從廣州回到上海後，我報名上了英語課，並開始每天早上去長風公園跟人學習吳氏太極拳，每個月交兩塊錢的學費。老師姓吳，不知是否與吳氏太極拳的正式傳人有所淵源。一起練功的有二十來個人，年紀最大的一位已經八十二歲了，依舊很有精神，他曾說自己的手骨折過，是他自己動手接好的。另一位是一退休的老公安，他對我說，看一個人如果想要快速記住長相，必須立刻抓住其面部特徵，比如臉上某個部位長有痦子或雀斑等。
公園裡還有其他鍛煉的人群。我經常看到一個跟我年紀相仿的姑娘，獨自一人來公園練習太極劍。她的動作非常漂亮，長相、身材和氣質都很好，十分吸引人。漸漸地，我和她認識了，她姓L，是一個非常努力上進的姑娘。後來，我們還一起各花了四十二塊錢的報名費，參加了當時在上海比較有名氣的時裝設計裁剪班。那時聽說美國的人工成本貴，一件手工編織的毛衣能值六十美元。準備出國的人除了上外語課，大都在抓緊學習烹飪、裁剪、按摩等各種生存技能。
其間，我還學了幾回美聲唱法。Z老師是一位從部隊文工團轉業到我們學校的老師，她的聲音嘹亮圓潤。第一次是在學校裡幫我練聲，她教我必須用腹部呼吸，唱歌時要把嘴巴豎著張開，像打哈欠那樣，讓氣流往上，把鼻腔打開，這樣頭部都會產生震動與共鳴。後來，她便請我去她家裡練。當時年少不懂事，跟著她學唱歌，我也沒有送過禮或付過學費。後來，我也將小L介紹到這位Z老師家去學習唱歌。
【幾年後，我給小L介紹了一個美國丈夫。對方是西方人，畢業於美國西點軍校，當時也是在東海大學任教的外教，他過去也曾去過中國，交往過一個中國姑娘，但後來沒能成功。
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| 樓梯在照片的右邊 |
我們住的那棟二層的日式公寓樓並不在校園內，去學校需要坐電鐵坐兩站路。公寓樓上下各有三套房間，他住在公寓樓東側露天樓梯上來的第一間套房，我們則住在西側頂端的那套。每套公寓一進門是廚房與餐廳在一起的一大間，鋪著洋式的木地板，一側有浴室廁所；走過這間屋子有一扇拉門，後面有兩間各鋪有六個榻榻米的和式屋子，可以分別作為書房和臥室。樓裡幾乎全都住著東海大學的外教。
當小L抵達日本時，我已經離開了日本。還記得那個我在黃山認識、在留學生食堂裡工作、後來幫我領進留學生舞會從而結識了J的小Z嗎？她後來也去了日本。我在信裡介紹初到日本、無親無友的小L與小Z認識，她們因此成了朋友。小Z後來又通過小L，結識了另一位來自加拿大的西方人外教，而那位外教恰好就住在我也曾居住過的那棟公寓樓的底層。他們最終組建了家庭。這一環扣一環的因果，繞不繞？奇不奇怪？後來由於我自身的生活也陷入不穩定，便與她們都失去了聯繫。那都是後話了。】
回頭接著說1988年。記得那一九八八年的第一天，我做了一個夢。夢見了大地震，海水把一艘大船沖到了家門口。我在惶恐中剛想定睛一看，卻醒了。奇怪的是，從此以後，地動山搖、洪水氾濫的驚天動地場面，便頻繁進入了我的夢境。【順便提一句，我是在1988年7月搭船東渡扶桑的。元旦的那場大船與地震之夢，是否正預示著我接下來的東「渡」？去往一個多地震的島國？】
我讓自己隨時保持忙碌，但我仍然感到孤獨，我非常想念J。J之前的兩次婚姻試探——“Maybe we should get married.”——我當時都沒有回答。我不知道該怎麼去回答這個“Maybe”。J後來也沒有再追問，只是在來信中讓我去打聽辦理涉外婚姻的手續和步驟。
我前往相關部門了解到，辦理結婚他需要出具：三張個人照片、帶有照片和編號那一頁的護照複印件、中國簽證，還必須持有一份由他們美國州政府出具、並經中國領事館或大使館認證的公證書，內容需包括姓名、性別、出生日期、出生地點和婚姻狀況（單身證明）。該公證書的有效期僅為六個月。而我則需要提供由派出所出具的戶籍證明，以及由單位出具的單身證明。1988年的1月30日至2月25日是學校放寒假的時間。我必須抓緊時間辦理，否則在寒假期間是找不到負責人開證明的。記得我找單位領導開具單身證明時，周圍的閒言碎語就傳開了，大都在議論男方的年齡大。J比我大十三歲。結婚證書開具出來大約需要等待十天。
1988年3月，J來到了上海。我們前往民政局辦理了結婚登記手續，並做了婚前體檢。
1988年3月11日，是我正式出嫁的日子。那天大清早，我先去了上海著名的紫羅蘭美髮廳燙了頭髮。幫我做頭髮的年輕師傅是朋友介紹認識的。當他把一個個捲髮筒從我頭上取下來、拿起吹風機準備幫我梳理造型時，我從鏡子裡看到那一縷縷、一捲捲富有彈性的頭髮卷兒掛在前額、鬢邊和耳後兩側的脖子上，已經非常好看了。我便對他說：「師傅，不用吹風了，就讓它這樣一捲卷自然垂蕩下來的樣子，蠻好。」我擔心吹了風難免顯得刻板，反而少了些許自然與飄逸。
那種一圈一圈垂下來的捲髮，是我曾經在西方老電影裡看到過的古典髮式。在那些電影的宮廷舞會場景中，女子們身穿上身緊繃、束腰的奢華禮服和大蓬蓬裙，在舞池裡跳著集體舞，耳鬢兩側垂掛著的縷縷髮卷正是這個樣子。我頭髮的樣式雖然沒有那麼精緻，我當時也不是追求精緻，只是打心底裡喜歡那種蓬鬆、飄逸與富有彈性的自然狀態。
當我出門上「轎」（接親的小汽車）時，四哥和五哥開始在門前燃放雙響爆竹和鞭炮。梧桐樹的疏影裡頓時飛揚起爆竹的碎屑，空氣中彌漫著硝煙的味道。J興奮地舉著照相機「咔咔咔」地拍，拍得街坊鄰居與家人都顯得有些不好意思。六哥和他的朋友則開了兩輛單位裡的小汽車來接送我們。
我們在梅隴鎮酒家舉辦了婚宴。我坐的那輛小車後到，J坐的車先到。他用相機抓拍到了兩個小姪女下車時的情景。小姪女當時有些暈車，下車時整個人還暈暈乎乎的；小侄子坐在副駕駛座上，而我當時還坐在後座上。
那天，我穿了一襲黑絲絨的長裙。裙子的領口邊、袖口邊與腰帶邊，點綴著一圈手工縫製的金片和小珠子。右邊胸口、左前方腰圍下方與裙擺處，有手工縫製的彩色金片與亮珠組合而成的精美花卉圖案。長裙外面，我罩了一件大紅色的全羊毛呢大衣。當我一走進梅隴鎮酒家時，就聽到旁邊有兩個年輕的女服務生用上海話小聲嘀咕：「搿個新娘子哪能穿黑顏色？！」（這個新娘子怎麼穿黑顏色？！）在那個年代，以前好友出嫁時從裡到外穿的都是紅色的，據說什麼紅都行，但必須是紅的。不吉利嗎？頭腦簡單的我當時完全沒有在意，覺得不以為然。
餐廳裡，我們那一桌的旁邊坐著三四個西方人，正等著用餐。看到我們在這裡舉辦婚宴，他們顯得很高興。其中一位女士特意給我們端來了一盤服務生剛剛給他們端上桌的松鼠大黃魚，以此作為賀禮。我們也隨即送給他們喜糖，回了禮。
喜宴結束、送走所有的客人後，我也跟著住進了專家樓。第二天，J就必須趕回日本工作了。我送他去碼頭坐船。我獨自站在碼頭上，等待客輪啟航離開。等了很久很久，新買的高跟鞋把我的腳夾得非常疼。
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| 四哥在2022年拍的匯山碼頭佈局似乎還是老樣子 |
1988年7月16日，我乘坐「鑑真號」客輪去往日本。在上海匯山碼頭登船時，我意外遇到了一位我當年上中專班時的女同學，她恰好也坐這趟船。
她上學時曾是班幹部，比較清高，長得很漂亮，溫文爾雅，也有一米七十頎長的個子，或許比我還要高出一點兒。雖然中專畢業後她也留校在電教所工作，但我們平時並不常往來。我們班裡一共只有八個女生。在我出國前夕，我們其餘七個女生在一同學家聚了聚，她們當時還合送了我一幅孔雀圖案的羊毛掛毯。
客輪上的小賣部入口處，挂著一件標價一萬多日元的毛巾浴衣。我當時看著，暗自慶幸自己隨身帶著的那件全棉毛巾浴衣只花了十四元人民幣。為了防止暈船，多數時間我都在船體中線部位的鋪位上躺著。比起大唐高僧鑑真和尚六次東渡、五次失敗的艱難，我的這趟遠航簡直是一帆風順，一路上連狂風怒濤都沒有遇到，更別說海盜、觸礁或官府追截了。我們是星期六中午十二點出發的，抵達大阪港時，已經是星期一的中午十二點了。
J租了一輛小車，開到大阪港來接我。當晚，我們入住了一家日本典型的民宿。沿途我們還去了一些地方遊玩。記得在開車途中，J轉過頭對我說：「唱首歌吧。」在黃山時他曾聽我哼過一段費加洛的詠嘆調，這時，我居然開口唱的是1987年電影《紅高粱》裡的插曲：
「嘿～～妹妹你大膽地往前走哇，往前走，莫回呀頭！通天的大路九千九百，九千九百九哇！」
估計我那粗獷的歌聲，聽得他心裡直犯嘀咕。我當時也沒跟他解釋這句歌詞的大意。興許，這首歌曲正完完全全表明了我當時的心聲：三十多歲了，獨自一人出國闖蕩，我需要這首歌來鼓勵自己——大膽地往前走。
許多年後的2011年7月，我們闊別了三十年的中專班同學重新取得了聯繫。當年和我一起坐船去日本的那位女同學，特意給我發來了一封電子郵件。她在信中寫道：
「我有個謝意，二十幾年來一直沒有機會表達，今天總算得到了妳的聯繫方法……記得在1988年7月16日，我們倆是一起坐『鑑真號』船離開上海去日本的。抵達大阪港後，妳先生已經在那裡等妳了，我當時羨慕極了……可是接我的人沒有來，我急壞了。我用了五百塊日圓，在港口一個不找錢的電話機上打電話給學校（後來才知道其實只要十塊日圓就可以了）。我當時不知道日本電話的撥打方法，弄來弄去，大約花了三十分鐘才把電話打通。而妳當時沒有馬上和妳先生離開。妳擔心我萬一聯繫不上學校會遇到困難，有妳和妳先生在，也許還可以幫上點忙。妳就一直那樣耐心地等著我跟學校聯絡……時間的流逝沒有帶走我當年的感激心情，那情景牢牢地印在我的記憶裡。在此，請接受我這封遲到了二十三年的謝意！」
收到她的郵件後，我隨後寫了回信。我在信中對她說：「妳的第一封Email使我流淚，這封卻又讓我在夜深人靜中笑出了聲。給我的感覺如今的妳相當謙虛，在我的印象中妳以前真有些公主般的高傲呢；背著相機在校園裡當女記者的矜持、酷酷的形象令人羨慕。
說來奇怪，昨天，也就是妳的第一封Email之前的那個晚上，我做了一個在日本的夢，要去三個地方（夢裡反覆出現過三個地名），記得一個是六本木、一個是我原來住過的地方神奈川的伊勢原，另外一個好像是相模原。我要上一個很陡的高坡去見一個過去的朋友，女的，高挑靚麗，但是錯過了車，沒見著，電話接通了，但又沒聯繫上。
奇怪嗎？我經常做夢的第二天，世間發生的事兒總帶有夢中的信息。前兩天我做了一個有關航天飛機的夢，第二天就從新聞節目中眼看著中國的神八飛船發射。雖然夢裡的是飛船事故，兩個宇航員跳傘，一個掉在了我家的陽台上，我還參與了救護打911（報警電話）。呵呵～有好多問題要問，但得忍著點兒，細水長流，以後再聊。」
後來我了解到，這位同船共濟的班幹部同學，她的奶奶竟然也同樣是旗人。在2015年的郵件中，我還曾跟她開玩笑說：「我想，咱倆還一定是有緣分的。我們註定是要遇上的。你想啊，要是還是大清，咱們倆肯定會碰上。因為躲不過旗人每三年一次選秀的。像妳這樣出挑的，一定會被選上。我也可能被留在宮裡做個真正的繡女。嘻嘻～」
正如我2009年電子筆記裡寫下的那段話：「船到達大阪，看到前來接我的家人，我的搭伴黯然傷感；雖說都是新婚燕爾，可一聚一散將演繹出多少悲歡離合的故事……」那時她隻身一人前來日本，新婚的丈夫被留在了上海。
命運的因果在幾十年間悄然嚙合。那些失散在歷史狂風裡的清高、孤傲、大船之夢與手心戒尺，最終在二十一世紀的電子信箋裡細水長流。大宅門不倒，血脈至今落鎖，我們終究是在文字的世界裡，大膽地往前走，完成了最圓滿的重逢。
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Chronicles of Youth: 1988—The Curls at Violet Salon, Black Velvet Wedding Dress, and "Red Sorghum" Eastward Across the Sea
Upon returning to Shanghai from Guangzhou, I enrolled in English classes and began going to Changfeng Park every morning to study Wu-style Taiqi Quan, paying a tuition fee of two RMB per month. The instructor’s surname was Wu; I remain unaware of whether he shared any lineage with the official masters of the style. Our practice group consisted of roughly twenty individuals; the eldest among us was eighty-two years of age but remained exceptionally spirited, noting that when he once fractured his own arm, he had set the bone back in place himself. Another participant was a retired public security officer. He told me that if one wished to quickly memorize a face, one must immediately seize upon a distinct feature, such as a mole or freckles on a specific part of the countenance.
There were other groups exercising within the park. I frequently observed a young woman near my own age who came to the park alone to practice Taiqi Jian (swordplay). Her movements were exceptionally beautiful, and she possessed fine looks, a good figure, and a refined bearing that drew much attention. Gradually, I became acquainted with her; her surname was L, and she was a highly diligent and aspiring young woman. Later, we each paid a registration fee of forty-two RMB to enroll in a fashion design and tailoring class that was quite well-known in Shanghai at the time. Word circulated then that manual labor was expensive in the United States, and a single hand-knitted sweater could fetch sixty dollars. Those preparing to depart the country, aside from taking foreign language classes, were mostly rushing to acquire practical survival skills such as cooking, tailoring, and massage.
During this period, I also took several lessons in bel canto singing. Master Z was an instructor who had transferred to our institution after being discharged from a military performing arts troupe; her voice was resonant and rounded. During our first session at the school to train my voice, she instructed me that I must utilize abdominal breathing. When singing, the mouth had to be opened vertically, precisely as one does when yawning, directing the airflow upward to open the nasal cavity, which generated vibrations and resonance throughout the head. Later, she invited me to her home to practice. Young and ignorant of the world back then, I studied singing under her without ever offering a gift or paying tuition. Afterward, I introduced Little L to this same instructor’s home to study singing as well.
[Years later, I introduced Little L to an American husband. He was a Westerner who had graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point; at the time, he was also a foreign instructor teaching at Tokai University. He had previously traveled to China and courted a Chinese woman, though that relationship had ultimately failed to realize.
That two-story Japanese-style apartment building where we lived was not located on the campus; reaching the university required riding the electric railway for two stations. The building contained three separate suites on each floor, upstairs and down. He occupied the first suite immediately at the top of the exterior open-air staircase on the eastern side of the building, while we resided in the westernmost suite at the far end. Upon entering each apartment, one found a large room combining the kitchen and dining area, with a bathroom and toilet situated along one side. Passing through this room led to a sliding door, behind which lay two Japanese-style rooms, each floored with six tatami mats, which could serve as a study and a bedroom. Virtually all the residents within the building were foreign instructors teaching at Tokai University.
By the time Little L arrived in Japan, I had already departed the country. Do you recall Little Z, whom I had met at Mount Huang, who worked in the international student cafeteria and later brought me into the foreign students' dance where I met J? She had relocated to Japan as well. Through my letters, I introduced Little L—who was newly arrived in Japan without a single friend or relative—to Little Z, and they became close friends. Little Z subsequently utilized her connection with Little L to meet another Western foreign instructor from Canada, who happened to reside on the ground floor of the very same teaching dormitory building where I had once lived. They ultimately established a family together. Is this causal chain not remarkably winding and peculiar? Later, as my own circumstances grew unstable, I lost contact with both of them. But that is an afterthought.]
Returning to the timeline of 1988: I remember that very first day of 1988. I experienced a dream of a massive earthquake, where the ocean waters crashed a gargantuan ship straight to our front door. Terrified, I focused my eyes only to realize it was a dream. Peculiarly, from that moment forward, cataclysmic scenes of shifting earth, shaking mountains, and raging floods frequently invaded my dreamscapes. [I might mention that on July 16, 1988, I boarded a vessel to cross the sea eastward to Japan. Did that New Year’s dream of a massive ship and an earthquake precisely foretell my subsequent eastward "crossing" to an island nation prone to earthquakes?]
I kept myself continuously busy, yet I remained consumed by loneliness, missing J intensely. Regarding J’s two prior marriage probings—"Maybe we should get married"—I had offered no answer at the time. I simply did not know how to respond to that "Maybe." J did not pursue the question further afterward, but merely instructed me in his letters to inquire about the procedures and steps for registering an international marriage.
Upon inquiring with the relevant authorities, I learned that for the marriage registration, he needed to produce three personal photographs, a photocopy of the passport page bearing his photograph and number, a Chinese visa, and a certificate of notary public issued by his state government in the United States and authenticated by the Chinese consulate or embassy. This document had to verify his name, gender, date of birth, place of birth, and marital status (a certificate of singleness), and its validity was strictly limited to six months. For my part, I was required to provide a household registration certificate issued by the local police station and a certificate of single status issued by my work unit. The school’s winter break ran from January 30 to February 25. I had to rush to complete these matters, as it would be impossible to find the responsible officials once the vacation commenced. I recall that when I approached the unit leadership to obtain the single status certificate, idle gossip began to circulate immediately, mostly murmuring about the groom’s advanced age. J was thirteen years senior to me. The marriage certificate itself required a waiting period of roughly ten days to be issued.
In March 1988, J arrived in Shanghai. We proceeded to the civil affairs bureau to complete the marriage registration procedures and underwent the pre-marital medical examination.
March 11, 1988, was the day of my official marriage. Early that morning, I went to the famous Violet Hair Salon in Shanghai to have my hair permed. The young stylist who worked on my hair had been introduced to me by a friend. When he removed the rollers from my head one by one and picked up the blow dryer to style it, I looked into the mirror and saw those bouncy curls hanging gracefully across my forehead, temples, and behind my ears on both sides of my neck. It already looked exceptionally fine. I turned to him and said, "Master, there is no need to blow-dry it. The way it hangs naturally in these curls is quite good." I worried that utilizing the dryer would inevitably make it look rigid, robbing it of its natural, flowing grace.
Those curls hanging down row after row represented a classical western hairstyle I had observed in old foreign cinema. In the court ball scenes of those films, women dressed in lavish, corseted gowns with tight bodices and billowing hoop skirts performed formation dances across the ballroom, their hair styled precisely in that fashion. My own hair was by no means that meticulously refined, nor was I seeking refinement at that moment; I simply loved the voluminous, flowing, and bouncy nature of that natural state.
When I stepped out the door to enter the "bridal carriage" (the wedding car), my fourth and fifth brothers began detonating double-bang firecrackers and strings of small firecrackers in front of the gate. Amidst the sparse shadows of the phoenix trees, fragments of the firecrackers flew through the air, and the smell of gunpowder filled the breeze. J excitedly raised his camera, snapping photos with a barrage of clicks, which made the neighbors and family members feel quite self-conscious. My sixth brother and his friend drove two small cars borrowed from their work units to handle our transportation.
We held our wedding banquet at the Meilongzhen Restaurant. The car I occupied arrived later, while the car J rode in reached the venue first. He caught a candid photograph of my two young nieces as they stepped out of the vehicle. My nieces were suffering from car sickness at the moment, stepping onto the pavement thoroughly dazed; my young nephew sat in the front passenger seat, while I remained in the rear.
That day, I wore a long black velvet dress. The borders of the neckline, cuffs, and belt were adorned with a row of hand-sewn gold sequins and tiny beads. Across the right breast, below the left front waistline, and along the hemline were exquisite floral patterns assembled from hand-sewn colored sequins and bright beads. Over the gown, I wore a bright red coat of pure wool cloth. The moment I stepped inside the Meilongzhen Restaurant, I overheard two young female servers murmuring in Shanghainese: "How can this bride wear black?!" In that era, whenever my friends had married, they wore red from the inside out; it was said that any shade of red would suffice, but it absolutely had to be red.
Was it a harbiner of ill fortune? Simple-minded as I was, I paid it no heed at the time, remaining entirely indifferent.
Inside the dining room, a group of three or four Westerners sat at the table adjacent to ours, waiting for their meal. Upon seeing us hosting our wedding banquet there, they appeared highly delighted. One of the ladies personally carried over a platter of Squirrel-Shaped Mandarin Fish that the server had just set upon their table, presenting it to us as a wedding gift. We immediately returned the gesture by presenting them with wedding candies.
After the banquet concluded and all the guests had been sent away, I moved into the Foreign Experts Building alongside him. The following day, J had to rush back to Japan for work. I accompanied him to the wharf to see him off onto the passenger ship. I stood alone upon the pier, waiting a very long time for the steamer to depart. My newly purchased high-heeled shoes pinched my feet terribly.
On July 16, 1988, I boarded the Jianzhen passenger liner to travel to Japan. While boarding at the Shanghai Huishan Wharf, I unexpectedly encountered a female classmate from my technical certificate program who happened to be taking the same voyage.
During our school years, she had served as a class monitor and possessed a somewhat aloof reserve; she was remarkably beautiful, gentle, and elegant, standing with a slender, tall stature of 1.7 meters, perhaps even a bit taller than myself. Although she was also assigned to remain at the school to work within the Audio-Visual Education Institute after graduation, we did not associate frequently in our daily lives. There were only eight female students in our entire class. On the eve of my departure from the country, seven of us gathered together for a farewell, and they presented me with a wool tapestry featuring a peacock pattern as a joint gift.
Near the entrance of the ship’s small commissary hung a terrycloth bathrobe priced at over ten thousand yen. Looking at it, I secretly rejoiced that the pure cotton terrycloth robe I carried with me had cost merely fourteen RMB. To prevent seasickness, I spent the majority of the voyage lying down in a berth located along the ship’s centerline. Compared to the hardships of the Great Tang monk Jianzhen, who crossed the sea six times and failed five times, my long voyage was entirely smooth sailing; we encountered not a single gale or wild wave along the way, to say nothing of pirates, running aground, or pursuit by government officials. We departed at twelve noon on Saturday, and by the time we reached the Port of Osaka, it was twelve noon on Monday.
J had rented an automobile and drove to the Port of Osaka to receive me. That evening, we stayed at a typical Japanese minshuku (guesthouse). Along our route, we visited several locations. I recall that while he was driving, J turned his head toward me and said, "Sing a song." At Mount Huang, he had heard me humming a segment of an aria from The Marriage of Figaro; this time, I opened my mouth and sang loudly the theme from the 1987 film Red Sorghum:
"Hey, sister, stride boldly forward! Forward you go, never turn your head! The road to heaven has nine thousand, nine hundred, nine hundred and ninety-nine…"
I suppose my coarse singing voice left his mind thoroughly bewildered. I offered no explanation of the lyrics' meaning to him at the time. In truth, that song precisely articulated my innermost voice back then: entering my thirties, venturing abroad alone, I required that very song to encourage myself—to stride boldly forward.
Many years later, in July 2011, our technical program classmates reestablished contact after thirty years of absence. The woman who had taken the ship to Japan alongside me sent an email. In her letter, she wrote:
"I possess a debt of gratitude that I have lacked an opportunity to express for over twenty years, and today I have finally obtained your contact details... I remember that on July 16, 1988, the two of us boarded the Jianzhen together to leave Shanghai for Japan. Upon arriving at the Port of Osaka, your husband was already there waiting for you, and I was filled with envy... However, the person who was supposed to receive me failed to arrive, and I panicked. I used a 500-yen coin in a non-changing public telephone at the port to call the school (only later did I learn it actually required a mere 10 yen). I didn't know how to use a Japanese telephone back then, and after fumbling about, it took roughly thirty minutes to finally get through. Yet you did not depart immediately with your husband. You worried that if I failed to contact the school, I would face difficulties, and reasoned that with you and your husband present, perhaps you could offer some assistance. You remained there, waiting patiently until I completed my contact with the school... The passage of time has not carried away my gratitude from that day; that scene remains firmly stamped within my memory. Please accept this expression of gratitude, twenty-three years late!"
Upon receiving her message, I penned a reply, stating to her:
"Your first email brought tears to my eyes, but this one made me laugh aloud in the dead of night. It feels to me that you are remarkably modest now; in my memory, you used to possess a touch of princess-like haughtiness. Your reserved, cool demeanor as a female journalist walking the campus with a camera slung over your shoulder was thoroughly enviable.
Strangely enough, yesterday—the very evening prior to your first email arriving—I experienced a dream set in Japan. I was trying to reach three specific locations that surfaced repeatedly in the dream: one was Roppongi, another was Isehara in Kanagawa where I once resided, and the third seemed to be Sagamihara. I was attempting to ascend a very steep slope to meet a friend from the past—a woman, tall and beautiful—but I missed the vehicle and failed to see her. The telephone call went through, yet we never established a connection.
Is it not peculiar? Frequently, the day following my dreams, events unfolding in the physical world bear the exact information from those visions. A couple of days ago, I dreamed of a space shuttle, and the very next day, I watched the broadcast of China’s Shenzhou-8 spacecraft launch. Though in the dream it was a shuttle accident with two astronauts parachuting down, one landing upon our balcony, and myself assisting in the rescue and dialing 911. I have countless questions to ask you, but I must restrain myself; let our words flow like a steady, gentle stream, and we shall converse more in the days ahead."
I subsequently discovered that her grandmother, too, was of Manchu banner lineage. In an email correspondence from 2015, I joked with her: "I believe there must be a destined connection between the two of us; we were bound to cross paths. Consider it—had the Great Qing Dynasty endured, we would have certainly met. There would be no evading the imperial draft for banner girls held every three years. With your exceptional appearance, you would have undoubtedly been selected. As for me, I might have been retained within the palace to serve as a genuine embroiderer."
It perfectly aligns with the entry I recorded within my digital journal back in 2009: "When the vessel reached Osaka and she saw my family member arriving to receive me, my traveling companion was consumed by a profound, silent sorrow. Though both of us were newlyweds embarking on fresh marriages, this single moment of crossing paths—one being received while the other was left waiting—was destined to play out countless narratives of joy, sorrow, parting, and reunion..." At that time, she had journeyed to Japan entirely alone, her newlywed husband left behind in Shanghai.
The causal gears of destiny meshed quietly across the decades. The haughtiness, the tall statures, the New Year's dreams of massive vessels, and the hand-carved brass rulers scattered by the historical gales finally reunited within the text of these electronic letters, flowing like a gentle, endless stream. With the ancestral foundations remaining unyielding and our lineages firmly anchored, we continue, after all, to stride boldly forward through the realm of words, achieving the ultimate, flawless reunion.
特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第三百八十八篇
