chapter 1

The truth, the bitter truth.—The Red and the Black (1)

The zone around Yan City's North Nanping Road in the Flower Market District was like a demon with half a face of makeup.

The broad, straight two-way road split the whole of the Flower Market District in two. The East District was one of the city's busiest commercial centers, while the West District was a forgotten old slum, gathering place of the city's poor.

Following several years of properties in the East District successively being auctioned off at sky-high prices by real estate tycoons, the old neighborhood, badly in need of transformation, had caught some reflected glory. The cost of paying off and relocating the residents had risen with the tide, frightening off a clutch of developers and erecting a capital barrier among the cramped and impoverished alleys.

Neighbors living in dilapidated houses dreamed all day of using their dozen-square-meter run-down rooms to get rich overnight. Already they were feeling the sense of superiority from the idea that "my home is worth millions torn down."

Of course, these slum millionaires still had to put on their slippers and line up to empty their chamber pots every day.

There was still a chill in the air on this early summer night. The summer heat that had accumulated during the day was quickly overwhelmed. The barbecue carts illegally occupying the streets packed up and left one after another; the inhabitants enjoying the cool air went home early, too; occasionally an old streetlamp flickered unsteadily, most likely because the nearby illegally crowded rentals were siphoning electricity off the power line.

Meanwhile, one street away in the commercial center, the night life was just getting started—

As evening approached, in a street-fronting coffee shop in the East District, a barista who had just finished dealing with a mass of customers finally seized a chance to take a deep breath. But before she could smooth her smile-stiffened features back into their original shape, the little bell hanging over the glass door rang yet again.

The barista had to once again put on her regulation smile. "Welcome."

"A decaf vanilla latte, please."

The customer was a tall and slender young man with hair almost down to his shoulders. He was dressed in sedate and solemn business attire, wearing glasses with metal frames. The thin frames sat on the high, straight bridge of his nose. He looked down to get out his wallet, his hair swinging forward over his chin and covering nearly half of his face. In the light his nose bridge and lips seemed to have been daubed with a layer of pale glaze. He looked cold and unapproachable.

Everyone appreciates beauty. The barista couldn't help glancing at him a few times. She made conversation, trying to guess the customer's preferences. "Would you like sugar-free vanilla in that?"

"No. Extra syrup, please." The customer handed over some change and looked up. The barista's eyes met his.

It must have been out of politeness that the customer was smiling at her. Behind the lenses, his eyes curved slightly, a warm and somewhat suggestive expression at once breaking through his earlier display of solemn propriety.

The barista now found that while this customer was good-looking, it wasn't a regular and dignified sort of good-looking. There was a hint of peach blossom flirtation in his eyes. Her face inexplicably heated up and she quickly avoided the customer's gaze, looking down to input his order.

Luckily, the coffee shop's delivery guy came along then. The barista hurriedly gave herself something to do. She loudly called the delivery guy over behind the counter to verify the shipping manifest.

The delivery guy was a young fellow, around twenty, brimming all over with youth. He came into the coffee shop with the golden evening light. His skin was dark. He smiled, showing off a mouth full of small white teeth, and gave the barista a lively greeting. "Hello, beautiful! You're looking happy today. Business must be good?"

The barista just took her monthly wages without paying attention to how the coffee shop's business was going. Hearing this misplaced flattery, she waved a hand, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "It's all right. Get to work now. When you come out I'll pour you a glass of ice water."

The young delivery man gave a joyful cry and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead. At the corner of his forehead, there was a small crescent moon-shaped scar, like a Justice Bao with his prop stuck on crooked (2).

In the time it took the barista to make the customer's order, the delivery guy had cleared his manifest in one fell swoop and come to report back. He leaned on the counter waiting for water and chattily asked, "Beautiful-jiejie, do you know what building Chengguang Mansion is in?"

"Chengguang Mansion?" The barista thought it sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite remember, so she shook her head. "I'm not sure. Why?"

"Oh…" The young delivery man looked down and grabbed the back of his head. "No reason. I heard they were looking for delivery people."

The barista wasn't paying much attention and didn't notice his uncertain little gestures. Putting a lid on the paper cup, she casually said, "I can ask around for you.—Your drink, sir. Careful, it's hot."

Maybe the coffee-buying customer had nothing to do. He looked at the young delivery guy and idly put in a few words. "Chengguang Mansion isn't in a commercial building, it's a private club out back. What, are they still looking for delivery people? Why don't I take you there on my way?"

The barista finally noticed something was off and doubtfully looked at the young delivery man. "A private club?"

The young delivery man saw that his lie had been exposed, made a face, and, taking his cup of ice water and shipping manifest, ran off in a flash.

Out back of the brightly lit heart of the East District's commercial center, there was a large swath of man-made greenery and landscape. A kilometer into it, you would find the deluxe residences of the elite strewn indistinctly throughout the heart of the landscape.—They had to build their residences here, because "solitude" itself wasn't worth any money; it was only "finding peace in noisy surroundings" that was worth money.

All kinds of luxurious grounds of different degrees of style were arrayed fanning out from the landscape's perimeter. "Style" was the axis: the more expensive were further in, and the cheaper were forced out closer to the street.

Among them, the best, most expensive, most "stylish" piece of land was Chengguang Mansion.

This place's owner was not only rich; as pretensions to culture went, his achievements were profound. The little courtyard had been renovated in the style of the ancients. At a glance it looked like a protected Cultural and Historical Site. It had been completed not long ago, and in order to show it off the owner had invited a group of wealthy and estimable friends to come and have a look. Some came to socialize, some to discuss business, some simply to support their clique. There were quite a few who had sniffed out the event and had come to join in the fun, planning to use their faces and bodies as tickets. The parking lot was full luxury cars of every description, and a festive scene out of Vanity Fair had been set up.

When Fei Du strolled over, he had already finished his sticky sweet cup of coffee. He heard from far off the sound of music and voices in the courtyard. He tossed the paper cup into a trashcan by the road, then heard someone nearby give an off-key whistle. "President Fei, over here!"

Fei Du turned his head. Not far from him, he saw a group of people standing, all idle rich kids. Heading them was a very modish young man, dressed all in rags. This was one of Fei Du's drinking buddies, Zhang Donglai.

Fei Du walked over. "Making fun of me?"

"Who would dare to make fun of you?" Zhang Donglai openly slung an arm around Fei Du's shoulders. "I saw your car was already here. I've been waiting for you forever, what were you doing? And what on earth are you wearing? Were you just signing a bilateral trade agreement with the President of the United States?"

Fei Du didn't even glance at him. "Piss off."

Zhang Donglai accordingly closed his mouth for a minute, pushing his endurance to its furthest point. "No way, this look of yours is too gauche. It's like bringing along someone's dad. How am I supposed to pick up chicks?"

Fei Du's steps paused briefly. He reached out a finger, hooked his glasses off, and casually hung them from Zhang Donglai's collar. Then he stripped off his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and started undoing buttons.

He unbuttoned four in a row, revealing a large portion of an indistinct tattoo on his chest, then messed up his hair. He picked up Zhang Donglai's paw, slipped off three large rings as crude as thimbles, and put them onto his own hand. "Will this do, son?"

Zhang Donglai considered himself a worldly person, but he was still dazzled by this stunning transformation.

Fei Du was the head of their group of rich kids, because the rest had their fathers looming over them and were still "crown princes." Young Master Fei meanwhile had lost his mother at a young age, and as soon as he had reached the age of majority, his father had gotten into a car crash and been left brain dead. Now he had "ascended the throne" ahead of schedule, putting him a grade above the others.

He had money and no one to mind him, so he had naturally become a fighter jet among this crowd of the sons of the wealthy.—Fortunately he didn't have the hobby of playing the part of the "commercial genius." Ordinarily he went about things according to the rules, not going out of his way to make any wild investments. He simply stuck to the word "dissipation" and wasted his fortune, though it was a fortune that couldn't be wasted away in a short time.

Although recently he seemed to have eaten something funny. For a while he hadn't been going out to fool around. It seemed he meant to "wash his hands in a golden basin (3)."

Fei Du stuck his hands in his pockets and went a few steps ahead. "Actually, I'm only here as as a spectator today. I'll leave at midnight."

"Master Fei," said Zhang Donglai, "that's weak."

When a group of rich kids gets together, is leaving before the second half of the night any different from not having come at all?

Fei Du couldn't deny it.

Zhang Donglai asked, "Why?"

"I'm solemnly and earnestly pursuing a wife," Fei Du said carelessly. "Is it suitable to play around while I pursue? It doesn't show quality."

Zhang Donglai looked at his shirt and long hair blowing in the night wind. Aside from dissipation, he really couldn't think what other quality Fei Du might have. He quickly went after him and said, "You're crazy. Ignoring the whole lush forest to go after one old, poor…"

Fei Du suddenly turned his head and looked coldly at Zhang Donglai.

There was something peculiarly contradictory about his manner. Smiling, he was full of flirtation, but as soon as his face turned serious, this keen, solemn feeling would seamlessly take over. His gaze was almost menacing.

Zhang Donglai's voice came to a halt. He stared blankly and didn't finish his sentence. He raised a hand and slapped his own face. "Bah, I was wrong. Another day I'll apologize to my sister-in-law face to face."

The term "sister-in-law" somehow seemed to soothe Fei Du. The corners of his mouth, which had been pulled tight, softened, and he waved his hand, as though "magnanimously" ripping out the page of what had just happened.

Zhang Donglai rolled his eyes to the heavens. He felt that His Majesty had been bewildered by a beautiful concubine and the future of the nation was in jeopardy.

Fei Du suited action to word. As soon as it hit midnight, like Cinderella hearing the clock strike, he promptly left the scene.

He passed through a whole crowd of ghosts and demons, avoided a moron raising a glass of champagne to toast him, and went into the woods to find Zhang Donglai.

Zhang Donglai was just discussing harmonious concerns of life with a beautiful young woman. Their discussion was in full swing, as if there was no one else around.

The moron drunkenly said, "You have it all now that your dad is dead. Master Fei, you really are the winner in life!"

"Thank you, my dad isn't dead yet." Fei Du nodded urbanely and looked over at Zhang Donglai. "Busy?"

Zhang Donglai was a rotten and shameless oaf. He whistled at Fei Du. "Master Fei, together?"

"No." Fei Du's steps didn't stop. "If you see my sexy physique, you won't be able to control yourself and go off early. That'd be very humiliating if it got out, right, beautiful? I'm going."

Then, paying no attention to Zhang Donglai's shouts, he quickly left by the gravel road. His steps were steady, not at all like someone who had been drinking half the night.

By the time he reached the parking lot, he had already buttoned up his shirt again. He very properly called a substitute driver and leaned against a big scholar tree to wait.

The beginning of summer in Yan City was always laced through with the scent of scholar tree flowers. It often bloomed out from a corner, almost indistinguishably faint. The exhaust of a passing car could mask it, but if left undisturbed to accumulate, it would arise once again on its own.

The distant music coming from the Chengguang Mansion mixed with raucous laughter and din. Fei Du narrowed his eyes and turned to look. He saw a group of young women playing games with a few pot-bellied and balding "veteran fresh meat" types.

Even though this was Nanping's East District, at this hour most of the shops had already put up their shutters. The true gentlemen and the hypocrites had largely withdrawn before midnight after exchanging business cards to expand their social connections. Those that remained all had a tacit understanding that they were about to take part in the "lakes of wine and forests of meat" portion of the evening (4).

Fei Du plucked a small white flower off the tree, blew dust off it, then put it in his mouth and slowly chewed. Out of sheer boredom he opened his contacts. His finger hung over the name "Officer Tao" for a while. Then he suddenly noticed that it was very late and gave it up.

He stood quietly. With the sweet taste of the scholar tree flower in his mouth, he began to whistle, the whistle gradually becoming a tune.

Ten minutes later, the driver arrived and gingerly drove Young Master Fei's clawed and fanged little sports car out onto Nanping Road.

Fei Du leaned back in the passenger's seat, resting his eyes. An application on his phone played an audiobook. A man's limpid voice read in an even tempo: "…'I have secret enemies,' answered Julien.'…(5)"

The substitute driver was a college student working part-time. He detested the world and its ways. He thought that if Fei Du wasn't a debauched rich kid, then he was a D-lister who'd had plastic surgery. Suddenly hearing these words, he couldn't help looking over at Fei Du in some astonishment.

Just then, a car appeared ahead with its distance lights turned on, nearly blinding the driver. He silently cursed, "Crazy!" and automatically turned the steering wheel away, watching the car blazing its "searchlights" brush past him as swift as the wind and as quick as lightning.

The driver's eyes were still a little dazzled. He couldn't see what kind of car it was, so he couldn't pick a suitable criticism between "you think you're so great because you're rich" and "if you don't have the money to afford a better car you shouldn't drive." He felt rather disappointed. Then he heard the thump of something dropping and turned to look. It turned out that the phone loosely clutched in his employer's hand had slipped and fallen.

The recording was going on: "…'But is the road less beautiful because there are thorns in the hedges which border it? Travelers go on their way, and leave the wicked thorns to wait in vain where they are.'…"

Fei Du was asleep, dead to the world. So he had been using the recording as a cure for insomnia.

The driver looked away expressionlessly.

Tsk, so he was just a good-for-nothing. Golden on the outside but useless on the inside.

While the young driver indulged in his flight of fancy, he drove steadily along the straight Nanping Road, while the car that had just dazzled his eyes turned off its lights after they had gone by, noiselessly turned, and drove with familiar ease into the silent West District.

Nearing one in the morning, a streetlight that had flickered half the night at last died a natural death. A stray cat patrolling its domain jumped on top of a wall.

Suddenly, it howled, all the fur on its body bristling.

The weak moonlight fell on the ground, lighting a man's face. He was sprawled on the ground. His face was so swollen with congested blood that it was almost impossible to tell what he had originally looked like. You could just see that there was a little crescent moon-shaped scar at the corner of his forehead. Stuck to his forehead was a jaggedly torn piece of white paper, like a talisman to keep a corpse from walking.

He was stone dead.

The bristling stray cat was so startled it put a foot wrong and went slipping off the top of the low wall. It rolled and fled without looking back.

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Authors note:

(1) Apart from this one, which is my doing, further quotes from Stendhal's Le Rouge et le Noir come from the translation by Horace B. Samuel, available on Project Gutenberg.

(2) Bao Zheng, Song Dynasty politician seen as a symbol of justice, often portrayed in fiction with a crescent moon on his forehead, like so.

(3) Idiom meaning "distance yourself from a life of crime."

(4) That is, unbridled debauchery and licentiousness. Reference to a story about an evil emperor who had a lake of wine and tree hung with meat and made naked men and women chase each other in front of him.

(5) In the original novel (The Red and the Black, that is) it's in Latin: "Incedo per ignes."