AOI 23

The Shouhuang Hall complex, where the Children’s Palace was located, dated back to the Ming dynasty and was modelled after the Imperial Ancestral Temple. If one stood atop Jingshan Hill and looked north, one could see, in perfect alignment, Shouhuang Hall, Shouhuang Gate, Di’anmen, and the Drum Tower—forming a perfectly straight central axis of old Beijing.

Led by Feng Xiaoqing, Qiushi ran through the palace gate, which was like a tunnel under a bridge. Inside was an open square where even more children had gathered.

After passing through another gate, Feng Xiaoqing stood at attention and, adopting the grand manner of a Central People’s Broadcasting Station announcer, began introducing each structure one by one: that was the Stele Pavilion, those were the East and West Side Halls, Yanqing Hall, Mianxi Hall, and so on.

These intricately constructed, vividly coloured buildings left the newly arrived Qiushi utterly dazzled—he had no idea what any of them were for.

“See that? That’s Shouhuang Hall!” Feng Xiaoqing pointed to the central building, surrounded by a white marble balustrade, with a yellow glazed cylindrical-tile, double-eaved, octagonal, pointed roof. “That’s where we sing,” she said proudly.

The atmosphere here was completely different from school, and Qiushi felt a surge of overwhelming yearning. He followed Feng Xiaoqing, weaving around the lush, towering ancient trees in the courtyard, running up the high stone steps, stepping over the threshold, and entering Shouhuang Hall together.

The space inside was immense. The vermilion pillars were so thick that one person couldn’t wrap their arms around them. The ceiling was dizzyingly high—when Qiushi craned his neck to look up, he saw a grid of blue-green square panels, each painted with beautiful patterns.

“Sit here,” Feng Xiaoqing pointed to a row of small stools by the door, adding, “Parents sometimes wait here too. No one will chase you out—don’t worry.”

As they spoke, the teacher arrived. She clapped her hands to summon everyone, and the boys and girls rushed over in a flurry, lining up in rows.

Qiushi did as Feng Xiaoqing had said, holding both their backpacks, sitting obediently on the stools by the door and watching them.

At that moment, the afternoon sun streamed into the hall from the south, wrapping Qiushi in warmth before spilling onto the teacher and the children. At a glance, everyone’s bodies and hair were bathed in a soft, tender gold.

“Class, last week we learned the song ‘Farewell.’ Today, let’s review it first,” she said, gently raising her arms and extending both hands, signalling: “One, two, three.”

The children cooperatively opened their mouths, swaying their faces left and right in unison with the rhythm, beginning their practice.

“Outside the pavilion,
By the ancient road,
The green grass stretches to the sky.
Evening breeze stirs willows, faint flute notes drift,
Beyond the hills, the setting sun.
At the edge of heaven,
At the corner of the earth,
Old friends are scattered far and wide.
A jug of cloudy wine, the last of our joy,
Tonight’s parting dream is cold…”

The pure, innocent voices of the boys and girls blended together in a natural, unforced beauty. Sitting there, Qiushi found himself humming along. Then, as he sang, he couldn’t help thinking that if Xu Minghai were standing there, he’d never behave himself—he’d definitely make some kind of ruckus before he’d settle. That made Qiushi think of his “Lang ben~ lang liu~” and he couldn’t help smiling secretly.

“Good,” the teacher said, clasping her hands together. “Now that we all know the song, today we’ll divide up the solo parts for boys and girls. Come on, Feng Xiaoqing,” she gestured, “you sing the first verse.”

Seeing his deskmate about to sing solo, Qiushi rested his chin in his hands and watched.

Feng Xiaoqing lived up to her title of “music class representative,” singing “Outside the pavilion, by the ancient road” with genuine emotion.

The teacher looked satisfied and called out the next name: “Gao Yang, you do the boys’ part.”

The boy called Gao Yang had thick eyebrows and big eyes, a very cheerful-looking kid. But after he sang a few lines at full volume, the teacher stopped him: “The emotion’s too cheerful. This isn’t ‘Let’s Row Our Oars’ or ‘Little Conch Shell.’ ‘Farewell’ is a song about separation. Come on, class…”

Facing everyone, the teacher explained patiently: “Let’s imagine together. At the end of a path stands a lonely pavilion, and you and your best friend are standing there. The grass beneath your feet is the same colour as the distant sky. A breeze stirs the willow branches, carrying the faint sound of a flute. The sun is setting, casting its glow over rolling hills. You’re about to part ways, each going to a faraway place, not knowing when you’ll see each other again…”

Qiushi didn’t know how the others felt hearing this, but he’d already unconsciously projected himself and Xu Minghai into the scene.

The lonely pavilion and narrow path became the alley entrance. Zhou Yingying, for some reason, was taking him back to the village. He refused to go, and Xu Minghai wouldn’t let him—they held onto each other, refusing to let go. But no matter what they tried, in the end they still had to part. “Bangs” and Uncle Jiu came to see him off. He was dragged step by step out of the alley, and no matter how many times he looked back, eventually he couldn’t see anyone anymore.

The vivid image in his mind made Qiushi’s eyes suddenly sting with heat. He quickly wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, pushing them toward his ears.

“Alright, Gao Yang, try it again,” the teacher said.

With a bewildered look, Gao Yang sang again, but it sounded even more upbeat than before. The teacher sighed and tried another boy, but the result was no better.

“Teacher!” Feng Xiaoqing suddenly raised her hand and pointed toward the door. “Could you let him try?”

The classmates and teacher all turned to look.

Qiushi hadn’t expected to suddenly become the centre of attention. He froze in place, still in the middle of wiping his tears.

“Let him try—his voice is beautiful!” Feng Xiaoqing said. “He’s my classmate from Chunfeng Number Two Primary.”

Maybe it was the crystalline tears on Qiushi’s cheeks that moved the teacher, making her feel that her earlier lyrical monologue hadn’t been wasted on deaf ears. She took up Feng Xiaoqing’s suggestion: “Little friend, do you know this song?”

Seeing the teacher addressing him, Qiushi quickly set the backpacks aside and stood up. “Yes, it’s from the movie My Memories of Old Beijing.”

“Could you sing it for us?” the teacher’s tone was very gentle. “Let’s hear it.”

Standing in this completely unfamiliar place, facing a group of strangers, Qiushi didn’t really want to sing. But then he thought: if it were Xu Minghai, he definitely wouldn’t “lose face.” Besides, this kind-faced teacher had said “please”—a word no adult had ever used with him before.

So Qiushi gave himself a silent pep talk, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

“…Outside the pavilion,
By the ancient road,
The green grass stretches to the sky.
When will you return from this journey?
Don’t linger when you come.
At the edge of heaven,
At the corner of the earth,
Old friends are scattered far and wide.
Rare in this life are joyful reunions—
Only partings are many.”

His pre-adolescent voice was clear and melodious, ethereal and haunting, carrying an indescribable sadness. Like a flock of pigeons with plum-blossom whistles strapped to their legs, skimming low over the ground, their sounds circling and lingering, unwilling to spread their wings and fly away.

The teacher’s eyes gradually grew moist, as if she’d been reminded of certain people and certain moments. She then redistributed the parts: one verse for Feng Xiaoqing, one for Qiushi, and the rest sung together by all the children. She lifted a metallic harmonica to her lips and blew the prelude.

It was a beautiful afternoon. With the teacher’s delicate, undulating hand movements as she played the harmonica, a beautiful sorrow drifted, without beginning or end, through the ancient hall. Qiushi stood together with the others. For a moment, he felt as though he’d always been part of them, that every Wednesday afternoon had always been spent just like this.

When the session ended, Feng Xiaoqing was visibly excited and asked the teacher if Qiushi could join the choir. Qiushi’s heart leapt at the thought, but he immediately sensed the teacher’s hesitation.

Qiushi had seen that kind of hesitation on Zhou Yingying’s face many times, and his experience told him to preemptively decline the tempting offer.

After the teacher walked away, Feng Xiaoqing immediately started scolding Qiushi: “Joining the choir is the best! We get to go to competitions, sing for foreign dignitaries visiting China, and bring glory to our country! You’re so good at your studies—why did you have to say you don’t have time?”

Qiushi didn’t know how to explain.

Just as everyone was packing up to leave, a fair-skinned girl ran over to them. Qiushi learned from Feng Xiaoqing that this was her best friend—Jiang Aiyun.

“So you’re Qiushi!” she said with a smile. “Feng Xiaoqing’s always bragging about you.”

Qiushi greeted her, and they were introduced.

“Jiang Aiyun’s dad is taking us home,” Feng Xiaoqing gestured. “Her family has a car.”

“My dad’s busy today, so my uncle’s picking us up instead,” Jiang Aiyun added. “But he has a car too.”

Qiushi had never been in a car—only public buses and the big train. He followed the two girls out, listening to them chatter about all sorts of strange topics, while his mind kept drifting back to the singing in the grand hall.

The three walked out through the palace gate and headed straight for Jingshan Back Street. Before long, a tall man in a suit jacket—a rare sight on the streets—came walking toward them, looking sharp and spirited.

“Yunyun!” He waved and jogged over.

Jiang Aiyun, upon seeing him, immediately put her hands on her hips and tilted her face up in a coy, playful pout: “Uncle! I missed you so much!”

The man responded with a light, unimpressed snort, then smiled: “Missed me? I think you’re just looking for a free meal, aren’t you? So, where are we heading?”

“Hehe, then take us to Sanbaole!” Jiang Aiyun made her request without ceremony. Seeing him agree readily, she introduced her friends: “Uncle, this is Feng Xiaoqing, and this is Qiushi—they’re both my friends.”

“Hello, Uncle,” the two said politely.

“Hello,” the man replied with a smile.

But as his gaze moved from Feng Xiaoqing to Qiushi’s face, the smile froze at the corners of his mouth, like lard congealing in the cold.