The Five Brothers' Dream

Within the Provincial Foreign Trade Administration, the place most filled with the breath of youth was surely the Inspection Affairs Department.
The Inspection Affairs Department managed the coming and going of inspection applications, certificates, documents, registration, typing, and reception at the service windows. It had the most paper, the most telephones, and also the most girls. Typists alone numbered more than twenty young women. In those days, not everyone had a computer. Many reports, notices, certificates, and official letters all had to be struck out on the typewriters in the typing room. Every day, as soon as one entered the corridor, one could hear from far away the sound of “ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta,” dense as a light rain, and also like a flock of invisible birds pecking on iron branches.
At the entrance of the typing room, there was often a faint mingling of soap, vanishing cream, and the oily ink of carbon paper. The girls wore neat shirts, skirts, or light-colored jackets. Some tied their hair into ponytails; some cut it short to the ears; some pinned a small hair clip among their strands. Their voices were brisk and light when they spoke, yet when they laughed, the sound was bright. Often one girl would say something, and behind another row of typewriters someone would bend over laughing. Many young men in the office, when passing the Inspection Affairs Department, would slow their steps even when they had no business there, pretending to read the notices on the wall, while in truth their eyes glanced inward from the corners.
The Inspection Application Section had another atmosphere entirely.
It was the outward-facing front of the Foreign Trade Administration. Foreign trade companies, factories, freight forwarders, drivers, and sales clerks all had to come here to submit documents, obtain stamps, ask about procedures, and press for certificates. The girls behind the counter had to keep smiles on their faces while also explaining the rules clearly. If someone’s materials were incomplete, they had to return them. If someone grew anxious and slapped the counter, they had to explain patiently. Some people spoke Cantonese, some Mandarin, some mixed in a few clumsy English phrases, and they had to understand the general meaning of it all. The girls in the Inspection Application Section were usually more outgoing than those in the typing room. Their eyes were quick, and so were their tongues. Having seen many kinds of people, they could distinguish who was truly anxious, who was pretending to be pitiful, and who wanted to cut the line with a few pleasant words.
There were also differences of status here.
Regular employees, contract workers, temporary workers—on the surface, they all sat in the same office, wore similar clothes, and did similar work, yet their wages and benefits were different. Regular employees had official establishment, and their hearts were steady. Contract workers hoped to become regular and therefore worked especially diligently. Temporary workers were more cautious still, afraid that one wrong sentence or one badly handled matter might make their position vanish the following year. When people were young, these differences were not yet fully written upon their faces. But when salaries were issued, benefits distributed, model workers selected, or dormitory arrangements made, there would be a little silence in the air. Someone might smile and say, “It is all more or less the same,” but everyone knew it was not truly the same.
Being in the Personnel Department, Xinde was most sensitive to these things.
When he went to the Inspection Affairs Department to deliver materials or collect forms, passing the typing room and the Inspection Application Section, he was often made a little uncomfortable by those young, bright gazes. At first, everyone only knew that he was the newly arrived Fudan graduate, that he wrote a fine hand, lived in the Huangsha dormitory, spoke little, and always wore a clean white shirt. Later, no one knew who had seen the award certificates he wrote for the Personnel Department, with their upright and handsome characters. Word spread to the Inspection Affairs Department, and the girls gained another layer of interest in him.
Once, he carried a stack of cadre training lists to the typing room and asked them to help type them into a formal notice. Axue, sitting by the window, took the materials, lowered her head to look at his handwritten draft, and suddenly smiled.
“Were these characters written by you?”
Xinde nodded. “Are they not clear enough?”
Axue lifted her eyes and looked at him. “Too clear. So clear that we typists have no value of existence left.”
Several girls beside her heard this and burst into laughter. For a moment, Xinde did not know how to respond, so he could only smile as well. “Then next time I will write more carelessly and leave you your rice bowls.”
Axue laughed even more. “You look so honest, but it turns out you know how to joke.”
Axue was a typist. Her skin was fair, her eyes clear, and there was a little mischief in the way she spoke. She typed very fast; when her fingers fell upon the keys, it was like playing the piano. Later, whenever Xinde went to deliver materials, she would always ask, “Little Ma, what great document is it this time?” Her tone seemed to be teasing him, and also seemed to be waiting for him to come.
Yunni worked in the Inspection Application Section.
She was not as lively as Axue, but she had a gentle steadiness. Her hair was always neatly combed, and no matter how noisy it became before the counter, she did not grow anxious. When people from foreign trade companies pressed for certificates, she would take their forms and examine them item by item. Her voice was not loud, yet it could slowly quiet the other person down. Once, because a factory clerk’s materials were missing a seal, he was so anxious that sweat covered his forehead. He complained, “Our goods are being loaded tomorrow. If you return this today, isn’t that killing us?”
Yunni handed him a sheet of paper and said, “It is no use scolding me. The seal still has to be added. Go back and have it stamped now. Bring it back before four this afternoon, and I will keep an eye on it for you.”
After the man left, Xinde happened to pass by. Seeing him, Yunni gave a soft sigh. “You people in Personnel are fortunate. You deal with files, not impatient tempers.”
Xinde said, “Files also have tempers. If one page is missing, they are harder to coax than people.”
Yunni paused, then smiled. “When you educated people speak, even files sound alive.”
From then on, whenever Yunni saw him, she would often smile faintly. Sometimes, when there were few people at the counter, she would ask, “Little Ma, did you ride your bicycle here again today?” Xinde would say, “Riding is faster, and freer.” She would answer, “Then be careful. There are many cars on Huanshi East Road. Do not ride yourself into the hospital for the sake of freedom.” Her words were ordinary, yet they carried a barely perceptible concern.
In those days, most young people rode bicycles to work.
The work unit also had shuttle buses that picked up employees from several dormitory points, punctual and convenient. But young people did not much like being bound by shuttle buses. In the morning one had to wait for the bus, and in the evening one had to wait again. If, after work, one wanted to go to a bookstore, wander the streets, buy vegetables, or take a detour somewhere to say a few words to someone, it was inconvenient. The bicycle was the wings of the young. A Forever or Phoenix bicycle, once its bell rang, could carry one from Huangsha to Huanshi East, from the bank of the Pearl River to the office building, from the rules of government office into a little wind belonging to oneself.
Every morning, Xinde set out from the Huangsha dormitory.
He hung his briefcase slantwise over the handlebars. Inside were documents, notebooks, and a fountain pen. Wind blew over from the Pearl River, carrying moisture and the smell of breakfast stalls. The morning market had just opened. Fish sellers splashed water from basins onto the ground, and sunlight shone upon the wet stone slabs. Shamian on the other side was quiet as a foreign picture; cars had already stopped before the White Swan Hotel. Riding his bicycle, he passed between these two worlds, the wheels rolling over the morning streets of Canton.
When he arrived at the work unit, the bicycle shed was already full.
Rows of handlebars crossed into one another, and bells, baskets, rain capes, and chains each belonged to someone. The girls from the Inspection Affairs Department also rode bicycles to work. Axue’s bell was very loud; when she pressed it from a distance, it was as though announcing her arrival. In the basket at the front of Yunni’s bicycle there was often a cloth bag, containing a lunch box, a raincoat, and sometimes a magazine. If they happened to meet in the morning, everyone would push their bicycles side by side into the courtyard.
Once, seeing a bundle of books tied to the rear rack of Xinde’s bicycle, Axue asked, “Little Ma, you carry so many books even when riding. Aren’t you afraid of weighing the bicycle down into a philosophy bicycle?”
Xinde said, “A bicycle also needs to raise its level of thought.”
Axue laughed so hard she almost pushed her bicycle crooked. “Then what about my bicycle? It carries me to type every day. Its thought level is very low.”
Yunni added from beside them, “Your bicycle does not need its thought level raised. It needs its brakes raised. Last time you almost hit the gatekeeper.”
All three of them laughed. Old Chen, the gatekeeper, sat inside the reception room and laughed along. “You young people turn my entrance into a teahouse first thing in the morning.”
Such mornings often brightened Xinde’s heart.
Life in a government office was not always dull. It had documents, rules, superiors and subordinates, but it also had jokes in the bicycle shed, glances in the corridor, accidental side-by-side moments at the entrance of the canteen, and a sentence on the road after work: “Shall we go together?” Affection was born slowly inside such details. It was not suddenly passionate, and it was not spoken aloud. It was like mist appearing on a winter windowpane, little by little.
Sometimes Axue would deliberately bring typed notices to the Personnel Department herself.
In truth, she could have had someone deliver them, but she insisted on coming in person. When she entered, she would knock lightly on the desk. “Comrade Little Ma, the document has been typed. Please review it, Leader.”
Xinde would quickly say, “I am not a leader.”
She would laugh. “Then please review it, Philosopher.”
When colleagues in the Personnel Department heard this, they would always make a commotion. “Little Ma, the Inspection Affairs Department attaches great importance to you.” Xinde’s ears would redden slightly, and he would only pretend to lower his head and read the document.
Yunni was more restrained.
She would occasionally stand beside Xinde in the canteen line and ask whether he was used to eating at the Huangsha dormitory, whether he still wrote at night, and whether graduates of philosophy departments all liked looking at the stars. Xinde said, “Not necessarily. Some like looking at salary slips.” Yunni smiled and said, “Then what do you look at now?” Xinde thought for a moment. “I look at the people in the work unit.” Yunni asked, “And what have you seen?” Xinde said, “I have seen that no one has it easy.” Yunni lowered her head and smiled softly, and did not ask further.
These words were very light, as light as the shadows of trees drifting past the canteen window. Yet in the hearts of young people, light words often remained longer than heavy ones.
The bachelors in the dormitory soon smelled the wind.
One night, after drinking a little, Acong patted Xinde on the shoulder and said, “Little Ma, confess honestly. In the Inspection Affairs Department, is Axue better, or Yunni?”
Xinde was washing dishes, water rushing noisily. Without lifting his head, he said, “One types quickly; one handles matters steadily. Both are good.”
Little Zhou inserted from the side, “This answer is like a Personnel Department assessment comment. All the merits are there, but there is no conclusion.”
Everyone laughed into a heap.
Acong continued, “Do not look at Little Ma as gentle and refined on the surface. His heart may be more complicated than all of ours. Philosophy department, after all. Even falling in love requires first proving existence.”
They teased Xinde until he had no choice but to pretend to throw the dishcloth at them. Everyone laughed again, and the laughter drifted from the kitchen into the corridor.
Yet jokes were jokes. In his own heart, Xinde also understood that these faint, uncertain affections were beautiful, but also complicated. In a government office, there were no real secrets. Whoever spoke a few extra words to whom, whoever rode a stretch of road together after work, whoever typed a document for whom—very soon all of it became talk beside other people’s teacups. Especially girls like Axue and Yunni, noticeable in the Inspection Affairs Department, were watched by countless eyes. Differences between regular employees and contract workers, differences in family background, differences in future direction—these realities were like invisible threads, quietly wrapping themselves around every young person’s feelings.
Xinde was in no hurry.
He had only just entered government service. The road ahead was not clear. In his heart there were still many books, ideals, and sensitivities he did not know how to place. He liked Axue’s brightness, and he also liked Yunni’s gentleness. But liking, at that time, was still only a ripple made by wind upon water; no one had yet reached out to fix it in place. Every day, riding his bicycle to work, passing the Pearl River, Shamian, and the bustling streets of Canton, he would feel that life was like a sheet of paper just unfolded—white and broad, yet with no knowing where the first stroke ought to fall.
One evening, just as work ended, a light rain suddenly began to fall.
At the entrance of the work unit, many people put on rain capes and pushed their bicycles out. Axue had not brought an umbrella and stood beneath the eaves, worried. Xinde happened to pass by. There was a spare rain cape on the back of his bicycle, so he handed it to her.
“You use it.”
Axue looked at him. “What about you?”
“I will ride faster. The rain cannot catch up.”
Hearing this, Axue laughed until her eyes curved. “You are such a person—even when you boast, you do it elegantly.”
Yunni was pushing her bicycle out from behind and heard this sentence. She smiled too. “The rain may not catch you, but a cold will.”
The three of them stood at the entrance of the work unit and laughed for a while. Threads of rain fell upon bicycle bells, making fine little sounds. In the distance, traffic flowed without pause along Huanshi East Road. The high building of the Garden Hotel appeared blurred in the rain mist, and the lights of the Friendship Store lit one by one.
At that moment, Xinde suddenly felt that although he still did not know where the future would lead, he had already been gently pushed by this age.
Pushed toward government office, toward the crowd, toward young jokes, secret affections, bicycle bells in the rain, and also toward a life that truly belonged to him.