Nanjing 1937

A masterpiece by one of China’s bestselling contemporary novelists, Nanjing 1937 tells the epic story of a passionate courtship played out against the backdrop of one of the century’s most harrowing scenes of war.

Ding Wenyu is a philandering professor famous for storming out of class if there aren’t enough pretty girls to teach. When he attends the wedding of the beautiful Ren Yuyuan, he falls hopelessly in love with her. Embarking with single-minded resolve to win her heart, he writes daily love letters and makes unabashed overtures to no avail, all the while blissfully unaware of the mounting threat of the Japanese, whose siege of the historic capital city will result in the rape of thousands and murder on an unimaginable scale. A love story devastatingly linked to a nation’s inexorable fate, this swirling tempest of a novel moves us from antic heights to tragic depths while vividly evoking a prosperous China on the brink of political upheaval.“A treasure. . . . Impeccable and fascinating. . . . [Ye Zhaoyan] is a genius.” —Carolyn See, The Washington Post

“This book doesn’t just entertain, but chokes you with laughter and tears. . . . Ye Zhaoyan is a master storyteller indeed.” —Wang Ping, author of Aching for Beauty and Foreign Devil

“Winning, witty. . . . Poignant and deliciously ironic. . . . A rich tableau of prewar Chinese politics and social mores.” —Publishers Weekly

“A astonishing work . . . reminiscent of, and comparable to, Dostoevsky at his most powerful.” —James Schamus, producer and screenwriter of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

“Searing. . . . Capture[s] a broad spectrum of passionate emotions that transcend the cultural divide between East and West.” —Booklist
Ye Zhaoyan is one of the most popular and prolific writers in China. Born in Nanjing in 1957, he is the grandson of Ye Shaojun, one of the most important Chinese writers of the early 20th century. He has won many awards for his writing and has published essays as well as fiction. He lives in Nanjing.Chapter 1


I
January 1, 1937, was a Friday. It was a clear, cool day; the northern cold front had just passed and the temperature had begun to rise a bit. Although the Nationalist government had already declared the lunar calendar obsolete, the atmosphere among the people during the western New Year celebration fell short of the anticipated excitement. All over the country, conferences were being held for New Year's Day. From the central government all the way down, auditoriums were packed with high-sounding stately meetings. It seemed as if anyone who didn't attend a conference wasn't really celebrating the new year. Nineteen thirty-seven arrived amid a wave of strong anti-Japanese sentiment. The Xi'an Incident* and its peaceful resolution not long before had elevated Chiang Kai-shek's status to an unprecedented level. Nationwide, there were magnificent fireworks displays in celebration of the Republic of China's turn for the better. Initially, the most widespread fear among the people had been that the Xi'an Incident would incite a large-scale civil war. They were also worried that for the Japanese, who had long set their sights on Chinese soil, the incident would provide the perfect opportunity to strike in a time of weakness. Amid the grand rejoicing of the soldiers and citizens of China, Chiang Kai-shek safely returned to the capital, Nanjing. With his promise never again to bow down to the power of Japan, the long-anticipated initial stages of a democratic and unified anti-Japanese campaign had finally begun. The desperation in the hearts of the Chinese people seemed to have been replaced with a newfound hope.

On New Year's Day 1937 there was a virtual flood of government bigwigs in Nanjing who, after rushing to a never-ending series of meetings, came down with colds. Attending conferences became a heavy burden for the party and government VIPs. But there were at least three events that couldn't be missed. First was paying homage at Sun Yat-sen's mausoleum. This was the most exhausting. One had to respectfully take part in this ritual on the first day of every new year. Of the visitors who climbed the steps to the mausoleum, there wasn't a soul who didn't come down panting for air and reeking of sweat. Then one had to rush to the Central Party Headquarters on Hunan Road to hear Yu Youren deliver his New Year's speech. Finally, one had to go to the Nationalist Government Building to listen to Chairman Lin Sen's address. Every word uttered would be printed in the newspapers the next day, but attending these three events in person represented a kind of official decorum and indicated an individual's status in the government hierarchy-and this was something no one was willing to give up. Rushing back and forth, many of the people in attendance ended up with the chills and broke out into a series of feverish sweats. Those older gentlemen a bit on the frail side were sneezing before Lin Sen's address was even finished.

Ding Wenyu also caught a cold on New Year's Day, but it certainly didn't have anything to do with his attendance at conferences or speeches. Except for a single wedding ceremony, he didn't go anywhere. He had long since thrown all those large red invitations with gold trim into the wastepaper basket. Ding Wenyu was something of a celebrity but what really set him apart was the way he was always wrapped up in his own little world. What other people went out of their way for, he was always slow to take to heart. It was as if he couldn't understand what there was worth celebrating on New Year's Day. We know that he caught a cold because he recorded this tidbit in his diary. Ding Wenyu habitually recorded his whereabouts and personal experiences; on New Year's Day, he added the following surprising passage:

Today is a special day. I have a terrible cold and a runny nose, which toward the evening has grown especially acute. It is a good thing that the day wasn't a complete waste, because during an annoying wedding banquet I ran into the beautiful Miss B. Instantly, my heart was thrown into disarray by this exquisite young girl. Here I describe her as a lovely and attractive girl, but today was actually her wedding day. As I write these words, it is very possible that she is already no longer a girl at all. Ah, why must women marry such vulgar creatures as men? I have no extravagant or ulterior motive; I desire only to be her eternal friend. This shall be the greatest happiness of my life. I shall do my utmost to carry this out.

It was the first day of 1937 when Ding Wenyu, already a middle-aged married man, in the strong cursive writing of his diary, first conveyed his fanatical feelings of love at first sight for Yuyuan. Because his diary was written only for himself, not to mention the fact that it was written in English, his language came across as a bit brazen. From simply looking at that day's diary entry, one would never guess that anything noteworthy would unfold between Ding Wenyu and Ren Yuyuan-the woman referred to as Miss B. It was written for his eyes only, and comments about bold and beautiful women repeatedly appeared in his diary.

In actuality, only a fraction of his nearly thousand-word journal entry that day was devoted to his cold and to Yuyuan. Most of the entry recorded vile remarks about another woman, a certain Miss Chen. For Ding Wenyu, the first day of 1937 was an abnormally difficult day. He had stayed up all night playing mah-jongg with Miss Chen at the Morning Cloud House near the Temple of Confucius. This was indeed a bitter task; Ding Wenyu despised the game that has been hailed as the quintessence of Chinese culture. He had made the acquaintance of Miss Chen just one month before. She was a passé pop singer, a single woman with a passable appearance. Besides singing, Miss Chen's biggest source of entertainment was playing mah-jongg. If Ding Wenyu wanted to get close to her, his only means would be to accompany her at the mah-jongg table. The night before, Ding Wenyu had lost miserably. By the time the sun rose and he brought Miss Chen home to rest, his eyelids were fighting to stay open. He had been yawning all night, his sole desire being to rush home and get some sleep. Yet the moment he lay down, all he could do was toss and turn, unable to sleep.

The schools were closed for vacation, and children with nothing better to do set off firecrackers left over from the celebration of Chiang Kai-shek's return from Xi'an-right under the window of Ding Wenyu's faculty apartment. As if they were intentionally trying to antagonize Ding Wenyu, the children lit the firecrackers with extreme economy-separating long strings of them into single units so they could light them one at a time. Curled up beneath his comforter, Ding Wenyu had just slipped into a groggy slumber when he was awakened by an explosion. He was about to lose his temper but figured there was no reason for him to act rashly with the kids. And so, between the periodic blasts, he would whimsically think of Miss Chen. She seemed a prize that could be claimed at any moment. Ding Wenyu considered himself an expert at winning the hearts of women. Getting Miss Chen into bed was but a matter of time. With much difficulty, he finally got some sleep. The annoying kids were gone by the time Ding Wenyu awoke. It was past noon, and he suddenly remembered an afternoon wedding ceremony that he was supposed to attend.

Monk, the rickshaw puller, had arrived early and set down his three-wheeled rickshaw near the university gate. He basked in the sun, napping as he waited for Ding Wenyu to arrive. These days Monk's rickshaw had practically become Ding Wenyu's private chariot. Ding Wenyu was already quite late, and there was still no sign of him. The longer Monk waited, the hungrier he got. Finally he rushed over to the small stall across the street and bought four large pork buns to fill himself up. The warm sun shone down, and Monk's face looked relaxed and content. At the campus gate, the university intercom system was relaying a recording of Government Chairman Lin Sen's radio address from the Central New Year's Day Celebration Meeting. The topic of his speech was self-reliance, and the quality of the recording was pitiful, as screeches of electronic feedback periodically came through the speakers. Male and female university students emerged through the campus gates in dribs and drabs. One student wearing a long blue cloth gown and pulling a female student by the hand approached Monk and requested his services in a thick Manchurian accent. Monk had already passed up several customers that morning. He opened his eyes, lazily sized up this young couple, and then quickly closed his eyes again.

The university student said, "What's wrong with you? Are you going to take us or not? Say something!" Monk was a reckless fellow with a leisurely attitude who paid no heed to others. One look at him in his unbuttoned semi-new cotton jacket and you knew he was someone who took his sweet time. He was not an easy fellow to deal with. Monk intentionally didn't make a sound, continuing to rest his eyes. The student repeated his question, but Monk simply went on ignoring him. Losing his temper, the student scolded Monk, while his girlfriend fueled the fire with more insults. The student snorted indignantly: "What the hell is going on these days? You're nothing but a lousy rickshaw puller! So what's with the stinking attitude?"

When Ding Wenyu arrived at the campus gate, students were still harassing Monk. Monk was bored, so he joined in the argument to help pass the time. He paid no heed to the guy and instead spent all of his energy arguing with the girl, seizing on her every word. The girl was a student in the department of foreign languages. She wasn't especially good at arguing, and as soon as she became anxious she'd stutter; once she started stuttering she became increasingly nervous. Catching sight of Ding Wenyu, who had walked up beside her, she abruptly shut her trap and grabbed hold of her boyfriend's sleeve, signaling him to stop arguing. No matter how you look at it, carrying on with an incoherent rickshaw puller in front of a professor is out of character for two university students. But the guy wanted to continue his battle of the tongues. His girlfriend, seeing that her efforts were to no avail, began to turn red. It was a good thing that Ding Wenyu wasn't paying attention to what was happening. He looked a bit ridiculous, wearing a red nightcap, a trim western suit, a large red tie, and an oversized gray wool overcoat, and carrying a cane in his right hand. He appeared half-asleep.

When Monk tilted his head and caught sight of Ding Wenyu, he made as if nothing had happened. Smiling, Monk greeted him: "Mr. Ding, did you get enough rest?"

Ding Wenyu muttered an irrelevant answer and climbed into the rickshaw. The male university student glared angrily at him, but Ding didn't sense a thing. Turning around, he stared in the direction of the girl. Her face turned even redder, and she looked away. Finally she couldn't help it and burst out with a snicker. She had once taken a class of his. Ding Wenyu always had a somewhat indecent look in his eyes. There wasn't a single girl in the school who didn't know about him. He was the star professor in the department of foreign languages, and all the girls enjoyed his classes. The jokes about him were too numerous to mention-most of them had to do with his interest in the female students. Whenever Ding Wenyu's gaze fell upon a pretty student, his eyes shimmered without even the slightest hint of shame. Once, after walking into the classroom, Ding Wenyu suddenly refused to teach. The reason? Too few girls, so he wasn't in the mood. Whenever girls from the department of foreign languages mentioned Ding Wenyu in the dormitory, they would instantly cover their mouths to suppress their laughter.

As the rickshaw passed the House for Reciting Classics, Ding Wenyu dug his gold watch out of his jacket pocket, looked at the time, and asked Monk if he could speed it up. Monk, who was obviously already quite close with Ding Wenyu, turned his head, displaying a set of snow-white teeth, and said with a laugh, "Don't tell me that Mr. Ding has his days when he is in a rush. Everyone says that you're not even afraid to be late for class!" Ding felt he had a point, so he calmed down, made himself more comfortable, and let Monk slow down. Since the Nationalist government had established its capital in Nanjing, the streets of the city had changed quite a bit. Sun Yat-sen Avenue stretched out from the heart of the city with one road after another linked together. All over they were breaking ground on new construction projects, and new stores were opening almost every day. No wonder people who had departed Nanjing just a few years ago said that they could barely recognize the place when they returned. A rickshaw-puller friend of Monk's approached and said something to him. Naturally it was some dirty joke, after which the two of them snickered and jokingly cursed each other.

Monk's mouth didn't get a moment of rest the whole trip. The sunlight was brilliant, and the rickshaw happened to be headed south. The glare of the sun made it difficult for Ding Wenyu to open his eyes, so he simply kept them closed. He couldn't help but open his mouth and let out an enormous yawn. The exaggerated yawning sound caused Monk to turn around. Monk knew that Ding Wenyu still hadn't gotten enough sleep. That morning at dawn it had been Monk who had rushed to the Morning Cloud House at the Temple of Confucius to pick up Ding Wenyu after his morning tea and take him back to campus. At the time, they had agreed that Ding would ride Monk's rickshaw again at noon. Ding Wenyu had grown accustomed to Monk's rickshaw, and Monk disliked running up and down the street looking for business. He liked customers like Ding Wenyu-liberal with money and pleasant to chat with on the road.

II
When Ding Wenyu arrived at the Officers' Moral Endeavor Association compound, Yuyuan and Yu Kerun's wedding was already approaching its end. In the Nanjing of 1937, the OMEA compound was an almost mystical place. It was located on East Sun Yat-sen Road; if you were on the eastern side of the Central Hospital and continued straight over the Sun Yat-sen Bridge, you'd run into it in no time. Usually it was only the handful of personages with some degree of status who showed their faces there. Designed by a well-known architect, the compound was the quintessential synthesis of Chinese and western architectural styles. It was composed of several complementary palace-style halls; from the outside its upturned eaves looked typically Chinese, but the interior was completely western. In the Nanjing of 1937, getting through the door at the OMEA compound said a great deal about who you were. The preferred conversation among Nanjing citizens was the never-ending gossip about government and party big shots, which is not all that different from what we see today in Beijing. As if he were a famous movie star, Chiang Kai-shek could twitch and it would instantly become the talk of the town. For example, gossip articles such as YU YOUREN INJURED FOOT, VICE COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN FENG COMES DOWN WITH MINOR AILMENT, or YESTERDAY WELLKNOWN FIGURE ENTERED HOSPITAL FOR HERNIA OPERATION repeatedly appeared on the front pages of local newspapers. People carried on endlessly about political celebrities. Even long after Nanjing fell, this habit stubbornly lived on.