FRAGMENT 59
The Photograph Sewn Inside a Coat
Fragment: A crow cawing outside | A young woman suddenly cries, "Leave me alone!"
Time & Place: Spring 2003 · Yangfang Alley, Beijing · Pocket Alley ｜ Winter 1938 · Yan'an
The proprietress's voice pierced my memory.
For an instant, it resonated with Grandma Yang's thick, syrupy murmur.
I looked at her more carefully.
Sure enough, there was a resemblance.
Her hair was combed so neatly it seemed straighter than the wooden comb itself.
Beneath her coat, her body moved with the same familiar rhythm.
The same broad hips.
The same narrow waist.
Gao Yong lifted his head while reaching for a dish.
The moment he saw her face, his mouth froze open.
After she swayed away toward the kitchen, Gao Yong reached into his briefcase and pulled out a photograph.
"Brother, doesn't the owner look a little like this woman?”
A red fog exploded across my vision.
My head felt ready to split apart.
The photograph showed Grandma Yang.
Outside, a crow let out a harsh caw.
The sound cooled me immediately.
"Where did you get this?"
"Oh, don't even ask."
Gao Yong took a sip of Maotai.
"When my father was dying, he absolutely refused to let anyone remove his jacket.”
I remained silent.
"Guess what we found?”
He smiled.
”Sewn into the inside of the coat, right here over the chest, was a little hidden pocket."
He tapped his own breast.
"This photo was inside.”
"So the old man had a secret love?"
I played along.
I wanted to hear more.
"I still don't know who she is."
He shrugged.
"I'll have somebody check the archives."
The rest of the evening passed in noise and arrangements.
Gao Yong finalized the details of my return to the Macau satellite television company.
Then we parted.
I walked alone to the old courtyard in Pocket Hutong.
The gate was closed.
The current residents clearly preferred not to be disturbed.
Leaning against the ancient locust tree, I took out a cigarette.
I never lit it.
The hanging corpse was gone.
Only the smell of chemical insecticide remained.
Before my eyes drifted the pale naked body.
Those loose breasts.
That thick, lingering murmur.
A few days later, I sought out Old Tong.
He showed me the file.
I saw the codename:
Red Sparrow.
Over the following years, bits and pieces of information slowly accumulated.
At last, I began to understand how Yang Zihe became Nalan Qianhe.
And how Nalan Qianhe became Grandma Yang.
Winter, 1938.
Yan’an.
Among the women of Mizhi, Yang Zihe was considered exceptionally beautiful.
Her skin carried the pale glow of polished jade.
Full breasts.
A narrow waist.
Generous hips.
Yet her manner remained restrained and dignified.
She deliberately sought the dirtiest and most exhausting tasks.
She wanted to stain herself with the colors of revolution and erase the traces of her upbringing as the daughter of a wealthy landlord.
Director Luan of the Border Region Security Department had already claimed her as his own.
He was determined to bring her into the Communist Party as well.
The man possessed the power to decide who lived and who died.
Yet he remained deeply anxious that a woman so beautiful might attract the attention of men even more powerful than himself.
As a result, he kept her hidden inside his cave dwelling whenever possible.
Even in public, his gaze never left her.
Sharp by nature, his eyes grew even more predatory whenever she was near.
Yang Zihe mistook such possessiveness for protection.
She did not yet realize that his appetite for women had already become one of Yan'an's worst-kept secrets.
Then, one afternoon, Director Luan dragged her into his cave dwelling.
Intentions obvious.
The young woman suddenly cried out:
"Leave me alone!"
FRAGMENT 60
Shaanxi Lane
Fragment:"She had real elegance" | "Don't be afraid, child. Grandma is here."
Time & Place:Winter 1938 · Cave dwelling of the Border Region Security Department｜Yan'an · Summer 2003 · Shaanxi Lane, Beijing
Yang Zihe ran from the cave dwelling and onto the campus of the Anti-Japanese Military and Political University.
She ran.
And ran.
But beyond that, she did nothing.
A few months later, she married a scholar working in the Second Bureau of the Military Commission.
Several months after that, rumors spread throughout Yan'an that the poor scholar was wearing one green hat after another. Yang Zihe's affairs had become common knowledge.
Then, on the eve of what might have become a political purge, she vanished.
No explanation.
No trace.
In the summer of 2003, I visited Shaanxi Lane several times.
I was searching for the old shadows of **Red Sparrow**.
One of Beijing's most famous brothels, “Shanglin Xianguan”, had once stood there, less than a two-minute walk from the former residence of Ji Xiaolan and not far from the Jinjiang Guild Hall immortalized in the movie *My Memories of Old Beijing*.
The neighborhood was crowded with old residences belonging to opera masters, scholars, and journalists.
The scent of culture remained.
The smell of reproduction had long since disappeared.
Before Yang Zihe, there had been Sai Jinhua and Xiao Fengxian.
After Yang Zihe became famous at Shanglin Xianguan in the winter of 1939, no surviving record explained how she rose to become the courtesan most favored by senior Japanese officers and officials of the collaborationist regime.
A few elderly residents still remembered her.
Whenever her name came up, they would raise a thumb and say:
"That woman?"
"A real talent in bed."
The caretaker at Ji Xiaolan's former residence possessed his own collection of stories.
An elderly man with severe myopia, he would solemnly inform curious visitors that Nalan Qianhe spoke Japanese and understood English.
Japanese generals frequently visited her.
Later, so did American generals and officers attached to the postwar military mediation mission.
Finally, speaking in a soft southern accent, he would deliver his verdict:
"She had real elegance."
I discovered another secret as well.
The neighborhood barber had been Red Sparrow's only courier.
For years he had tried to reestablish contact with her organization.
He never succeeded.
As for the photograph hidden inside the coat, its meaning remained a mystery.
No clue survived.
From scattered details in Gao Yong's recollections of his father, I could only construct a possible version of events.
Gao Zicheng had been a gifted physics student at Tongji University in Shanghai.
After graduation he traveled to Yan'an and quickly became a technical specialist in the listening and interception division of the Second Bureau.
After the Communist takeover of Beijing, he participated in operations targeting the Eight Great Hutongs.
That was likely when he became fascinated by Yang Zihe.
The probability that they maintained a secret relationship for many years afterward seemed high.
The probability that he severed all contact once his political career began rising during the Cultural Revolution seemed even higher.
After all, it was Gao Zicheng who arranged for my father and Yang Zihe to become neighbors.
Sometimes, when I was bored, I imagined him.
With his glasses on, Gao Zicheng must have looked exactly like a villain from a traditional opera.
A little frightening.
I could never understand what Yang Nai-nai saw in him.
I still don't.
Then the ringing in my ears returned.
And with it came a voice from the Tangshan earthquake.
A voice I had not heard in years.
"Don't be afraid, child."
A pause.
"Grandma is here."
