Set at a pivotal point after the turmoil of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, Liu Xinwu’s tale weaves together a rich tapestry of characters, intertwined lives, and stories within stories.
An Excerpt from The Wedding Party, by Liu Xinwu, translated by Jeremy Tiang (Amazon Crossing, Nov 16, 2021)
To many adults, the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution feels like it happened just yesterday. Ten years of turmoil put a sudden stop to many developments that had been well underway. When the chaos was over and people tried to pick up the threads of the past as they righted themselves, they had no choice but to treat the last decade as a blank, as if time had frozen in the summer of 1966 and thawed in the fall of ’76. For the last few years, newspapers have been referring to writers in their late thirties, or even those pushing fifty, as “young authors.” Most people, including the writers themselves, feel they deserve to have ten years deducted from their actual age.
But what about those born just as the Cultural Revolution was kicking off? Aged sixteen in 1982, they’ve lived through infancy, childhood, and their teenage years, and are now about to enter young adulthood. They’ve been quietly growing up.
One of them is now walking north along Drum Tower Street.
His name is Yao Xiangdong—“Xiangdong” as in “facing Dong,” meaning Mao Zedong. Many people his age have “Dong” in their names: “defending Dong,” “establishing Dong,” “praising Dong,” and so on. (Names referencing more controversial individuals, such as Weibiao—“protecting Lin Biao”—or Xueqing—“learning from Jiang Qing”—were swiftly changed after their namesakes’ fall from grace.) In kindergarten, their minders sang lullabies about “defeating turncoats, traitors, and thieves of work.” Toward the end of elementary school, their teachers told the story of Grandpa Liu Shaoqi’s great achievements. During the time of “open-door schools,” they took part in activities to “further the journey of Socialism and block the road of capitalism,” and the teachers raised their awareness by screening the Maoist film Pine Ridge and calling a session afterward for them to denounce the character Qian Guang’s selfish, corrupt behavior. When they were about to graduate from middle school, the national obsession with grades was at its height, and in order to help get them into a good high school, the teachers worked on their writing abilities by screening Dawn of New Hopes and getting them to write critiques of the extreme leftists violently trampling the reasonable hopes of country folk. Society told them love and money were shameful, but now love is everywhere, and households with more than ten thousand yuan are lauded, sending a signal that having more money is glorious. At this young age, having barely experienced anything, central nervous systems still not fully developed, they had to deal with these enormous, constant dramatic reversals. What psychiatric problems and mindsets did they develop as a result?
Anyway, Yao Xiangdong is idly walking north along the street, hands in the pockets of his pale-yellow padded windbreaker.
He’s just been kicked out of his home. The reason? That pale-yellow windbreaker.
Yao Xiangdong’s father is a former army man; in the late 1960s, he switched to being a security guard at a district-level government department. He’s always been very strict with Xiangdong. Ever since Xiangdong was four or five, his father’s been filling his brain with the notion that he should join the army as soon as he’s old enough. Xiangdong’s mother is a typist and naturally also hopes her son will grow up quick and become a soldier. When he was a kid, she sewed him a little uniform in army green, complete with red trim on the collar, and of course a tiny soldier’s cap adorned with an authentic five-pointed red star—his dad asked an old army buddy to take it off his own cap. Until he was ten or so, Xiangdong’s heart brimmed with a sense of superiority, pride, and confidence. “My dad was in the People’s Liberation Army, and I’m going to join up when I’m grown! My dad has so many old army buddies. If I live to be grown, he just needs to say a word to them, and I can enlist!”
When Xiangdong was in first grade, he was on his way home from school when he saw a ruffian stealing someone’s hat. A high school student was walking down the sidewalk when out of nowhere a guy on a bicycle sped past, reached out, and grabbed his army-green cap. The high-schooler yelled after him, but the guy turned into an alleyway and was gone. This exhilarating scene left Xiangdong feeling the hat thief was very cool and made him treasure army-green objects even more.
When he was in fourth grade, society began changing all around him. Street thugs no longer stole army-green caps, and high school students gradually abandoned the fashion of dressing in army uniforms or caps. At some point, everyone had started wearing blue: blue shirts, blue trousers, and snow-white sports shoes—the very definition of stylish. In the winter, there was a fad for leather jackets—or “pleather,” if they couldn’t get hold of the real thing—and round woolen hats with ear flaps. Ruffians started stealing these woolen hats. The next winter, wool was out and shearling hats were in, so of course the thieves switched targets yet again. Fashions kept evolving, and now, the winter of 1982, windbreakers are the latest thing. No one aspires to join the army anymore. Anyone whose grades aren’t completely hopeless wants to go to college. Those like Xiangdong, who didn’t get into a key high school after he failed to get into a key middle school, those whose grades are going from bad to worse, are clearly not going to get into college, but they no longer dream of being soldiers either. They end up sitting at home waiting to get a job, their minds in a fog, with nothing to hold on to.
Xiangdong’s parents haven’t relaxed their strict discipline. His father despairs of the boy’s poor grades and frequently rages at him, or worse, takes off a slipper and whacks Xiangdong. Inevitably, it takes his mom weeping, screaming, and holding him back before he’ll stop. This lesson never takes hold, partly because he’s teaching it all wrong, and partly because he doesn’t understand this swiftly changing society himself, nor can he cope with it. He has a bellyful of torments and anxieties, which makes him say strange things in front of his son, although his son isn’t allowed to talk back. When his son asks a question he can’t answer, he takes his rage and confusion out on the boy. The theories he’s spouting to his son have grown more and more abstract and out of date. That’s the main reason Xiangdong is becoming harder to raise. He’s learned to be a phony and only shows his parents what they want to see.
Although Xiangdong is not at a so-called key school, his teachers still work fairly hard. On one hand, they put a great deal of energy into supporting the few students who’re actually interested in learning, helping them navigate the choppy seas of academe to surpass all expectations and get into college, thus vindicating themselves and bringing glory to the school, which may then be able to get coveted “key” status if it’s able to produce enough such success stories. On the other hand, they try to keep “backward” students such as Xiangdong under control, so they don’t cause too much disruption during school hours or get arrested after class. Education has never been a panacea, though, and perhaps these educators are a little too harsh in disciplining Xiangdong. He’s learned to lie to them too.
Today, just before lunch, Xiangdong’s mom noticed her son’s windbreaker wasn’t the acrylic one she’d bought him, but a padded cotton one—though the color and style were similar. “Where did you get that?” she asked.
“Swapped with a classmate,” he said nonchalantly.
“How could you do that?” she lectured. “That’s padded cotton, it must have cost half as much again as yours. If you ruin it, how will you pay your friend back? Isn’t your acrylic one just as warm? Why do you need to be so fashionable?”
Xiangdong’s father happened to walk into the room just then. Overhearing, he glanced at the windbreaker and flew into a rage. Xiangdong had already owned a padded jacket, made out of his father’s old army coat. After wearing this over his blue duds for a while, he began clamoring for a new one. “Who’s still wearing ragged old jackets like this?” he’d wheedled. “All my classmates have windbreakers!” His father had held his temper. It’s certainly true that kids go around in windbreakers these days—it seems their parents have money to burn. Some even buy their children genuine leather coats. The Yaos are probably among the poorest of the parents—they both work for meager wages with no side jobs, and send their parents money each month. Xiangdong’s elder sister graduated from teaching college and now works at a kindergarten. She isn’t a Party member yet, so she only earns enough to support herself. Given their financial situation, when Xiangdong pestered his parents for a windbreaker, the best his mom could manage was an acrylic one. Rather than being content with that, he’s now somehow managed to acquire a classmate’s more expensive garment. Will he never be satisfied?
Seeing his useless son slouching around in a borrowed windbreaker, Xiangdong’s father hollered, “You shameless boy! Take that off at once!”
His mom hurried over and tried to soothe her husband. “Your blood pressure! No need to get worked up, let’s talk this over, nice and calm.” Then, to Xiangdong, “Tell your father you know what you did was wrong. After lunch, go find your friend and swap back. You hear me?”
Feeling like he had his mom’s protection, Xiangdong sat fearlessly at the table and said, “What’s the big deal? All we did was swap clothes.” With that, he picked up his chopsticks.
This enraged his dad beyond measure. Stamping his foot, he declared, “Don’t touch that food! This house has no room for someone like you. Get out of here right now!”
Xiangdong stood, shrugged, and walked out the door, ignoring his parents’ screams.
He wandered eastward to the Shicha Seas and squeezed into a crowded pavilion—a few local residents often gather here to sing Beijing opera. Naturally, Xiangdong isn’t actually interested in opera, he just enjoys making fun of how stupid the musicians and performers look. Next, he went to the Front Sea, currently frozen over, and menacingly “borrowed” a pair of ice skates from another guy his age. After some skating, he suddenly felt ferociously hungry, and that’s how he ended up on the wide avenue leading to the Drum Tower.
About the Author
Liu Xinwu was born on June 4, 1942, in Chengdu, Sichuan Province, China, and has lived in Beijing since 1950. His short story “The Class Teacher” appeared in People’s Literature magazine in November 1977 and is regarded as the first instance of China’s “scar literature” genre. Liu’s other stories include “I Love Every Green Leaf,” “Black Walls,” “White Teeth,” and “The Wish.” His novellas include Overpass and Little Dunzi. The Wedding Party, was the winner of the Mao Dun Literature Prize.
About the Translator
Jeremy Tiang has translated novels by Yan Ge, Zhang Yueran, Yeng Pway Ngon, Chan Ho-Kei, Li Er, Lo Yi-Chin, and Geling Yan. He also writes and translates plays. His novel State of Emergency won the Singapore Literature Prize in 2018. Tiang is also the author of a short story collection, It Never Rains on National Day. He lives in New York City. Visit is website www.jeremytiang.com.
