ATLAS TRANSLATES

Baobei has asked me many times: “Fu Junyan, why are you so good to me?”

“Fu Junyan, did you fall in love with me at first sight?”

“Fu Junyan, do you love me very, very much?” Every time she asks, she has a confident look, her blue eyes narrowed into little crescents, a small dimple on her right cheek. She just looks at me foolishly, obedient and cute.

I always stroke her hair and hug her.

Yes, why? This story is so simple to recall, but when told, it becomes so long.

My grandfather Fu Heng went to Canada in the 1960s. Because of his military background, he quickly became a local gang leader. My mother Fu Yaya, his only daughter, wore the title of “princess of the underworld,” but it truly didn’t suit her. She was neither arrogant nor vicious. She received a traditional education from childhood, studying “Women’s Precepts” and “Standards for Students.” She loved cheongsams, like a delicate beauty from a Republican-era poster – frail, sentimental, timid, indecisive.

In my memory, Mother was like a silk flower – delicate and small. When she spoke, she would slightly lower her lashes, her voice soft and thin. When she smiled, it was cautiously, and she often looked at others’ expressions when doing things. She would read me stories from thread-bound classics, sit at my bedside mending Father’s shoe soles, and in the dim early morning, bow her head to wipe away tears.

Yet it was this very woman who, during a gang shootout, hid in the farthest corner, neither running nor escaping. In the end, this fragile woman, after the gunfire had ceased, risked her life to save a badly wounded man from a filthy gutter in a narrow alley. Her delicate body carried him for 10 kilometers before finally making it home.

I still remember when Mother told me this story, the light dancing in her eyes as she said, “Saving him was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.” But then she began to cry, tears falling one by one, as if landing on my heart, painfully. As a small child, I only wanted to caress her eyes, to comfort this frail woman who even cried cautiously.

Later, when I grew up and thought back, I always felt that the bravest things my mother had done in her life were all disasters.

This man named Wang Jun, whom my mother saved, stayed at the Fu family home after being rescued. Mother often said that at that time, he didn’t have a single good piece of clothing. The sleeves of the clothes he secretly retrieved from his old place were all torn. Once when she was talking to him, he kept standing with his back against the wall. She later discovered that day, his clothes had a big hole in the back.

At that time, in the dead of winter, she saw him wearing new shoes every day and was genuinely happy for him. But upon closer inspection, she realized he was wearing a pair of thin canvas shoes meant for autumn. Yet he stood guard for Grandfather in the snow wearing those shoes for a day and a night, without complaining of cold or pain.

Once, when they were out, another gang came to provoke them. She was so frightened she crouched under a table, shaking. He stood in front of that table, constantly protecting her. When he was shot in the shoulder, he didn’t even let out a groan.

Mother said that at that time, she felt so sorry for him…

Gradually, Grandfather began to favor this man my mother had saved, and started to cultivate him intensively. In future endeavors, Wang Jun indeed proved to be very capable. His methods were extremely ruthless, yet he appeared refined and noble, untainted. Not long after entering the circle, he helped Grandfather take over half of Canada’s drug trade in one fell swoop, and even got involved in arms dealing, building large private arms factories. Subsequently, both Grandfather and he were successively added to the criminal list, evolving from minor to major criminals. Naturally, money came too easily this way, and from then on, the Fu family enjoyed extreme wealth and luxury.

The year Mother turned twenty, Grandfather betrothed her to Wang Jun. Wang Jun, who is also my father. At that time, Father was extremely doting towards Mother. The elders in the family also said that back then, Father treated Mother like his own daughter. When Mother was pregnant with me, Grandfather was already gravely ill. He passed away a month before I was born. Later, Mother would mechanically repeat to me about that day, saying that for some reason the sky was especially, especially dark that day, without a hint of wind outside, the heavy clouds pressing down so that one could hardly breathe. Her forehead kept inexplicably breaking out in cold sweat, and not long after, Grandfather was gone.

Before Grandfather passed, he held onto his last breath, staring fixedly at the hospital room door, refusing to close his eyes. He was waiting for Father, who was away on business. The old man held on until Father rushed back, travel-worn. He tremblingly gripped Father’s hand and pressed it firmly onto Mother’s hand before peacefully breathing his last, leaving no final words.

From that day on, Mother’s life gradually underwent earth-shattering changes.

By then, Father had already become an indispensable figure in the underworld. When Grandfather fell gravely ill, he was already taking large sums of cash to invest in various countries, laundering the dirty money by opening schools, shipyards, and other legitimate businesses. So he was often away from home, and Mother never complained. Moreover, her personality and the education she had received meant she wouldn’t complain anyway. At that time, I had just turned one month old, and the elders in the house and Mother were all waiting for Father to return to name me.

However, when Father finally returned, he brought a woman with him. That woman walked behind him with her head held high, and Father was holding hands with a child, a little boy about three years old. Father affectionately held the boy’s hand, and the boy called him “Dad.”

The boy being three years old meant that he had already known Mother. Three years old meant he had betrayed Mother. After that, the Fu residence became the Wang residence, and the Fu family became the Wang family. And my mother, the true mistress of the Fu family, was bundled up with me and driven to the attic. Without explanation, without a single word, from that day on, my father looked at Mother as if she were a stranger, as if their past love had never existed.

From that day on, an incredibly ironic scene played out daily in the Fu residence: the son-in-law who had been welcomed into the family had driven his wife and child into the attic used for storing junk, while he himself squandered everything that belonged to the Fu family, embracing another woman and the child he had with her.

I didn’t get my name until I was four years old.

After Mother was driven to the attic with me, due to her fragile personality and the shock she had received, her mental state was no longer normal. She would often forget things, even forgetting that I was her son. But she would ramble on, telling her own story over and over again, her demeanor like that of a jasmine-like young girl, pure white and clean.

She would say: “Do you know? He was a hero in my heart. When so many people were in chaos, only he would bend down to save an innocent crying child who had fallen to the ground during a gunfight.”

“When I saw the hole in the back of his clothes, and how he always had to stand with his back to the wall when meeting people, I thought, in the future, I want to take good care of him.”

“He didn’t like to talk, but every time he spoke to me, he would stand in front of the wind. When it rained, he would tilt the umbrella towards me, getting himself soaked.”

“I made him a pair of thick shoe soles, made him a pair of really thick shoes. The next day, he wore the new shoes and walked in front of me, smiling at me for the first time. At that moment, I thought, I want to make shoe soles for him for a lifetime, I want to bear his children, I want to grow old with him…”

She would smile when she said these things, her eyes clear, still with that cautious smile, like a small flower bud about to bloom.

Then, Mother would often crouch dejectedly by the small window in the attic, gazing out like an abandoned child. Her face was pale, her whole person looking increasingly transparent. At night, she would often cry out, calling my father’s name over and over again: Wang Jun, Wang Jun… Again and again, as if she could never call enough.

Because of Grandfather’s will before his death, Father and Mother couldn’t divorce, and they couldn’t live away from the Fu residence for long periods. So that woman kept a close watch on Mother. In front of the small, low door, there were two guards posted every few steps. I still remember the pitying looks in their eyes when I occasionally walked out of the attic. At that time, I didn’t fully understand the meaning of sorrow, but I could feel the pain.

If Mother didn’t eat the food or drink the water that was sent on time, the meals would be quickly taken away, and then she would have to go hungry for a whole day. And Mother, unfortunately, would often forget to eat and drink. Luckily, I was young at the time, and my comings and goings were not restricted. The guards would always cut me some slack, but often, as soon as I left the attic, I would be bullied by my “brother” before returning.

I once joked with Baobei, saying, “I became sensible when I was three years old.” At that time, Baobei laughed at me for boasting, sticking out her tongue and acting coy. She didn’t know that every time I saw her loving An’an, how envious I felt. And when I loved An’an, it seemed like I was compensating for all the pain in my heart over and over again. I hoped he would grow up pure and unharmed, because becoming sensible too early meant too much unhappiness.

At three years old, I knew to secretly hide food for Mother. At three years old, I knew to close the windows tightly so Mother wouldn’t fall out. At three years old, I had to wash Mother’s clothes, including her underwear. At three years old, I would pretend to have stomachaches repeatedly, hiding the medicine to save for Mother, then hide in the bathroom to learn how to assemble guns and practice martial arts from Old Fu, who had been by Grandfather’s side, and read the abstruse “Art of War”. Then I would listen to Old Fu tell me over and over again about enduring humiliation and hardship, how the soft can overcome the hard. After that, I had to pretend to be ignorant, drooling, circling in front of my “brother” just to be beaten by him, to make that woman let her guard down.

At three years old, I tried to protect someone…

“Why are you called Fu Junyan? Is it because ‘Junyan’ means ‘as beautiful as jade’?” When Baobei tilted her head and asked me this, I just smiled and shook my head at her.

I don’t know when it started, but Mother stopped telling stories about her and Father. She would only recite over and over:

“How high is the bright moon, Cold is the shadow of curtains in the tower. A woman sighs alone, Who among the four seats finds joy?

Seasons have moved many times, The traveler has not returned from afar. If the vast sea is not yet dry, This concubine’s tears will never cease.

I wish to be dust on the frontier, To be carried by the wind to your face. Your face has been washed many times, Washing away this concubine in muddy waters.”

In this long-term confinement, Mother gradually entered her own hallucinations, or rather, the dream world she had woven for herself. She thought she was just that sorrowful merchant’s wife, waiting for her husband to return from his business trip, waiting and waiting. But that was actually the happiest time of my childhood. Sometimes she would recognize me as her son, then hug me affectionately, pat my head, recite beautiful poems to me, teach me the classics. She would use her finger dipped in water to teach me how to write calligraphy on the ground. She would also use leaves blown in through the small window to whistle pretty tunes for me. Maybe after a while, she would forget me, hide in a corner alone, and sew thick shoe insoles for that man stitch by stitch with the bedding, then silently wipe away her tears. But that was already very good… because she could occasionally remember me.

I also clearly remember that this kind of life lasted for six months and one day.

That night, the wind was very strong, strong enough to blow open the small window. Mother woke up earlier than me, and she leaned by the window and saw that scene – Father holding hands with his other woman and his other son. Then, Father kissed that woman, and there was the sound of the woman’s coquettish laughter and the child’s cheering. Following that was Mother’s scream.

I watched helplessly as Mother fell from the small window, still muttering foolishly: “If the vast sea is not yet dry, this concubine’s tears will never cease. I wish to be dust on the frontier, to be carried by the wind to your face. Your face has been washed many times, washing away this concubine in muddy waters. Your face… your face…”

Mother didn’t die because she was caught by the tree branches in the courtyard, but she still broke her leg. Because she didn’t receive treatment, after the injury healed, her leg had a slight limp. After this, Mother’s mind was damaged again. She became like a cautious child, drooping and tiny. She became even less talkative. When she was hungry or thirsty, she would only mumble: “Junyan, Junyan…”

She would call once, and I would turn back once. So, starting from when I was four years old, I had a name. I was called Junyan, Fu Junyan. This is the origin of my name, not because “Junyan” means “as beautiful as jade”, not because of happiness. And my father never came to see us, not even once.

In countless days and nights that followed, I thought more than once that it would have been better if my mother had died then…

After Mother fell from the small window, that woman seemed not happy enough. She knew Mother didn’t die, so the next day she had the gardener cut down all the surrounding trees. From then on, looking out from the attic window, there were no more tree shadows, only dry grass.

I was six, that child was nine. That day, Mother found a moon-white cheongsam from somewhere. She put it on, slightly curved her lips and smiled at me, cautious and delicate. Under the moonlight, she was like a fragile jasmine flower, her eyes innocent and pure. For the first time, I actively climbed onto a chair and opened the window. I wanted Mother to see what the outside of the attic looked like, which she hadn’t seen for so long. But I didn’t know that it would be a disaster.

That night, Father saw Mother. He stared at Mother’s window for a long time. I don’t know what he remembered, or what he would do. But that woman, half an hour later, called a group of men. I remember her shrieking: “I can’t stand seeing this slut anymore, kill her for me!”

Then so many men pressed down on Mother. She cried, she screamed, she hid, they laughed, all reaching out with their dirty hands. My “brother” tied me up with hemp rope, one hand choking my neck, forcing me to watch all of this. And I could only cry, cry as I watched Mother being violated, again and again. Her moon-white cheongsam was torn open, her hair disheveled, her body slowly covered with wounds, filthy white fluid, helpless tears, and those miserable screams.

At this moment, that woman came back again. She laughed very beautifully, laughing again and again, and then I saw Father behind her. Father stood expressionlessly, he didn’t step forward to stop it, just looked at Mother with a faint gaze, then looked at me, tied up. But he remained silent. They just stood there like they were watching a show, watching that crazily crying woman.

Then, Mother suddenly stopped struggling and stopped crying. She turned her head almost woodenly, looking at me through those dirty beasts, then at the man at the door, her husband, the hero in her heart.

I saw Mother’s eyes gradually clear, then suddenly fall into madness. She started laughing loudly, her mouth miserably shouting in a shrill voice: “Wang Jun! Wang Jun! Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember? I’m Yaya! I’m Yaya! I said I would make shoe soles for you for a lifetime, I would bear your children, I would grow old with you… I’m Yaya…”

With strength from who knows where, Mother suddenly pushed away the man lying on top of her. Her petite body suddenly ran wildly and jumped out of the window. I saw her last broken smile, her gaze finally falling on me, but her mouth was still madly reciting: “Wang Jun, I’m Yaya! I want to make shoe soles for you for a lifetime, I want to bear your children, I want to grow old with you…”

Then, she fell, without any chance of survival, becoming a blood lotus flower, piercing me, unforgettable for a lifetime.

And every word of Mother’s, like a knife, was carved into my heart. She said: “Saving him was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do you know? He was a hero in my heart. When so many people were in chaos, only he would bend down to save an innocent crying child who had fallen to the ground during a gunfight.”

“When I saw the hole in the back of his clothes, and how he always had to stand with his back to the wall when meeting people, I thought, in the future, I want to take good care of him.”

“He didn’t like to talk, but every time he spoke to me, he would stand in front of the wind. When it rained, he would tilt the umbrella towards me, getting himself soaked.”

“I made him a pair of thick shoe soles, made him a pair of really thick shoes. The next day, he wore the new shoes and walked in front of me, smiling at me for the first time. At that moment, I thought, I want to make shoe soles for him for a lifetime, I want to bear his children, I want to grow old with him…”

“Wang Jun! Wang Jun! I’m Yaya! I want to make shoe soles for you for a lifetime, I want to bear your children, I want to grow old with you…”

After that, my eyes were covered with black tape, and I was sent away from the Fu residence in the middle of the night…