The birth of Hui Yin and Si Cheng's son in August 1932 was a great joy. Although they have been sibed in many respects, the joy of having a boy to inherit the incense of their ancestors and to ensure their lives is not exempt. They decided that the newborn child would follow the song dynasty architectural geniuses whom both parents adored. They had already expressed their love for Li Zhi when choosing the date of the wedding. Now, four years later, they commemorate him once again, naming their son the Commandments, 1794-1861), Karl Rosenkranz (1805), meaning "follow the (Lee) Commandments."
At the time, Huiyin was experiencing what might have been the first time in her life that she was running a housework. It was not that she had no servants, but that her family consisted of her youngest daughter, her newborn son, and, perhaps most troublesomely, a mother who was completely attached to her emotionally and whose mind was as tightly wrapped as her feet. Chinese tradition required her to take care of her mother, husband, and children, supervise six or seven servants, and see clearly the people and utensils who came outside to take care of the food, in short, she was asked to assume the role of legal family manager. These responsibilities consume most of her time and energy at home. Outdoor errands were left to servants. The hostess of the house usually only goes out when visiting relatives, attending funerals or special celebrations.
Lin Huiyin is of course a member of the transitional generation and is resistant to the restrictions of convention. She received a Western education not only in the UK and the US, but also in her early years as a primary school student in China. She lived a free life as a college student abroad, and this life was also designed by Shenyang and Sicheng. But at the moment everything at home was like trying to make her go home. She did not have a moment of peace at her desk or drawing board, and could not be disturbed by children, servants or mothers. She was actually a prisoner of these ten men, and they had to ask her for decisions on everything. Of course, this is partly her own fault. Of all the things she cares about, concern for people and their problems is overwhelming. She hated being bothered while sketching an architectural sketch or writing a poem, but instead of fighting, she turned her attention to solving pressing human problems.
This was the time we met, and my position in Lin Weiyin's life arose from this narrow condition. She needed a like-minded sympathizer to listen to her. She found it interesting to have the opportunity to use her English skills to tell the whims of her daily life. For my part, I had just crossed the threshold of Chinese life, and her vivid story captivated me and led me into the room.
I entered the life of this family and was met with skeptical eyes by my mother and servants. Although I was invited, I was an outsider. My foreign face and clothing show my differences, and it is safe to meet on the road, but at home it is a bit ominous. Despite these doubts, my absence was soon acknowledged.
As our friendship deepened, I often rode my bike or rickshaw to Liang's house when it was dark. A servant opened the latch of the double red-painted door at the entrance to the patio, and I went through the small garden to find Huiin. Sitting down in a warm corner of the living room and making two cups of hot tea, we quickly began to recount the stories and ideas that we had kept for each other. We sometimes analyze and compare different values and lifestyles in China and the United States, but then we turn to our many shared interests in literature, art, and adventure, telling each other memories of friends we don't know.
The genius poet Xu Zhimo is certainly one of them. She talked to me about him from time to time and never stopped talking to miss him. I often thought that her broad-based, passionate conversation with me in fluent English might be the echo of the vivid conversation between them, which opened up a wider world for her as a little girl in London.
Xu Zhimo's friend, the philosopher Jin Yuelin, whom everyone calls "Old Jin", is actually a later member of the Liang family who lives in a small house next door. Mr. and Mrs. Leung's living room has a small door that leads to his house through the small courtyard of "Old Jin". Through this door, he was often brought in to attend the liang couple's parties. By Saturday afternoon, when Old Kim was at home with his old friends, the flow was reversed. At such times, the Liangs would walk through his small courtyard and into his inner chamber, mingling with the guests, who were also their close friends.
This group of people are close colleagues of Old Kim in college. Among others are two political scientists. Zhang Xiruo is a principled person, straightforward and touching. Qian Duansheng is a sharp Chinese government analyst with a keen interest in international issues. Chen Daisun was a tall, self-respecting economist who did not smile. There are also two older professors who have made breakthroughs in their respective fields. Li Ji, who studied anthropology and archaeology at Harvard, led the excavation of the Yin Ruins at the Academia Sinica. Sociologist Tao Menghe studied in London and led the influential Social Research Institute. These people, like the architect Liang Sicheng and Lao Jin himself, are some modernists who are determined to use scientific methods to study China's past and present. On Saturdays, some wives will also be present and participate in lively conversations.
We were also invited to attend as a guest of Huiyin on the days when we first arrived in Beijing. We were welcomed by old Kim, and others certainly tolerated using Chinese talking, whispering, and laughing when telling each other's stories. When Fairbank became a teacher at Tsinghua the following year, and our Chinese learned better, we were no longer outsiders.
Saturday afternoon gatherings at Lao Jin's house often moved to a Chinese restaurant, and one night is particularly memorable, when Hui Yin told a strange story to his friends at the dinner table. In the messy way of life in the Liang family's living room, there are always some things happening, especially the loyal maid Chen Ma, who often has to go in and out, tell HuiYin some troublesome things, ask her to make a decision, and every troublesome thing, whether it happens at home or in the family next door, must be submitted to Huiyin in this way to find a way.
Huiyin's story begins like this: Mama Chen came in in a panic one day to report that a large hole had been cracked in the roof of the roof immediately to the west of the Liang family's high wall. She said the tenants there were too poor to repair the roof, and begged Huiyin to tell the landlord. As usual, Huiyin immediately dropped everything to investigate the matter. She told the landlord that she found that the tenant lived in three rooms and paid only fifty copper plates and ten cents of rent per month. The landlord said that the ancestors of the current tenants rented the house during the Qianlong period two hundred years ago and paid a fixed monthly rent. Since the same family has been living there, landlords cannot raise rents under Chinese law. Hui Yin's vivid and detailed account of the incident ends with Hui Yin's donation to the landlord to repair the roof. We all laughed and applauded. "You have proved to us that Beijing's past still exists impressively, and Huiyin really has you!"
Huiyin's south-facing, sun-filled living room was often crowded like Old Kim's Saturday "home-cooked party," and the people who came were diverse. In addition to the children and servants who were running around, there were relatives of various ages. Several nieces of the Liang family, who were in college at the time, loved to bring their classmates to this vibrant home. Here they often meet poets and writers who have come as admirers of Huiyin's published works, often returning because of the charm of her presence.
The famous novelist Shen Congwen grew up in the wasteland of western Hunan Province. He had been a soldier there and had run through many places. Now he lives in Beijing and has written many novels based on his early life. At one point he taught at Tsinghua University. In 1934, he was appointed editor-in-chief of the Ta Kung Pao Literary Supplement, where most of Hui's works were published. He and Huiyin belong to the same age. She loved the artistry of his work and the strange life they described—so far away from her own experience. A close friendship developed between them. She had a motherly care for him, and he, like a dear son, went to her for advice whenever he had a problem.
In one example, Shen Congwen's beloved young wife returned to her mother's house to the south, leaving him alone in Beijing for the time being. One morning he almost cried and rushed to Liang's house to seek Huiyin's comfort. He told her he wrote to his wife every day to tell her about his feelings, emotions and thoughts. Then he showed her the letter he had just received from his wife, which had caused his suffering. He wrote a long letter to his wife that frankly expressed his love and concern for a young female writer in Beijing, and one of the sad words aroused his wife's jealousy when she read the letter. He defended himself in front of Huiyin. He could not imagine any conflict between this feeling and his love for his wife. When he loves and cares for someone, he does just that, how could he not write to tell her? He can love so many people and things, he is like that.
For Huiyin, such a small emotional entanglement is a necessity for life. "If I write a novel that describes the same plot and the same arguments, people will think that I have fictionalized the plot and am not faithful to life!" But now you accept it or not, it's just that. And among many, there is him, the taciturn, empathetic, affectionate and angry man, who is a novelist himself, a genius in this regard! He was in this predicament, just as any young and inexperienced child would feel when it came to this kind of thing. The poetic temperament in him betrayed him, and feeling so confused and confused in the face of life and its conflicts reminded me of Shelley and how Shima struggled with the sorrows of the world. I couldn't help but feel innocent joy. How charming and pleasing he was that morning! And I, sitting there talking to him, rebuking him, persuading him, discussing with him how old and tired life is and its unfairness, human nature and its charm and misery, ideals and reality! ......
"It was rarely conceived in the past that a man like him, living and growing up in such a different environment, would have such feelings that I could fully understand, and would encounter problems that I knew would encounter on other occasions. It was a new and profound experience for me, which is why I don't think that's the case at all in pro literature. Good literature is good literature, regardless of people's ideology. From now on I will have a new faith in my work, just as Old Kim has been hoping and trying to convince me of their value. Wow! ”