Yang Haidi: A Glimpse of White Deer in Nanyuan
Yang Haiti
In late spring, the fourth month, on the journey back to the capital from Jiangnan, where grass grows long and orioles fly and a hundred flowers bloom amongst the trees, I was shocked to hear of Mr. Chen Zhongshi's passing early this morning around 8 o'clock. A literary giant has thus fallen.
I shivered all over, my heart ached, and tears streamed from my eyes.
The train sped along, and I gazed out the window, my mind replaying memories of my interactions with my husband, tears flowing uncontrollably.
I first met Mr. in the summer of 2003. I had the honor of being part of a “Chinese Famous Writers” Three Gorges Research Tour,“ and Mr. was the deputy head of the tour group. Along the way, some people compared him to the always composed Mr. Zhu from ”White Deer Plain.“ However, I felt he was more like the landlady in the same book, who was both worldly-wise and dismissive of worldly affairs. Especially when we met on the cruise ship, his eyes, jokingly called ”suspiciously bright," swept over me, immediately reminding me of the description of that old lady in "White Deer Plain": "Her first glance at a person made Bai Ling feel as if her eyes saw them like an ordinary sheep, as she had seen thousands upon thousands of sheep."
In reality, the outwardly stern gentleman is “formidable in appearance, but warm upon approach.” Although he has risen higher and higher in literary circles, he has not “sat as if on clouds,” nor has he drifted out of public view, nor has he become unfeeling like a sculpture. In this delegation of prominent figures, he was the most “in demand,” constantly swarmed and intercepted by admirers. What frustrated some was that, surrounded by beauties, he remained equally at ease. His calm composure could be seen by observing his drinking. Every day, multiple ladies took turns trying to get him drunk, but he met each advance with a defense, never faltering, to everyone's disappointment and admiration.
It was the end of the year when the esteemed gentleman visited Hainan. One evening, almost all the heroes from Shaanxi on the island, young and old, gathered under his leadership. As a cultural reporter, I was specially invited, and this time I truly witnessed the gentleman's true nature. He didn't put on airs or speak in a preachy tone. Although his face was weathered, his smile was as pure and bright as a child's. When he was jolly, he would throw his head back and laugh heartily without reservation, accompanied by free-spirited gestures. To laugh like that truly requires a healthy and magnanimous soul. He poked fun at himself without mercy, his words as sharp as the big cigars he smoked. In my opinion, only those with a strong inner personality can engage in such self-deprecation. He embodied a composite temperament that was natural, elegant, steady, heroic, and slightly mischievous. In the presence of the approachable and generous gentleman, everyone spoke their minds freely, and the atmosphere was very lively. I too was casual, even speaking carelessly at times, but I didn't feel awkward.
The next day, I hastily put together a “Sketch of Chen Zhongshi” and entrusted it to Lao Shan and Professor Zhang Haowen of Hainan Normal University to forward to Mr. for review. The following day at noon, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. The voice was loud and clear, “Is this Yang Haiti?” “Yes, it is,” I replied hesitantly. “This is Chen-Zhong-Shi,” he said, enunciating each syllable with a calm, powerful tone. I was momentarily stunned and blurted out, “Teacher Chen, what made you think of calling me?” “Why wouldn't I think of calling you?” he replied. “After reading your article, I never expected you to be so talented. You've really impressed me. I even read it aloud to Guo Qianli and the others on the plane. It's just that I'm not as good as you write, I don't even know what kind of person I am myself...” “You are so wise, how could you not know?” He chuckled and said, "Please send my regards to everyone, and to Liu Jianwei."
Immediately, I received a message from Brother Qianli: “I'll accompany Mr. back to Xi'an. Mr. greatly praised your article, especially this passage. He said he never expected a young woman to have such sentiments: ‘The vast and profound spiritual world in ‘Bai Lu Yuan’ could not have been forged without the author experiencing life's great joys and sorrows. Ten years of diligently honing a single sword in solitude and loneliness requires immense endurance and faith for a writer. But, what is great must be endured. Only exceptional individuals can fulfill their mission in solitude and loneliness. Finally, ’Bai Lu Yuan” emerged. "Bai Lu Yuan," with its lofty conception and grand scope, is highly esteemed by readers both inside and outside literary circles. Beyond its literary value, I also admire the political and humanistic forces it embodies. Regarding the current state of literature, Mr. Chen Zhongshi once pointed out that the crux of the problem lies in the lack of politics, emphasizing that 'politics is a grand spiritual concept.' I strongly agree with Mr. [Chen's] view, and therefore, years later, I still vividly remember these words.'"
Rereading newspapers from that time, I feel deeply ashamed that my earlier “not presuming my own shallowness to seek guidance from the magnanimous” was so superficial compared to the thrilling impact of reading *Bai Lu Yuan*. Compared to the monumental work that is *Bai Lu Yuan*, my humble writings are truly crude and unworthy of being seen. However, given your great virtue, you have always been strict with yourself and lenient with others.
After that, I had no contact with him for a full ten years. Was it because I've always been bad at taking the initiative in socializing, or because of the many ups and downs and changes in my work and life, or perhaps because I was so mediocre and accomplished nothing, I simply chose to be an ostrich?
Until three years ago, I don't remember why, but I called Mr. [last name/given name], and from afar, his strong words and hearty laughter were still there. “When you get to Xi'an, call me, and I'll treat you to paomo!” When Mr. [last name/given name] was in Qiong, I said I liked Xi'an paomo, and he actually remembered.
A warmth slowly rose from the bottom of my heart. I could feel your light and heat even thousands of miles away.
Over the past three years, I have traveled to Xi’an, Xianyang, Yan’an, Hanzhong, and other places on numerous occasions. My visits were covered several times in the provincial newspaper and the evening paper, and on two occasions, my photos were even published alongside the articles. I’m sure you must have seen them at some point. Yet I never once called you, nor did I send you a single text message.
How I long to taste the steamed bread you treat us to, how I long to hear your wise words—even if only out of vanity, I long to see you. Besides, I secretly harbor the hope of obtaining a calligraphy piece from you.However, precisely because I know that you are a man of innate benevolence, courteous in your dealings, trustworthy in your words, and righteous in your actions, I feared that if you were unable to spare the time, I might instead burden you with unnecessary worry. That is why I have never dared to act rashly or disturb you. Besides, whether we meet or not depends on the heart, not on fate.
But, sir, might you misunderstand me?
Another two years have passed in the blink of an eye. Last year, when the season of “Autumn wind blows over the Wei River, fallen leaves fill Chang'an,” I heard vague news that a certain gentleman had been hospitalized due to illness. My heart sank; I neither dared to disbelieve nor to be certain, and I was unwilling to believe it. In my anxiety, I sent him a message under the guise of soliciting contributions. After all, how I wished I could have had the honor of being the editor for his great work.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Mr. Chen called. His voice, no longer full of vigor, sounded weak as he asked, “Is this Yang Haiti?” “It is,” I replied, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. “This is Chen Zhongshi,” he said, but not with a strong, clear enunciation; his words were somewhat slurred.
The teacher greeted, explained, and thanked with difficulty, while I responded, comforted, and blessed with a heavy heart. I couldn't bear to hear him continue, yet I wished he would never hang up. At this moment, I have only one wish: to go to Xi'an as soon as possible to visit him!
The master adamantly refused to let me go and even got agitated with me. I know the master doesn't want people to see him when he's ill, and he certainly doesn't want to trouble others. It's better to obey than to be overly polite.
I hate that I visited Qin many times without seeing you, and now the times have changed and I can't visit you even though I want to. Tears stream down my face, one after another. All I can do now is pray and send my blessings. I sent you a message: "Teacher Chen, please take care of yourself! I was so happy and excited to receive your call. Words fail me, so I'll just say this: I wish you a speedy recovery and all the best!"
During the upcoming New Year's holiday, I sent him two more messages, but they were just brief greetings and well wishes. There was no reply. He only receives messages but doesn't respond. I don't want to ask anyone about his recent situation; I'm afraid of hearing any bad news.
However, what is meant to come, will always come. Or rather, what isn't meant to come, still came.
The train continues to race across the vast land. Outside the window, it's misty and drizzling, all things grow, seasons cycle, and the mortal world flows on. Let us calmly accept what cannot be changed, as it truly is, rather than as we wish it to be. The sun rises and sets; the moon waxes and wanes; plants flourish and wither; flowers bloom and fade; humans are born and die. Death is the final stage of life, and with its existence, life becomes complete. Death is not a final farewell; loved ones or friends will begin new lives in other forms.
I believe, sir, that you will surely transform into a white deer and return to Bailu Plain, where you were born and raised; wherever the white deer passes, heaven and earth will be auspicious, and all directions will be fortunate.
“Spring arrives, winter departs, layers upon layers, When the brush is set down, the peach blossoms are full red. Alone, I close the book in silent contemplation, Yet I want to laugh, my nose stings, tears won't flow. Is it only for fame and fortune? How can I bear these four years, This agonizing love! I gaze towards the southern plains, searching for the white deer, The green is boundless, as if I hear its gentle cry.” After completing "The Literature of the White Deer Plain," sir penned this "Xiao Chong Shan," his first time writing lyrics, one can imagine his desolate state of mind at the time.
Tears stream and blur my vision as I gaze west towards Chang'an, my eyes searching the southern plains for the white deer; within this vast expanse of heaven and earth, the Qinling Mountains are here, Ba Bridge is here, the southern plains are here, but where is the white deer?
Yang Haiti, a renowned writer. Member of the China Writers Association, editor and reviewer for "People's Literature," and chairman of the China Forestry Ecology Writers Association. Author of many literary works, a large number of which are used in exam questions. His works have been translated into various foreign languages and minority languages, and have been selected for hundreds of anthologies, journals, yearbooks, rankings, textbooks, and supplementary readers.
Awarded the Feng Zikai Prose Prize, Sun Li Literature Prize, Silk Road Prose Prize, Beijing Literature Prize, and First Prize in the National Excellent Reportage Competition, among others. His long prose work “This Fertile Land” was selected as one of the “Top Ten Ecological Literature Books” by the state and featured in the "National Park Construction Achievements Exhibition."
