(Chief Inspector Chen resembles MEP)
...his mind began wandering. "So many days, where have you been -- / like a traveling cloud / that forgets to come back / unaware of the spring drawing to an end?" (p. 7)
...she couldn't help taking another look at him -- possibly in his mid-thirties, tall, austerely good-looking, dressed in a beige jacket, white shirt, and khaki pants. Nothing conspicuous, yet with an air of prosperous distinction that fit well with his clothes. Slightly bookish, well-read.... (p. 27)
"There is one line in a Confucian classic, Shanshan. 'Some people may never really know each other even if they're together until white-haired, but some people may be true friends the moment they meet each other, taking down their hats.'" (p. 31-32)
"You have worked too hard, burning up the yin in your system. Consequently, both the qi and blood are at a low ebb, and the yang is insubstantially high. Quite a lot is out of balance, but nothing is precisely wrong, just a little of everything." He dashed off a prescription and added thoughtfully, "You're still single, aren't you?"
Chen thought he knew what the doctor was driving at. According to traditional Chinese medical theory, people achieve the yin-yang balance through marriage. For a man of his age, continuous celibacy wouldn't be healthy. (p. 45)
She was dressed for his company, he observed. Confucius says, "A woman makes herself beautiful for the man who appreciates her." It wasn't necessarily antifeminist, depending on the viewer's perspective. (p. 58)
There was a red paper cutting stuck to the cabin wall behind her, he noted. The cutting, though slightly torn, was a recognizable pattern of fish and flower, symbolic of passionate love and fruitful marriage. (p. 58-59)
Chen couldn't help wondering whether people in their cups were eventually all alike, too addicted to have much self-esteem or dignity left. (p. 102)
They sauntered away, hand in hand like a loving couple, which they were. It was as in a popular song, "It's the most romantic thing to live, love, and grow old with you, side by side." (p. 162)
She leaned toward him unexpectedly, her hand in his, her head touching his shoulder. He became aware of her breath, warm on his face.
They were standing close to each other, by the window. Behind her, the lake water appeared calm and beautiful under the fair moonlight. In the deep blue evening sky, the night clouds grew insubstantial.
She tilted her face up to him, her eyes glistening. He tightened his grasp of her hand, which was soft, slightly sweaty. She raised her other hand, her long fingers moving to smooth his face, lightly, as a breeze from the lake.
Several lines came back to him, as if riding on the water: "Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! ... / Ah, love, let us be true / To one another ..."
Another poet, long ago, far away in another land, looking out the window at night, standing in the company of one so near and dear to him, thinking of the reason why they should love each other: ... "for the world, which seems / To lie before us like a land of dreams, / So various, so beautiful, so new, / Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, / Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain ..."
It was a melancholy love poem, presenting love as the only momentary escape -- from a faithless world, hopeless with "human misery, and the eternal note of sadness." .... Still, they could be true to one another. (p. 190-191)
So it had happened. He still found it hard to believe. It seemed as though he had been another man earlier, and now he was reviewing in amazement what had happened to somebody else. He looked at her again, her black hair spilled over the white pillow, her pale face peaceful yet passion-worn, after the consummating moment of the cloud coming, and the rain falling.
In the second century BC, Song Yu, a celebrated poet of the Chu state, composed a rhapsody about the liason of King Chu Xiang and the Wu Mountain goddess. At parting, the goddess promised she would come again to him in clouds and rain. A breathtaking metaphor, which had become a sort of euphemism for sexual love in classical Chinese literature.
The memory of the night surged back in the dark, intensely, illuminating Chen in fragmented details. The intensity of their passion had been accentuated by a touch of desperation that affected them both. There was no telling what would happen -- to her, to him, to the world. There was nothing for them to grasp except the moment of being, losing, and finding themselves again in each other.
With her above, she turned into a dazzling white cloud, languid, rolling, soft yet solid, sweeping, almost insubstantial, clinging, pressing, and shuddering when she came, into a sudden rain, incredibly warm yet cool, splashing, her long hair cascading over his face like a torrent, washing up sensations he had never known before. Then she undulated under him like the lake, ever-flowing, rising and falling in the dark, arching up, her hot wetness engulfing him, rippling, pulling him down to the depth of the night, and bearing him up to the surface again, her legs tightening around him in waves of prolonged convulsion.
Afterward, they lay quietly in each other's arms, languourous, in correspondence to the lake water lapping against the shore, lapping in the quietness of the night. (p. 192-193)
He didn't start all at once. He was sitting still, thinking, unaware of the time flowing away like waves in the dark. It started to rain. He listened to the rain pattering against the windows, imagining the lake furling around like a girdle. (p. 194-195)
The world is meaningful only in what has meaning to you. (p. 212)
One way or another, people pick up a given discourse, that which makes the world meaningful or sensible to them. Then they live in accordance to it, even though what they do may not make any sense to anyone else. (p. 213)
Indeed, people are complicated. They are capable of doing things that seem totally inexplicable to others, hence suspicious, but once you manage to see them from their perspective, it al makes perfect sense. (p. 235)