth of a bloodsucker. That's how he earns the position as Mao's chief of security. Mao appreciates his quality and style. Mao says that he and Kang Sheng are in the business of goodness. I sense a peculiar side of my lover's nature. It is his ability to deal with suffering. It is what makes Mao. I am learning. The killers with Confucius's appearances. I am learning. The way one wins China.
These are the two brilliant men in my life. Two men who created who I am and I them.
The pressure from the Politburo continues. The lovers have gone underground. She has stopped going to the Saturday night high-ranking officials' parties. Dancing as a form of exercise and socializing is the new game in town. The wives are pleased with the disappearance of the actress.
But beyond the public eye and at prearranged times, driven by passion, the actress delivers herself to Mao. She lays herself in his bed on stormy nights and chilly dawns. Afterwards, he asks her to sing from their favorite opera, Vermilion Pearl Plant. When she does he becomes lustful again.
Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower
Soothing her love-laden
Like a glowworm golden
In a dell of dew
Scattering unbeholden
Its aerial hue
Soul in secret hour
With wine sweet as love
Which overflows her bower
Before long Mao brings news to the Politburo: Comrade Lan Ping is pregnant. He demands a divorce and a marriage.
Mao's partners shake their heads in unison. You have promised the Party!
Yes, I have. But things change, like the situation of the war. If you can change yourselves to unite with Chiang Kai-shek, why can't you accept my situation with women?…Well, you have pushed me to the limit. Comrade Lan Ping will have no choice but to walk around with her fattening belly to ring her bells. Everyone will know that as Chairman I am imprisoned by my own Party. And that will make all our propaganda a lie. It will be a free advertisement for Chiang Kai-shek-the Communists have no respect for humanity. Chiang Kai-shek will be laughing so hard that his fake teeth will fall out.
Mao goes on. I'm prepared to tell people the truth myself. I am sure they will judge with their own conscience, they will figure out how this Party flatters itself with the emperor's new clothes. They will question. Does anybody care about Mao Tse-tung's personal welfare? Hasn't he worked hard enough? Is he the Party's slave? People will draw their own conclusion and choose whom to follow. By then it will be too late for you to come to your senses-I'll be gone. I will create a new Red Army, a new base where men and women will be free to marry for love, where my children can bear my name, and where the word "liberation" is not a wooden bird!
No one underestimates Mao's capability. All the members of the Politburo clearly remember that it was Mao who saved the Red Army from Chiang Kai-shek's deadly encirclement; it was Mao who turned the devastating exile of the Long March into a journey of victory. After a week of deadlock the men decide to negotiate. The ship can't sail without a helmsman.
Mao is pleased. He promises to place limits on the power of the first lady. Extinguishing his cigarette he says, I am an ordinary Party member. I will unconditionally follow the Politburo's decision.
Rules are drawn up to chain the bride-to-be: she is not allowed to publicize her identity or take part in Mao's business or offer opinions at Mao's pillow. Mao accepts the deal. However, he lets it be known that he would rather not be the one to break the news to Lan Ping. The Party understands.
I walk with Lao Lin, the Party's personal affairs consultant, and my lover, who follows a few steps behind. The afternoon is peaceful and a chatting mood has settled in. We arrive at the riverbank. My lover walks quietly as if contemplating his thoughts. Lao Lin and I have been exchanging words on weather, health and war. Looking toward the sun, which is setting behind the treetrunks, he suggests that we sit in the shade of a tree.
Lao Lin begins by congratulating me. He reports that our marriage application has been approved. I make no reaction. I am waiting for him to drop the bomb. Aren't you pleased? Smiling, he smoothes his bristly beard with long fingers.
I have been preparing myself to fight for my rights, I say frankly.
Lao Lin laughs uneasily.
I glance at my lover, who has been staring at the river.
May I have my marriage certificate? I ask Lao Lin.
Well, I must… You see before I am allowed to do that I must have your promise.
Here it comes. The sound of an explosion. Without looking at me Lao Lin lays down the rules.
The impact shakes my core. The pain bites right in. It is more than I had ever imagined. Amidst the quiet of the riverbank I explode: What does it mean not to publicize my identity? Am I a criminal? Doesn't the Party know that the Chairman has lost his first wife? How do you know that he won't lose me in the war? How many times has Mao's cave been bombed? How many assassination attempts have you recorded? Part of marrying Mao is to risk my life! And I am not trusted by the Politburo, supposedly the people I shall depend on? For Marx's sake, what kind of congratulation is this?
She tries to calm her voice but fails. What does it mean, "Do not take part in his business"? Why don't you simply disapprove of the marriage? Say it out loud! Print out the rules and put them on the wall for the public to view! I didn't come to Yenan to be insulted. There are a lot of young women in Yenan who are politically reliable, who are illiterate and won't take part in Mao Tse-tung's business. Plenty of them! Why don't you-
Lao Lin interrupts her. The Politburo has sent me as its messenger. I don't have anything personal against you. The same would be required of any woman who marries the Chairman. It's for security reasons. The matter has nothing to do with who you are. Comrade Lan Ping, the Party knows that you are a trusted member. The bottom line is that people want to make sure that their leader Mao will perform without interference.
My lover squats on his heels and continues to gaze at the swirling current. He has not said a word and I have no idea what is on his mind. He is in a difficult position, I understand. After all he can't, and won't, separate himself from his title. Should I ask him to prove his love? He is not Tang Nah. He is not a dramatic type. If I challenge him he will tell me to go my own way. He is used to detaching himself from pain. He would get over me. But would I be able to get over him?
She makes sure that she plays it right this time. She asks herself repeatedly, What is it about her that attracts Mao besides her city-bred wrinkle-free face? Does her brain count? She remembers that he once told her that he liked her character and courage. Was it just a line of flattery? Is she fooling herself? What if it is just her beauty? She can be any man's fantasy in this part of China and if she stays with Mao and he wins China… It will be indisputable that she was there, fought with him side by side. She will have earned her right to speak, to take part in his business, even a seat in the Party's convention and maybe the Politburo. Who, by then, will stop her from pillow-talking Mao? To be Madame Mao will be her victory. She will be lower than the man she loves but above the nation.
I can never forget the night when my lover talked to me about the Great Wall. It was after our lovemaking. He wanted to discuss the most exciting project ever built in the history of China. It is not the Great Wall, he said to me. It is the Du-jiang Dike, built ten years before the Great Wall. It was on the plain of Sichuan where drought and flood continually plagued the province. There is no comparison in size, but unlike the wall, the dike has created happiness for thousands of years.
My lover was immersed in his thoughts. His fingers gently fondled my hair. If we say the wall occupies space, the dike occupies time, he continued. The functionality of the Great Wall has long expired while the Du-jiang Dike still holds the life of the province. Because of it, drought and flood are controlled and Sichuan is now known for its harvests. The culture of the Great Wall is like a stiff sculpture, but the culture of the Du-jiang Dike presents the vitality of the universe. The Great Wall acts like an old empress dowager demanding respect while the dike silently provides service like a humble countryside daughter-in-law.
Mao's vision of China is what she expects in a king. She sees what her lover will become to China and its people. If this is not love and respect in its purest form, the girl questions, then what is? How can she not be proud of her passion for Mao?
By the time the next moon rises high the actress from Shanghai shakes hands with Lao Lin. She promises to deliver the letter of acceptance of the rules before the wedding day.
The bride-to-be worries that she has made it too easy for Mao. She is afraid that he won't remember her sacrifice. The sacrifice which she intends to hold and claim for credit in the future. It's her investment. But he has not shown her much affection since Lao Lin departed.
Mao has immersed himself in writing his philosophy of war. He writes for days on end without resting, loses all track of time. When he is finished he calls Little Dragon to send the girl. He makes her feel that she is already in his possession. His hands come for her the moment she enters the door. She hears him mumble, telling her in monologue what he has been writing.
Yes, tell me, tell me everything, she responds.
It's suicidal to display a facade when the enemies are massive in numbers. He begins to unbutton her shirt. We have to learn to take advantage of being small-we are capable of flexibility. If we pull the enemy by the nose and lead their horses into the woods, we can confuse them and pin them down. We bite off their legs and then take off quickly before they can guess our numbers or intention. This was my strategy during the Long March and now I establish it as a rule of war.
I want Mao to know that I am interested in what he is doing and want to be part of it. But I try not to follow his thoughts so I can concentrate on the pleasure. I focus my eyes somewhere else, a penholder on his desk. It is made from the joint of a bamboo pole. It is stuffed with brushes and pens, which point toward the ceiling like bunches of dragon-tongue orchids. I am strangely stimulated.
I've created a myth, he goes on. I have told my generals to be playful with Chiang Kai-shek. To take a bite, then run, and take another bite and run again. The key is not to be reluctant to depart after small victories. It's a problem with our soldiers. It's their hometown. They have a hard time letting go. They hate to quit when collecting the heads of those who murdered their family members. But you must quit in order to win more… Like right now I mustn't go all the way. I must know when to hold my troops back…
I'm no longer amazed that he can make love while sorting out his thoughts. For me, it has become part of our ritual. The moment I detect him losing track of his thoughts my body goes wild.
Was it four times that you crossed back and forth over the Chi River in order to escape Chiang Kai-shek? I ask, teasing him. Did you confuse the enemy?
He is too breathless to answer me.
I heard about your victory in Shanghai, I keep going. You were not known, though-you were an underground myth everybody wanted to unearth. Did I tell you how Chiang Kai-shek's papers described what you looked like? It said that you had teeth six inches long, and a head three feet wide.
He groans and announces his coming.
For the next three weeks he is back to his writing. A Study on the Jiangxi Peasants' Movement. Revolution Chinese Style. On Establishing the Red Army. Afterwards he collapses and goes to sleep like a corpse in a coffin. The girl continues to draft the letter she has promised Lao Lin. She sits by Mao's table and plays with brushes and pens. Her mind is empty. She is bored. She counts characters every few lines. She knows that she has to fill up a page for it to be acceptable.
Fart, fart, and fart, she writes, then erases, then writes again. She takes out a tiny mirror and begins to examine her face. The teeth, nose, eyes and eyebrows. She plays with her hair, combs it into different styles. Stretches her skin with her fingers, making different expressions. She likes her face. The way it is reflected in the mirror. It looks prettier in the mirror than on the screen. She wonders why she didn't look as pretty on camera. Her thoughts skip. She wonders what's happening to Tang Nah and Yu Qiwei. And what they will think when they learn that she is Madame Mao.
The thought brings her delight and makes her go back to the draft. She works until Mao wakes. Her heart beats gaily as she hears him reciting a wake-up poem of the Han dynasty:
The spring woke my hibernation
The sun is on my buttocks hurrying me up
She gets up from her chair to pour him tea. She then goes back to the desk and waits. He comes to her. She shows him the draft. He leans toward the light to read. His hands go under her shirt.
Sounds like a letter of protest, he laughs. She says that she doesn't know how to write otherwise. She is unable to bend herself any lower. He comforts her. You shouldn't go to a monk and ask to borrow a comb-you should be kind with my colleagues' shortcomings. After all they are peasants. As for himself, he appreciates her sacrifice. A letter of promise is only a piece of paper. It is up to us to honor it. The truth is that the letter is only going to be used to clamp the lips of those scorpion-mouthed wives.
She is convinced. Laughing in tears. Holding her hand he revises the draft. I want you to pillow-talk me now. I want you to harvest me. Oh, yes. Right here, sign Sincerely, Lan Ping.
The wedding day. The wind sculpts clouds into the shapes of giant fruits. It is in Mao's new cave-he has moved from Phoenix Hill to the Yang Family Grove. It is a three-room cave located on the side of the mountain, about fifty feet in depth. The back wall is made of stone and the front, of wood. The windows are covered with paper. In front of the cave is a bit of flat ground. There are stone stools and a vegetable patch.
Mao gets up early and works in the garden. Peppers, garlic, tomatoes, yams, beans and squash-all are in good spirits. Mao carries a shoulder pole with two buckets of water on each end. He walks through the narrow paths watering each plant patiently. He tilts his shoulders and lifts the string of the bucket to pour. He looks content and relaxed.
The bride stands in front of the cave and watches her lover. She watches him nibble off the tips of the cotton plants. She remembers that he once told her that his mind worked best when his hands got busy with soil and roots. What is on his mind now? She wonders if he compares her with his ex-wives. You are the girl who carries your own sunshine, he has told her. Your gaiety is my soul's health and Zi-zhen's sadness its poison.
To me, he is a father figure. He is all I have ever wanted in a man. As a father he is wise, loving and formidable. When I asked why he decided to marry me he replied that I have the ability to make a rooster produce eggs. I take the remark as a compliment. I assume that he means that I bring out the best in him. But I am not sure. Sometimes I feel that he is too great for me to understand. His mind is forever unattainable. He is a frightening spectacle. To his comrades, opponents or enemies, he can be intoxicating and terrifying. I love him but fear for myself. In front of him I give up comprehension. I surrender. I long for him to want me, the true me, not the actress. Sometimes I feel that he wants to have my body near but my soul at a distance. He wants to keep the myth of me.
Later on, after many years, I discover that he prefers to live with the counterfeit rather than the human. But as a young woman I am simple and enthusiastic. I don't need to understand everything about this god whose essence is out of my reach. I sleep soundly on the question of the unknown. What's the hurry when I shall have the rest of my life to figure him out? I don't compare myself with Zi-zhen. I am not like Zi-zhen, who preserves herself in the bottle of misery and seals the lid with a wrench. If there is such a bottle in front of me I will smash it. I have a passion for stimulation and challenge. I see my future promising nothing but that.
But why am I having these doubts on my wedding day?
Eight o'clock. The sunshine bursts out of the clouds. After setting up a table outside I go back to the cave to get dressed. I am a little disappointed that Mao has only invited a small group of people. He has turned down my wish to invite a crowd. His reason was that he didn't want to attract Chiang Kai-shek's attention-he doesn't want to be bombed on his wedding day.
I take out the eyebrow pincers. I fix and paint my eyebrows the way I used to in Shanghai. I powder my sunburned skin. There is no dress. I promised Mao to respect the revolutionary fashion, which is to have no fashion. I wear a faded gray uniform and a belt over it.
When I come out, everyone turns toward me and suddenly the men begin to talk about the sky. Its color. A watermelon with a layer of green in the bottom, yellow in the middle and pink-red on the top.
There is a sudden quietness. Mao tries to hide his elation. He says to his bride, Peanuts! The bride begins to serve around a basket of peanuts. The guests ask the groom to offer tips on romance. Mao sits back down and stretches his arms and shoulders. A tornado blew off my hat-how should I put it?-it landed and caught me a golden bird.
Details! the men cry, passing the boss a cigarette. Smiling, Mao inhales deeply. There are really two tips: One, you have to be a dog and ask to borrow a bone. And two, you have to always be aware that you are holding a dangerous pose, like sticking your head over the stove to dry your hair.
She takes a good look at the guests as Mao introduces them one by one. They are his men. Men she needs to impress. If possible, she begins to think, make them her men in the future. She already knows that the possibility exists in Kang Sheng. She can't forget their first conversation. May I find safety under your wing, Comrade Kang Sheng? If under your wing I may find the same, Miss Lan Ping.
She hears Kang Sheng's false laugh. A disgusting sound. He is flattering his boss. They don't really chat, but there is intimacy. A secret code exists between Kang Sheng and Mao. Somehow she feels that she will never be able break the code. A strange pair of friends, she thinks. Mao once jokingly described Kang Sheng as a small temple that produces witch-wind. Kang Sheng knows exactly what Mao wants and offers it to him. It can be to destroy a political rival or arrange a night with a mistress.
She is satisfied with the moment. For that she honors herself. For it is she who has finally earned the role of the leading lady.
A peacock among hens. She smiles.
I speak Mandarin. I slow down to make his friends understand me. I ask about the guests' health, their family members, animals and the crops. I am learning my husband's business. I discover that his heart is not here for the wedding. Actually he has little interest in the ceremony. He uses the time to gather information. On battles, his colleagues, the white territories.
There is a man Kang Sheng brings to my husband. His name is Old Fish. He has the face of a tamed dog with long ears hanging on the sides. His Western suit shines with grease around the belly, collar and elbows. The sewing stitches are visible. It looks like an army of ants. His pockets bulge with notebooks and papers. The man reports on the white territories. The name Liu Shao-qi is constantly repeated. Old Fish praises Liu as a man of great capability who started out as a striker but doesn't fight just to destroy. He negotiates with factory owners and is able to have the workers' conditions met every time.
Comrade Liu Shao-qi is our Party's treasure, my husband comments. It's terribly important that we win over the workers.
There is not the slightest tone of jealousy in Mao's words, but the seed of Liu Shao-qi as a potential rival is planted in his heart right at this moment. No one in China ever imagined that Mao would be capable of mass destruction simply over his jealousy of someone's talent. No one ever understood Mao's fears. Thirty years later, Mao launches the so-called Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution in which millions of lives are lost in order to pave his way.
There is a trick Madame Mao never manages to learn from Mao: not only does he escape criticism for his responsibility in the crime of the century, he also engages his public, even after his death, to defend, worship and bless his goodness.
The record player is on. The piece is "The Night of Fire in the Capital." The record player was a gift from Mao's foreign admirer, Agnes Smedley. The bride goes and turns down the volume. She then walks around trying to join the conversations. She listens and picks moments to insert her remarks. She asks about the Fascists in Europe. She wants to know when Chiang Kai-shek may attack again. She asks, How long will Chiang Kai-shek's supplies last? How much money are the Westerners willing to pour into Chiang Kai-shek's bottomless pit? Isn't it obvious that Chiang Kai-shek is a dog without a spinal cord? Can we get the Western world on our side? Should Mao launch a media campaign to help tell the world that his action counts? What's going on between the Russians and the Japanese? Shouldn't Stalin be convinced by now of Mao's ability to rule China?
She amazes Mao and the guests with her desire to learn. She is twenty-four years old and the fire in her chest is burning high. Her energy works its charm on some, but others find her naive and presumptuous. She is too excited to notice one way or the other. She witnesses the way Mao plays godfather to his army. She sees what she can achieve through the marriage-she is shown the very best example.
He tells the girl a story on the wedding night. A story that inspires him and teaches him the secret of ruling. During the Dynasty of Spring and Autumn a prince bought soldiers. To prevent their escape he brought in a tattoo man. The prince ordered the man to tattoo his name on both cheeks of every soldier. When the job is done the prince felt their loyalty was secured. He took the soldiers to a distant battle. Before the troops traveled far, the soldiers began to disappear. There was no way to trace them-the soldiers had bribed the tattoo man. The tattoos on their cheeks were so thin that they washed off.
It's the mind you ought to tattoo! my lover concludes when finishing the story.
I feel that my mind was tattooed at that moment. Otherwise how can I explain the reason I answer his every call? He instills himself-the voice of a god-in me and his nation.
The Book of Chang itself, she calls him.
By the time the guests leave the couple is exhausted. The floor is covered with peanut shells, sunflower seeds and cigarette butts. Mao doesn't ask his bride's opinion of the guests. He knows she is irritated by their manners. It's obvious that she can't stand it when they spit on the floor, stick their fingers in their mouths to pick out food while talking, and worse, fart shamelessly.
I am a dress made out of a verdict
– every thread is linked to a bloody crime
Mao makes his bride give up cleaning and takes her into the bedroom while singing an old opera aria happily.
Like a drought-land clam
I wouldn't open my mouth…
She is amused and joins his singing.
A mouse is given an assignment
to guard the grain storage
And the goat is put to watch the vegetable garden
– what a pleasurable thing to do…