The Rise of the Shining Phoenix

Well, if you’re wondering what’s been going on with my “language partner,” you’re not the only one.  In fact, it’s become a hot topic of conversation in some circles around here; even the Ayis are talking about it.  A classmate of mine came up to me the other day and told me that our Ayi was over his place the other night gossiping about it.  (We all live in the same apartment complex, and it turns out actually that our Ayi is their Ayi’s older sister.  It appears Henan migrants have cornered the Ayi market.) 

In any event, as we left it, I tried to tell Yufeng in as subtle of a way as possible that I was not interested.  If you recall, I told her that we did not know each other that well, and it would be best to remain friends for now.  I’ll reiterate, I was at one point quite interested in becoming friends with her, since in reality it would be nice to have a “no air quotes” language partner.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that it would be a precarious road to pursue a platonic relationship with someone who was so clearly interested in more.  However, as I usually do, I decided to forge ahead boldly and hope for the best.  I figured that inviting her along to go out to a local bar with some of my friends might be a good place to start (“group status,” as a friend put it). 

She came straight to the bar from class (which she somehow has on Saturday evenings).  She was wearing the same turquoise track pants from nunchucking the week before and the same black zip-up.  She must have been hot in the zip-up, but when I suggested that she remove it, she whispered that she didn’t have anything on underneath, so that might not be a good idea…

She was quiet at first, which is to be expected.  A girl, by herself, in an uncomfortable environment, with a bunch of people she doesn’t know.  However, after a few rounds of a tried and true "social activity" (originally called “Horses and Dragons,” credit Prague summer 2011, which I then adapted to fit the Chinese) and the consequential beers, she loosened up and the conversation started flowing. 

Minutes turned to hours, and before I knew it, the rest of our group had mysteriously disappeared.  Yufeng and I sat alone.  It was actually quite late, but regardless the situation had taken a drastic turn for which I was ill prepared.  I suggested with a sense of urgency that it was time to head home, so rose from the table and motioned toward the door.

Despite the typical Saturday night commotion in Wudaokou, my attention was solely focused on Yufeng’s left hand, which was insistently grasping mine.  Her skin was softer than I had expected, given her nunchucking habits, but also quite cold, probably because of the cool autumn night and the past several hours of cupping a beer glass with both hands, pulled close to her chest.  I tried to resist her advances, but her persistence eventually got the better of a “weary” me.  We held hands for the last twenty or so meters as we walked to the corner outside my apartment complex.

I thanked her for coming and said goodnight.  I was not about to offer to see her home, since I neither knew where she lived nor wanted complicate matters any further.  I offered a friendly hug.  Yufeng, though, being that much more forward than I had ever expected any Chinese girl to be, quickly moved her head to the right, intercepted my hug, and accomplished ultimately in turning it into a kiss.

Taken aback, and, again, for lack of a better word, “weary,” I took longer than I would have hoped to react.  In all honesty it happened so quickly that now I can barely remember.  I managed eventually to push her away, and subsequently put my hands on her hips, turned her 90 degrees, and goaded her on homewards.

I did not hear from her for days.  Perhaps she was waiting for me to call her?  Little did she know, she would wait an eternity.  Eventually, she sent me a text, which read, in proper Yufeng style : “The lightest of leaves creates ripples on the water’s surface; but does not disturb the quietude of the deep, how happened the tranquil kiss.  And that seed I have, a seed that I perhaps cannot plant or do not want to, is still a seed I have.”

It had become clear to me then that this had all gone too far and terribly wrong.  It was indeed time for me to make things clear and rectify any misunderstandings, which, evidently, were many and grave, regardless of who was to blame for them.  I responded then, perhaps harshly but at least engaging her theme: “Your words are endlessly shrouded in mystery.  Either way, I must say, you may have a seed, but I have none; and the leaf makes ripples on the water's surface in your heart alone.  If you understand this, then you already know.” 

I did not hear back from her those next few days, and honestly I was hoping that I never would, that this short but confusing chapter in the book of my life would be buried deep beneath the pages that would follow.  But as the days passed, a feeling of fear and trepidation overcame me: Yufeng, the shining phoenix, was sure to rise from the ashes with renewed youth and the resolve to live anew.

Thursday night, the calls began.  I was studying for our first exam, which was the next morning.  I did not have time to waste on this.  My phone went into the drawer of the desk, out of sight, but not out of mind.  The calls continued during my exam the next morning, which I successfully ignored, and continued Friday afternoon, while I was packing for our weekend trip to Xi’an, one of China’s most historic cities (stay tuned for this).  My phone, fully charged, continued to ring in my pocket all evening.  I had said my piece and honestly was not in any position to talk, since I was then stuffed into a train, six beds to a cabin, and barely enough room to breath.  At ten, the lights went out.  I turned my phone to silent and went to bed, hoping that eventually the calls would cease.

The next morning, finally in Xi’an after over 14 hours on the train, I pulled my phone out of my backpack.  Frighteningly, there were, I kid you not, 64 missed calls from the now surely fiery, vengeful phoenix.  Perhaps if there had been only 63 calls, I would not have been so worried, but 64, a square eight by eight, or a cube of four by four by four (the unluckiest of numbers here, as "four" in Chinese sounds the same as "death") was far too bad an omen for me to ignore.  I decided to seek some advice.

My advice-seeking led, naturally, to the entire group – students, teachers, boys, girls, Americans and Chinese alike – discussing how best to handle the situation.  Unfortunately, there was no consensus, but rather the two general schools of thought.  The first, sympathetic to her disillusionment, advocated that I attempt to again express my disinterest one last time and henceforth break all ties. The other, seeing her behavior as evidence that she is fundamentally irrational, unstable, and perhaps even crazy, advocated that I continue on my current path and let the fire burn out naturally.  One would hope that the Chinese girls would gravitate toward the right answer, but that were as divided as everyone else.  Two schools of equal size and diversity offered me little other than confirmation that I had indeed -- 陷入了走不了，不走又干不下去的窘境 -- found myself in quite a predicament.

I sided with the latter group, mostly because it required that I continue to do nothing. And so, appropriately, the decision availed me exactly that: nothing.  That day, I received 36 calls from Yufeng, in total now 100 in less than 24 hours’ time.  (A friend shouted as the hundredth call came in, perhaps the only glimpse of humor in the course of the entire episode: “One hundred!! You win!!”)

Since my battery had been sufficiently drained by the constant stream of calls, I was forced to conserve power and shut the phone off entirely.  I turned it back on only once we were back on the train to Beijing, late at night after the lights had gone out.  Unable to call, Yufeng had resorted to text messages, which by this point had become quite inconsistent in their content and overall incoherent.

I turned to a classmate in the bunk across the aisle and whispered, my voice desperate and sincere  “What do I do?”

Although I could not see, I hear in his voice that he was looking me in the eyes: “You’ve got to just tell her, just one time.  And then forget it.”

“I think you’re right,” I finally admitted. “This actually might never end otherwise.”

I composed the message slowly and sent her finally: “Yufeng, I do not know the feelings in your heart, but I know that whatever they are, my heart does not feel the same.  We must end this relationship.”

With that, it was done, and my phone promptly ran out of battery.  I put my head down and fell asleep.