Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
For Zhu Jisheng and his “Back to the Old Days,” there wasn’t much difference between the day and the night, since he never had customers. Well, not never—there were a few loyal customers, those young lads that liked new and fascinating things. They knew a little about everything, from Angkor Wat statues to Crete Island’s cave drawings. They were quite knowledgeable and seemed to accidentally on purpose show off the fact that they had no lack of money.
But in actual fact, they never bought anything. Every time they came, they expressed undying love for all the weird objects around them and would say that their wallet was a little tight before they left. They would promise the heaven and earth that they would buy what they liked the next time they came and wanted him to reserve the items for them.
But the next time they came, they had completely forgotten about the promise and picked up other objects, nothing but praises on their tongues, taking nothing but photos. They posted all of them to their WeChat moments, most likely pretending that they were rich people that owned all of these things.
This was like the popular saying online—”The poor people know how to live.” Even if they couldn’t afford it, they knew the best!
He didn’t really mind whether they bought things or not, since they always brought some laughter and conversation to the shop.
They had come today as well, and after a whole afternoon of frolicking, they had finally left with satisfied smiles.
The antique shop had become peaceful again.
He didn’t usually speak much, and every time they came, he felt like he had used up his entire week’s worth of words.
The sun was setting, the alley shrouded in a dull sunset and the tempting smell of the neighbors’ dinner.
“It’s time to eat.”
He talked to himself, turning to the kitchen in the back to cook a small pot of noodles with his tiny pot. He cut up some minced meat in the meantime, beating up two eggs, and put down some daylily, black fungus, mushrooms, garlic, thickening the sauce after passing it through oil. Adding a few more ginger and spring onions after it’s done and a sprinkle of sesame oil, a bowl of aromatic, and extremely authentic Lor Mee was done.
It was pretty hot. He changed into a thinner shirt upstairs and came back down to enjoy the delicious bowl of noodles.
Every time he ate Lor Mee, his life back in the capital seemed to flash right before his eyes. He reminisced, but he didn’t miss it, because he would never return to that life. Even the old city had been drowned by the business of modernization, so there was nothing much left to miss.
He ate slowly, enjoying one bite fully, chewing it to savor ever last drop of flavor before picking up the next bite of noodles.
Something moved behind the divide.
“Come out and play,” he said. “The thing you’re afraid of is gone.”
A white Persian with black markings on its top, back, and tail came out carefully only after nervously checking out the surroundings. It walked out, its bright eyes scanning through the shop and making sure that there was nothing dangerous around.
Looking at it, he couldn’t help but pity it and feel guilty for it.
They passed the harsh winter by escaping to the south, so he’d brought it back to Binhai City. The moment they arrived, it could feel the evil enveloping the city and had warned him against it. Maybe he should have just made the decision to leave this place back then instead of leaving it in so much fear for all these days.
“Come, you should eat too.” He placed a small plate on the floor, beef as thin as cicada wings on it.
He cooked a very small amount of noodles, and it was soon gone even though he ate slowly.
He was only half full, but he had no plans to eat more and stood to clean up.
“Meow.”
The Persian had finished its beef too, and it licked its lips and stared at him. It wasn’t full either and wanted to eat more.
“We don’t have to be completely full. The elders have reminded us, ‘Control our eating and we won’t fall sick. Control our desires and we will live longer.’” He smiled. “I still want to live a few more years. You too, right?”
The Persian was persuaded, and it no longer begged for food, quietly leaping onto the table and lying down on it.
He washed up quickly, wiping his hands dry, and sat at the table. He picked up his phone to look through his unread messages. Even though he’s old, that didn’t mean he wasn’t good with technology. He was amazing at accepting new things, and the many applications he had installed on his phone were a testament to that fact.
It was only after some time that he put down his phone, his face solemn.
There was an old newspaper on the table, and the headline was the article that he had written. Before publishing it, he had read it countless times, mulling over and editing the words to convey his points and tone correctly, but it still wasn’t up to his standards.
“It still sounds really rushed. If we had more time, it would be a lot better, don’t you think?” He sighed, picking up the newspaper and reading the article yet again.
This was a declaration of war, the first horn to signal the assault of the traditional world of literature against internet literature. Predictably, within a few days, they had all gradually posted their responses to it—some of them on traditional media, and some of them on Weibo and their own social medias, quickly trending the topic on several sites.
In these posts, most of them were clear about supporting him with a minority still sitting on the fence, saying words that were ambiguous and unclear—most likely feeling that it was inappropriate to not say anything, yet not wanting to offend anyone. There were some that seemed to reprimand both but still supported him in reality.
But there were also some articles that clearly stated their support for internet literature. He mostly didn’t know these authors. They might’ve just been budding authors from these last few years. But their voices were weak and held no weight in the heirarchical literary world.
“It gets harder and harder to persist in your own dream. I can’t believe I still landed myself in this pool at my age.” He shook his head, the heaviness in his heart pressing on his chest.
He was too rushed in writing the article, and most of what he had written was his impression of internet literature from other people’s words. He knew that he should at least finish reading the stories he was criticizing before writing it so that the article would be even more specific and guiltless.
But as well as eating slow, he read slowly, too. He liked to savor and feel every single word and sentence. But to finish reading the online novels with millions of words at this speed would be impossible. He had even brought up ten different internet novels in his article whose total word count was in the tens of millions.
Reading was just like eating. If you savored something slowly, it would last longer. If you consumed it quickly, you wouldn’t know what it felt or tasted like.
To read and eat slowly—this was an old teaching that one could not disobey.
Even though he had only read a little, he had clearly seen that internet novels were just empty meals, about as nutritious as a cup of instant noodles.
One had to study, one had to know etiquette, and one had to educate their kids.
The kids today would rather read online novels than read ancient texts and learn etiquette. They only consumed instant noodles as their go-to meals. As time passed by, they would definitely grow weaker and weaker due to their lack of nutrition. How could they do better for the country and themselves that way?
So he didn’t think that he was wrong. He was just nervous about the fact that he had only read a little bit.
He looked outside again. The sky had completely darkened. The peak rush hour in the evening had ended, and the already-quiet alley had become even more deserted.
“Alright, it’s time to close up shop and go to sleep.” He put down the newspaper and stood.
To most of the city dwellers, it really was too early to go to sleep. Most people working were only starting on their dinners, and the students had just begun their homework. Many people’s night lives had only just started.
“To rest when night falls, lock up the doors and check personally.”
“To wake when day comes, clean up the house and keep it clean, inside and out.”
To sleep when the night came and wake to study when the first streams of light came in—these were ancient teachings and his habit of many years. Unless more important things demanded his attention, he would never stray from it.
The Persian cat had been lying on the table taking a nap when he was reading the newspapers, but it seemed to suddenly detect something. Its ears twitched, and it stood up, eyes shining as it stared at the darkness past the window.
“What is it?”
He walked to the door and was about to close it before noticing its weird actions. His chest tightened. Could it be that the evil was coming back again?
There was a shadow moving on the opposite wall.
“Don’t be nervous. They’re just strays.”
Under the light from the streetlights, he saw that it was just a few stray cats with differing fur coat patterns.
A scoff seemed to come from the wall.
He scrunched up his brows. “Who? Who is there?”
Right then, the street lights suddenly went out.
And just like a tsunami, the entire street and the alleys beside it were suddenly devoid of light—not just the streets, but the households too.
Something wasn’t right. Streetlights were separately powered using solar power, so why would they go out at the same time?
Suddenly, a powerful hymn started on the edge of the wall.
“Even if the soul is dead, the Qin is still around! The Zhu school of thought may be popular, but it’s actually low in quality!”
“Hundreds of generations follow the Qin’s rules. The ‘Ten Critiques’ is not a good article!”
His face instantly fell at that, his heart feeling as though someone had smashed it with a hammer. He stumbled backwards, his brain humming in shock.
“What… You dare say that the Zhu school of thought is…low in quality? Who are you? I dare you to come out here! You’re just a lowlife hiding in the shadows!” he screamed at the darkness.
The voice in the shadows said, “Hiding? Then what are you? Hiding in the shadows and criticizing others? You’re an expert in the Zhu school of thought. Have you never heard of Zhu Xi’s saying, ‘If you attack someone anonymously due to your hatred, you will be harming your descendants’?”
He could hear the threat in those words, and he could hear that the other was here for his article, “Ten Criticisms of Online Literature.” But he had only told a very small group of friends where he lived, so how did they know?
“You don’t have to threaten me. I have no qualms about my article. Online novels have no nutrition. I, Zhu Jisheng, will right the wrong!” He puffed out his chest, determined. Youths should be reading the classics of Confucianism, learning the teachings of legends, and striving to better the world, to serve the people!”
“Haha, you sure make it sound nice.” The voice in the dark fell. “You are just pained that traditional literature is getting less and less prized, while internet literature is getting more and more popular. You don’t like what the world likes—Who are you to criticize it?”
Just as his anger was about to burst out of his chest, just as his retort was about to spill from his lips, that voice started again.
“Oh, you don’t have to answer.”
He was stunned. Didn’t have to answer what?
That voice was cold, just like the bone-chilling breeze of winter. “I know who you are! You’re just a nobody!”
Even though it was just a normal word, Zhu Jisheng’s heart thumped harshly, his entire chest hurting.
His pupils dilated, his sweat pouring out like rain. The most painful memory he had from tens of years ago was painfully yanked to the forefront again, pressing onto him like a Boeing 707, threatening to crush him into dust anytime.
He felt as though his body had been dunked in a pond in the peak of winter.
He thought he had long since forgotten that memory, but it had always just been repressed in the deepest recesses of his heart. If any part of it were to see the light of day, it would crush all of his dignity and glory.
“Meow!”
The one simple word didn’t just cause him huge trauma. Even his Persian was trembling in fear in the corner, glaring out the window in shock. Even when facing the scariest of evils, it had never been this afraid.
“Seeing that you aren’t too bad at your core, I won’t press you too much. But you’d better be more careful and read internet literature without your prejudice. Don’t step into the same mistakes as your ancestors did! Don’t only think of tradition. Otherwise, the next time we meet, the Zhu school of thought will end with you!”
The voice in the dark went silent after finishing this sentence.
It was only after some time had passed that the streetlights lit up again and electricity returned to the neighborrhood.
There was no one by the walls. All he saw was a few strays sauntering away with a flick of their tails.
He couldn’t support his weak body anymore. His shivering legs gave way, and he ended up with his butt on the floor, his t-shirt soaked with sweat, gasping desperately for air.
“Hey, old man, are you alright?”
After the electricity came back, a neighbor walked past, glancing over by chance and noticing the usually calm and composed old man lying on the floor with his face as white as a sheet. He came in after slight hesitation and didn’t dare touch him. “Do you want me to call you an ambulance?” he asked, worried.
“No… It’s okay…”
He waved his hands weakly. “I… I just tripped after the sudden blackout.”
“Really?” The neighbour observed him. He didn’t look like he’d just fallen, but it was the truth that there had been a blackout.
“Really, please, don’t bother with me. I’m alright. I’ll be better after some rest.” He forced a smile.
Seeing that some color had returned to his face, the neighbor nodded, nagging some more. “If you feel unwell, call an ambulance. Don’t be stubborn! If you’re done resting, get up from the floor. It’s too cold here.”
“I got it. Thank you.”
The neighbor walked out of the door, looking back occasionally to check up on him, when the voice behind him suddenly called, “Mister, right before you came in, did you hear anyone speaking?”
The neighbor pointed at him. “I only heard you talking to yourself in the shop. I was puzzled, so I came over to take a look and saw you lying on the floor.”
He seemed to understand something and asked, “Mister, you only heard me speaking?”
The neighbor nodded, chuckling. “That… Don’t call me ‘Mister.’ It sounds weird.”
“Alright, I got it… Oh, right, I have another question. Sir… Do you read online novels?” he asked.
“Occasionally, but I read the pirated versions.” The neighbor chuckled. “I’ll be going now.”
Peace returned to the shop.
He looked at the streetlight in the alley, laughing at himself. “The world’s so huge, but where can we hide from strays?”
