Chapter 14 "Old Beijing" (USA)

by Nym Wales An impression when she silently succumbed to Japan Beijing is dead, dead, shameless, blatant, and those On that lost battlefield, thwarted and looted, warm and naked creatures died together, Dead... There should be some voices of resistance, but here there is only a groaning silence, There should be some anger and movement, but here there are only non-fighting retreats, and the limbs and internal organs are cold. At this time, I should be a little angry... Naturally, all great imperial capitals are not willing to come out. Surrendered at the slightest sound of resistance?

This huge and lofty city wall is not willing. It has thick iron gates and archery battlements. For two thousand years, this city wall has Constantly responding to the cheers of the triumphant. Here should be the cry of the conqueror, and the sigh of the conquered, At least there should be an acid wind in the middle of the night, weeping for the forgotten ghost. But no, none of that. Only in the Japanese embassy there is the clang of sabers bowing, Only the high, pulsating sound of an airplane, drawing peacefully on white wings The bright red sun... is responding, responding to these Only the well-known cries of the beggars, the quiet cries of the cloth sellers,

And the strange howl of the demon fox in the north tower. When giving up the city key, there is not even a little grand ceremony; The city key hangs outside the iron gate... There is no plot, no emotion, only the parody of daily routines. How like an ugly show, this thick medieval city wall, scratched with the marks of Hulu's arrows, looks like an ugly show, and The black shadow of the giant wings is covering it! But it wasn't enough to be the set for that "never acted" play. There is no bold demand here for the treasures of the city to pay that sly plot, nor is there a ringing sound of gold and silver on the floor of this trading house.

But there are places where whispers are heard, behind closed doors, in secret shops, Those are the words that prepare the titles of future historians' articles: "There must be no chaos... It is the bandits who are instigating the chaos... Shoot the bandits who want to fight!  … Property is valuable... the banks are going to fail! ...our lives, our possessions, our possessions... This is indisputable, how pointless...let's have peace and order. " So she sold her soul, her shabby, worthless, vile merchant-lander's soul, for the bread in hand, and if the buyer didn't see it, who knew it wasn't a fair deal?Beijing is dead, dead

Poor hopeless dead. Oh, grieve thou, to see a mighty queen-like city lose her glory. Because she was raped, speak of her with sorrow as a poet speaks of the fall of his soul's upper city. But Beijing is not being raped by others, but just like the rape of an idiot whore, who is sold and paid for. And beijing, old beijing, never gave in without struggle in her long history, beijing is not royal now, her ghost haunted palace, staring at you with empty eyes, was once forbidden city Yes, the dragon eaves on the glazed tiles of the imperial palace, and the golden dragons on the yellow tiles in the rows, look cowardly and honest, and on the roof in autumn, there are rows of caterpillars on the golden corn that have been dried generally.Beijing is dead, dead,

The era of feudal heroes in a novel is buried in the ashes of ancient scrolls that no one reads. And there are no knights, galloping past with flying banners, fighting to defend the throne, and defend their wives. These aggressors want neither their wives nor their children. They want only one thing that is kind and noble. Freedom of Buying and Selling...Cotton Production in Hebei...Open Market... The long and peaceful roads, transported by trains and camels, are used for wartime transportation and for the huge opium trade. For that boxed goods, non-duty transshipment... Severe oppression of young people in universities, no more gratitude for May Fourth, no more vicious words about Japan...

Let's be friends, goodwill merchants and compradors. Why talk about slaves and masters? The old Hardman Street used to be dusty, gloomy and filled with gray and blue clothes, but now it is full of gorgeous kimonos, many bright and colorful kimonos... There was none last year—it was just a dull monotony. These kimonos looked new and fresh, eye-catching, like spring flowers growing from piles of dead leaves. Today I saw a Japanese kid kick a solemn Shandong policeman hard with his bare, irresistible Japanese toes: He was ashamed—not the child, but the tall policeman—because Shandong is where the bravest fighters in China came out...

I just turned around and looked at him, thinking, how strange it is, this majestic and humble Chinese; this small and reckless Japanese... It’s strange why the sharp steps of the clogs here can overwhelm the gentle kick of the cloth shoes, covering the soft steps of the Gobi camels on the street... Under the shadow of Mt. Fuji, Tokyo is beautiful. In the mist and island rain, it is clean, trembling, and newly built. But if she were placed under the deserted sky of Beijing, next to the dusty West Mountain, I don't think Tokyo would be so beautiful. There seems to be a vague sense that there is no need for more than two Tokyos, but a firm, emotionally important one must leave behind an ancient Beijing, a dead, numb, creeping Beijing, shameless, mercenary, and mocking , Sophisticated, without courage or fear.