Chapter 17: Med-Ferry Acquisition (Part 8)

Chapter 17: The Med-Ferry Acquisition (VIII)

After getting a good night's rest, Jing Hong woke up early the next morning and suddenly got the urge to explore the historic town he'd never visited before.

Jing Hong didn't bring his assistants along; he slipped out of the hotel alone.

He'd brought four or five people with him for the World Internet Conference, but the town was actually quite large. The tourist area was split into the West and East Scenic Areas, and it'd take at least a few hours to see it all. However, they were flying back to Beijing that evening, and the conference's official events kicked off at nine a.m. So Jing Hong didn't tell any of his assistants and left the hotel just after five, since he was usually up around that time anyway.

He'd get up around five, work out, shower, grab a light breakfast, and head to the office to tackle work. He usually got no more than six hours of sleep, sometimes as little as four or even less.

Jing Hong wasn't in a shirt and suit. Instead, he had on a loose cream sweater and jeans, which made him look a good deal younger.

They'd stayed in the West Scenic Area the night before—that area's all business hotels.

Jing Hong walked to the river, got on a black-awning boat, and sat quietly waiting for the sunrise.

The boat was hand-rowed, and ripples fanned out on both sides. The oars hit the water with a crisp sound, like plucking at the bubbles deep in your heart.

After a bit, the sun started to come up.

The trees were all bathed in golden light, like golden folding screens. The white walls of the riverside houses were also washed in warm tones. A golden-red sun hung in the sky, with another in the water, drifting and swaying, shimmering with golden ripples and trailing a long tail. Between the two suns was an old white arched bridge, where a few young women in cheongsams were snapping photos.

It really was beautiful.

The boatman kept rowing, planning to take a full loop around the town.

Jing Hong soaked in the scenery.

It was too early—the whole town was still asleep, every shop shuttered. The West Scenic Area was made up of twelve small islands linked by over seventy bridges. Each little islet was dotted with green-tiled roofs and white walls, with lush trees adding splashes of color—it reminded Jing Hong of Venice.

Some things were the same, but a lot was different.

As the boat glided along, it started to drizzle again—a fine, misty rain, nothing like Beijing's dirty, messy downpours.

Good thing Jing Hong had brought an umbrella.

When the boat got back to where it started, Jing Hong stepped off with his umbrella, feeling pretty relaxed. The umbrella was from the hotel—black, with a long handle and a wooden J-shaped grip that wasn't perfectly smooth but felt good in the hand.

Jing Hong did a quick tour of a few spots in the West Scenic Area and, following online recommendations, climbed the White Lotus Pagoda at the White Lotus Temple.

It was a great vantage point. From the top, the Grand Canal swept past the edge of the West Scenic Area—vast, weathered, and untamed. This was the only Jiangnan water town on the entire Grand Canal.

Jing Hong pictured the canal's bustling scenes from centuries ago.

Dug in the Spring and Autumn period, completed in the Sui Dynasty, and flourishing in the Tang and Song—this canal, this town, even this land, had gone from prosperity to decline and back again. Millennia had passed.

A few meters away, Zhou Chang stepped onto the White Lotus Pagoda and immediately spotted someone from behind.

He didn't know why, but he recognized the person at a glance—it was Jing Hong.

For reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on, Zhou Chang didn't approach. Instead, he quietly watched Jing Hong's silhouette as he leaned on the railing.

At the top of the pagoda, in the fine drizzle, Jing Hong held an umbrella. The ribs slanted against his shoulder, the canopy perfectly covering his head. Below was the Grand Canal, which had been flowing for 2,500 years, along with a sea of dragon-shaped flowers, misty waters, green tiles, white walls—the quintessential Jiangnan water town. And close by, Jing Hong stood twirling his umbrella in front of him. A few seconds later, another twirl, and then another, sending sparkling droplets scattering. Under the umbrella, Jing Hong wore a white sweater, quite a change from his usual look.

Zhou Chang thought: Maybe that thing about the hair whorl was actually true.

He hesitated, decided not to disturb Jing Hong's view, and turned to head back down.

Jing Hong stood on the pagoda for a while, realized it was getting late, and headed down too, making his way toward the East Scenic Area.

... ...

He soon reached the East Scenic Area, walking along the bluestone slabs. Since he wanted to enjoy the scenery along the way, Jing Hong didn't hold his umbrella low. Every now and then, a sudden Jiangnan breeze would sweep in, carrying fine rain against him—cool, but pleasant.

On both sides were covered bridges, waterside pavilions, taverns, teahouses, dye houses, and sauce gardens—everywhere you looked was a picture.

Each door seemed to open onto a slice of sealed history, where people, just as they did today, worked or flirted.

After visiting a few places, Jing Hong spotted a covered bridge.

It had a roof but was split into two parallel walkways, separated by carved wooden screens with intricate latticework.

There were a few tourists around by now. Jing Hong casually asked, "Is this the Fengyuan Twin Bridge?"

"Yes!" A local who didn't recognize Jing Hong replied, "This is the Fengyuan Twin Bridge!"

Jing Hong had read about it the night before.

According to legend, taking the left bridge brought promotion, and the right bridge brought wealth—prosperity from both sides.

But Jing Hong found the logic flawed.

A person could only walk one side. This clearly meant that one couldn't have it all—don't be greedy.

He could guess that no matter what the Fengyuan Twin Bridge originally meant, by now the legend had been reduced to: "If a couple walks across separately and reunites at the end, they'll stay together forever."

Jing Hong had no lover, and his career had already peaked, as had his wealth. Asking for more would only annoy the gods. So he casually stepped onto the left bridge.

The bridge wasn't long. When he reached the middle, Jing Hong paused to gaze at the drooping willows and the winding waterside pavilions, then continued on.

As he walked, Jing Hong turned his neck and glanced at the other bridge across the wooden partition.

Through the latticework of the carved window, he saw Zhou Chang.

Zhou Chang was also holding a black umbrella, wearing a gray sweater. As if sensing Jing Hong's gaze, he looked back through the lattice.

Tall and imposing, with handsome features and a commanding presence.

For a moment, neither of them stopped walking or averted their eyes. The partition between them intermittently blocked their view, then revealed it again.

The other's face wasn't fully visible, framed by the elegant, classical carvings.

But Jing Hong noticed that even with the ornate wooden carvings before him, Zhou Chang wasn't overshadowed in the slightest. In fact, his aura, paired with the classical wooden lattice, gained an extra layer of charm.

In the misty Jiangnan rain, all emotions seemed to soften. Jing Hong gave a slight nod, and Zhou Chang, seeing it, returned a subtle nod of his own.

It counted as a greeting.

Though it seemed oddly fitting on the Fengyuan Twin Bridge.

Their previous encounters had always been at internet-related events.

After finishing the East Scenic Area, there was still some time left.

His assistants were already up, and Jing Hong told them he'd already had breakfast and would meet them in his hotel room at 8:45. The assistants were happy to have the free time.

Jing Hong didn't head straight back. Estimating the time needed to return to the hotel and change, he wandered a bit more around the West Scenic Area.

As he walked, Jing Hong spotted a large, modern building by the water that he hadn't seen online. Curious, he approached and saw it was the "Muxin Art Museum."

Jing Hong didn’t know much about art—he only had a vague idea that Mu Xin was some famous painter. But since he had nothing better to do, he figured he’d step inside.

The sign at the entrance said that in his final delirium, the elderly man had envisioned the design of the art museum, leaving only seven words of commentary: “Wind, water, a bridge.”

Jing Hong mulled over these words and began this spur-of-the-moment walk-through.

First came the life story exhibit, divided into four sections by time periods: from 1927 to 1943 in this small town, where his childhood was comfortable at first but later marked by several relocations amid the flames of war. In 1945, he went to Shanghai to study painting, got expelled for opposing the civil war, was put on the Kuomintang’s wanted list, fled to Taiwan, and only made it back to Shanghai just before 1949. Then came jobs, hiding away, painting, then more jobs just to get by... In 1971, he was imprisoned, all his paintings were burned, he suffered broken fingers, and he wrote the long “Notes from Prison.” The first thing he did after getting out was help renovate the Great Hall of the People. In 1982, he went to New York to continue his studies, always strapped for cash. During this time, he returned to his old family home, which he had been away from for 52 years, only to find it completely unrecognizable. Heartbroken, he wrote a poem ending with “Farewell—I won’t be coming back.” Later, the town’s leaders restored his ancestral home and invited him back. So in 2006, at 79, he accepted and returned, spending his last years in the Sun Family Garden he remembered from childhood, until he passed away in 2011.

What a life.

Next came the painting hall and the literature hall.

Jing Hong didn’t get it, but he had decent taste after all. Looking at those ink landscapes, he found himself getting a little lost in them.

He stopped for a long time in front of one display, taking in the paintings one by one.

Not far away, a young woman and her mother were chatting as they looked around.

The young woman seemed quite knowledgeable and said to her mother, “Mu Xin was actually a painter, but these days, what he’s most famous for isn’t his paintings or his life story—it’s a poem.”

Her mother, a Jiangnan native, spoke in a soft dialect and asked, “Oh? Which poem?”

The young woman switched into a lilting Wu dialect as well and said, “It’s called ‘Slowly in the Past,’ because it was made into a song.”

So her mother continued to ask, “Then what does this poem say?”

“Let me find it,” the young woman said, seemingly searching on her phone. After a moment, her lovely Wu dialect sounded again in the painting hall:

“I remember in early youth, everyone was sincere, one word, one word—”

Her mother listened, and Jing Hong listened casually as well.

The young woman continued reciting: “The sun in the past grew slow, carriages, horses, and mail were all slow, a lifetime is only enough to love one person—”

For some reason, upon hearing this line, Jing Hong suddenly felt something strange. He froze mid-glance, looked over his shoulder, and turned behind him.

And then he discovered that behind him, under the wall across from him, Zhou Chang had also just turned around to look in his direction.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them had known the other was there, yet inexplicably, amidst the Jiangnan drizzle outside and the freehand landscapes inside, upon hearing the line “a lifetime is only enough to love one person,” they both turned back at the same moment.