her inability to tell whether the turmoil she was experiencing was caused by love or by hate, by resentment or by injustice. What she did know was that her chest felt as if it might explode. With difficulty, she took several steps backward and rested her head against the coolness of the wall.
By clenching her teeth, in time she was able to calm the rough seas inside. She returned to the door, where she heard the faint rustle of pages in a book being turned and the clink of a lid as it was placed on a teacup. When that was followed by a light cough, her throat clamped shut and she could hardly breathe. It was his cough, a cough by the man of her dreams, but also the cough of a bitter enemy, the man who had yanked out every hair of her father’s beard, a man with a benevolent exterior but a cruel nature. She was reminded of the humiliation stemming from her unrequited love and of Aunty Lü’s advice, plus the filthy remedy she had consumed. You thug, now I know why I have come. I fooled myself into believing that I wanted to avenge my father, but in fact, the sickness is in my bones and cannot be cured, not in this life. I have come for release, though I know he could never give a passing glance to the big-footed wife of a butcher. If I throw myself at him, he will only push me away. For me there is no hope and no salvation, so I will let you watch me die, or maybe I will watch you die and then follow you by my own hand.
In order to find the courage to break through the curtain before her, she had to intensify her hatred. But that sense was like nothing so much as willow catkins lifted into the air by a spring breeze—rootless and insubstantial, powerless to keep from being blown out of existence by even the slightest breath of air. The bouquet of lilac dulled her mind and unsettled her heart, just as a faint whistle rose from the other side of the curtain, like the melodious twitter of a bird. The idea that an eminent personage such as the County Magistrate was capable of whistling like a frivolous young man caught her by surprise. A cool breezed seemed to caress her, raising gooseflesh and opening a seam in her mind. Heavenly Laoye, if I don’t do something fast, my courage will desert me altogether. She needed an immediate change of plans. Reaching into her basket, she took out the knife, intending to rush into the room and stab him in the heart before turning the knife on herself. Their blood would flow together. Steeling herself, she tore open the curtain, took one step, and was in the document room; the egrets on the embroidered curtain fell back into place to cut the two of them off from the outside world.
The document room’s broad writing desk, the writing implements atop it, the scrolls of calligraphy hanging on the walls, a flower rack in the corner, the flower pots on it, and the flowers and plants in them were illuminated by sunlight streaming in through the latticed window; it all slowly entered her consciousness once the intense emotions had peaked and were beginning to retreat. When she’d first parted the curtain, the only thing that had entered the curtain of her vision was the Magistrate. Casually dressed in a baggy robe, he was leaning back in an armchair with his white-stockinged feet on the table. Startled by her entrance, he took his feet down, a look of astonishment frozen on his face. He sat up, laid down the book he was reading, and stared at her.
“You . . .”
Then two pairs of eyes were riveted to each other, as if linked by red threads that quickly became entangled. An invisible rope seemed to bind her tightly, and she hadn’t an ounce of strength to struggle against it. The basket over her arm and the knife in her hand clattered to the brick floor. Light glinted off the knife. She did not see it; neither did he. The cooked dog’s legs gave off a mouth-watering aroma. She did not smell it; neither did he. Hot tears gurgled from her eyes and wetted her face as well as the front of her jacket. She’d put on a lotus-colored satin top whose sleeves, collar, and