Brief introduction：

“A person who has never left home has no hometown.” Wujinshi Village is located at the junction of southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian provinces. It not only has a distinctive landscape but also poverty that was difficult for the villagers to shake off. All daughters-in-law of the three generations of the Yang family married into the family because they were “deceived” and “swindled” by their husbands. Li Yuejiao took advantage of the night to escape twice. But she came back by herself both times. For the sake of Ah Gui and Ah Yi， her son and daughter， Li Yuejiao had no other thoughts in her mind and was called Ah Gui’s mom. When her mother-in-law was young， she ran away three times in ten years. It was just because she was sure the beautiful landscape of a place couldn’t contain the “demon of poverty”， that she kept a close eye on her daughter-in-law and took control of the family. In this book， Zhang Ling narrated what she heard， examined， and thought about life in her own unique way. It is a thought-provoking realistic work.

About the author：

Zhang Ling （Canada） graduated from the Foreign Languages Department of Fudan University in 1983. She went to Canada to study in 1986 and now lives in Toronto. Aftershock， a Chinese film directed by Feng Xiaogang， was based on her novel Aftershock.

I was born and raised in the city and have been living in different cities since I became an adult. My brief contact with the countryside in my life was limited to the days when I learned farming in primary school and the semester when I served as a substitute teacher in a primary school in a suburb after I dropped out of school at the age of 16. Learning farming was an activity within a specified area. Everything I did was designed in advance by the school as part of their curriculum. However， when I taught in the primary school in the suburbs， I walked to the school to give lessons in the morning， came back at dusk every day， and did not board at school. Fortunately， the urban area was small at that time. I could go to and from the suburbs just by walking. I never went deep into the true rural life， and never thought that one day I would write a novel of a rural theme.

“Never say never” is really appropriate for describing my writing experience. 30 years after I left my homeland， I unexpectedly wrote a novel named Langqiao Night Talk， which was set in a village south of the Yangtze River. To be exact， it is not that I actively looked for this theme but that it had found me after years of persevering pursuit.

When I wrote A Single Swallow， I met members of a volunteer team who took care of the veterans of the Anti-Japanese War， and developed a “brotherly” relationship with some of them. Among them were little Jiang and Ah Tian， both of whom were farmers in their hometown. As long as we got together， they would tell me some interesting stories that happened in the countryside， such as year-round labor of rural people， all kinds of strange creatures and plants， trifles between neighbors， various romantic relationships between men and women， and even cases such as murder and arson due to deep animosities arising out of minor disputes. Through their smooth tongues， all kinds of stories that occurred in days of poverty turned vivid with mixed feelings， sounding like a rural version of Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio south of the Yangtze River in Mo Yan’s style.

Whenever they saw that I was so shocked that I opened my eyes wide and my mouth dropped open， little Jiang and Ah Tian would begin to persuade me to write a novel about their countryside stories. I always refused and my most real and most handy excuse was that I was not familiar with rural life. However， their counterattack was ferocious. “You have not experienced war. But you wrote A Single Swallow. You have not experienced an earthquake and are not a Tangshan native. But you wrote Aftershock. Like Wenzhou City， our hometown is located in the same province. Why can’t you write a novel about it？”

They had kept repeating those words to me for several years. Although I have not relented， there has been a contest between fear and curiosity in my mind. Gradually， curiosity prevailed， and the wall of resistance unknowingly cracked. Then I saw ideas flying in the sky. But I still waited， waiting for an opportunity to turn the scattered ideas into reality.

The opportunity came suddenly at the beginning of last year. At that time， I happened to be in Wenzhou， gathering and chatting with little Jiang and Ah Tian from time to time. Little Jiang mentioned a lounge bridge in his village as well as some folk customs related to the bridge. I first heard the word Langqiao in The Bridges of Madison County， a Hollywood film （translated into Chinese as Langqiao Yimeng）. The Langqiao little Jiang mentioned was a series of special bridges in Taishun County of Zhejiang Province， which were quite different from the American road bridge in The Bridges of Madison County. Most of the bridges in Taishun were built during the reign of emperors Jiaqing and Daoguang in the Qing Dynasty. The bridges had an enclosed corridor. Instead of iron nails， all parts of the wooden bridges were connected by wood tenons. With extremely simple and elegant style， those bridges were a uniquely precious historical site and a geographical scene in that area.

Little Jiang also mentioned the Vietnamese brides in his village. His hometown was near the border of Zhejiang and Fujian provinces. Because of its high altitude， the area could only produce one crop of rice a year， and the variety of vegetables and fruits was also inadequate. Since it was not near the sea， people there naturally couldn’t live on seafood. Compared with most of the plain area south of Yangtze River， little Jiang’s hometown was relatively poor. A few years ago， some older men from poor families， with disabilities or unpleasant appearance married Vietnamese or Cambodian women through marriage intermediaries as they could not afford the bride price for local brides. Then as more older men learned this experience and married a foreign bride， and more foreign women married into the families in the area via the foreign brides who acted as matchmakers， several small international villages were developed in that area.

As soon as little Jiang mentioned the two things， my enthusiasm was suddenly aroused. It was spring ploughing season， and little Jiang was about to return to his hometown to visit his relatives， so I told him that I wanted to go to the village with him to see the spring ploughing. After driving for over 3 hours， we arrived at little Jiang’s hometown with great gaiety.

As soon as I entered the village， I was stunned. Although I had not traveled much in China in recent years， I had seen some scenes more or less. However， most of them had been artificially renovated and were like bonsais of various sizes. Little Jiang’s hometown was relatively poor， and not many people there could afford to build new houses. So the landscape was still roughly the natural appearance of the olden days. A green hill rose from the ground and stood upright. Trees of several seasons were seen from the foot of the hills to the top. From broad-leaved trees to acicular-leaved trees， various rare varieties could be found. As the wind blew， green waves were revealed with different shades of color. We drove into the village through a gravel road that was not long but clean， and seemed to have traces of being swept with a broom.

At the end of the road were several bluestone steps. High above the stone steps was the Langqiao that lasted through the Qing Dynasty， the Republic of China， and to the People’s Republic of China. As the golden yellow sunshine shone upon the bridge， its outlines were as clear as cut paper. Old dwellings that were left from the previous dynasties were spread out one after another along the low-lying and flat area at the foot of the hills. Most of the houses were bungalows. There were also two-story buildings. Both of them were wooden structures. The walls， doors， and windows were worn out， and the grain was exposed as a century had passed. The roofs were covered by blue tiles that were laid tightly. From afar， they looked like a large area of fish scales spread in mid-air. I had seen beautiful landscapes and places in poverty before， but I had never seen the combination of the two and was shocked.

The village was so remote that outsiders rarely visited it. The villagers were warm and simple. They did not care about literature and did not know of any films. They did however sincerely entertain us just because we were little Jiang’s guests.

We arrived a few days late. The large-scale ploughing in the village had been almost completed. As a matter of fact， as the distribution of land to households had long been implemented in rural areas， the large-scale farming model under the centralized system in the past had disappeared. Most households hired others to cultivate the land that was allocated to them， or lease it. So， there were not many households that were engaged in farming. For our sake， little Jiang specially told one of his cousins to get a cow back from the mountain. Except for the spring ploughing season， the cattle in the village were kept on the mountain all year round.

His cousin waited for a long time on the edge of a small cultivated paddy field. When he saw us coming， he demonstrated the ploughing for us. It was a female cow that was very obedient but a little lazy. When it stepped into the water listless， it was whipped by the cousin. That made me distressed. But the cousin glanced at me as if I was a bug. I suddenly spotted the weakness of a young city lady in rural people’s eyes. “Today’s cattle are comfortable as they don’t have to do anything all year round，” said the cousin.

The cow escaped the fate of being slaughtered because it was pregnant and naturally became the head of a herd of calves on the mountain. As soon as it left the mountain， the calves got panicked and ran around as if they had lost their mother. After the show of ploughing， the cousin and a group of people searched for a long time on the mountain before they finally caught all calves. When he came down the mountain， his legs were covered with bloody scars bitten by leeches. That made me feel guilty.

Knowing that we were from Wenzhou and had tasted various dishes in the city， little Jiang’s parents decided to entertain us with a distinctive rural meal. They killed a chicken， picked wild vegetables， and made huangguo （a yellowish type of rice-cake）. They pounded the huangguo in a stone mortar， with one person swinging a mallet and the other kneading the rice ball. They coordinated with each other perfectly. Such a tacit understanding must have been achieved through long-term coordination. For a writer， that process was almost symbolic. So， I wrote it in the novel later.

Little Jiang’s parents had a regular and white appearance. Their speech， deportment and bearing were quite different from those of ordinary villagers. He told me that his father was a carpenter when he was young. The round tables and cabinets in the house were all made by his father at that time. Long before going to find a job in a city became popular， his father had already traveled across the country to transport goods， do business， and do carpentry. Once on a way out to sell wood， his father met his mother and fell in love with her at first sight. Then he coaxed and cheated this handsome county woman to marry into this poor village as his wife.

Little Jiang told me that his mother fled twice after she married here and was caught both times. He also said that the flight of married women still happened in this area from time to time. He once told me an interesting story. At a time when he drove back to his hometown in a car he bought in the city and was playing mahjong with his fellow villagers， someone came to report that a wife had escaped and asked little Jiang to help him catch her. Little Jiang shook his head and waved his hand. He said， “What’s the hurry？ Let me finish this round. In such a place where transportation is extremely inconvenient， it will be hard for a weak woman to walk far enough to where she can actually hitch a ride.”

Little Jiang often told me about all kinds of stories in the countryside in such a casual tone. However， some of the stories gave me the goosebumps. Some of them made me angry. Some of them even made my eyes tear up. But he looked completely unaffected.

I watched the interaction between little Jiang’s parents. The two did not have the kind of conjugal love expressed by urban couples， though they were also kind and respectful to each other. When I quietly asked little Jiang if I could talk to his parents about her escape that year， he said， “Of course. Who didn’t have such a thing？” Then， at the dinner table， I brought up the conversation carefully. Little Jiang’s mother bowed her head， smiled， and said， “Yes， I wanted to escape. I had run away so far.”

I asked her， “Why did you come back？” She did not reply immediately. Then， her husband’s elder brother who was eating with us at the table said faintly， “I was the captain of the militia. When she saw me holding a gun， she came back with me without saying anything.” I was stunned for a long time before asking her why she wanted to escape. She said lightly， “Because my mother-in-law was impolite.”

I didn’t ask any further questions. I didn’t need her answers to know what the “impolite” meant. A woman， who already had two children， insisted on escaping twice from a husband who was not reckless. She must have done that out of a repressive and urgent reason. However， little Jiang’s mother did not show obvious resentment， embarrassment， or humiliation when she told her story. Her tone was as calm as if she were telling something that happened in someone else’s house， which had nothing to do with her. But little Jiang’s father left the table and sat in the yard smoking silently alone.

On the way back to Wenzhou， I had completed the general framework of Langqiao Night Talk. I didn’t expect that the most important character of the novel would come to my mind at a later time. That was Ah Yi. Although Ah Yi was the last one to come， she was the smartest character in my mind， because she was closest to my personal experience. She was me. No， I should say that she was the embodiment of my generation of foreign students who first went abroad after the reform and opening up. Like Ah Yi， we had worked hard to change our fate with the college entrance examinations in a difficult environment.

Like Ah Yi， we had spent our lives struggling between the desire to escape and the hope to return. The only thing I needed to do was to separate an individual named Ah Yi from this group and put her in a strange and poor village. Because of Ah Yi， Langqiao carries more meaningful content. Because of her， people of different generations who had crossed the bridge nurtured a glimmer of hope out of poverty and suffering.

Toronto

August 15 2020

Langqiao Night Talk

Zhang Ling （Canadian）

Guangxi Normal University Press

January 2021

49.00 （CNY）