The Great Personage
aka: Da Ren Wu [大人物], Daai Yan Mat [大人物], Tokoh Besar.
This novel was written in 1971.
The young man held a sabre in his hand, the silk handkerchief on the handle fluttering in the wind.
A red piece of silk, red like the recent sunrise.
The sabre's tip flashed brightly beneath the blazing sun. The young man perspired, the moisture from the sweat penetrating his black satin clothes.
He was already surrounded. There were only four people surrounding him, but he knew just how fearsome these four people were. He wanted to drop his sabre several times, abandoning all resistence.
But he did not have this luxury.
Because he could not tarnish the red silk handkerchief attached to his sabre. He could not tarnish the person whom this handkerchief symbolized.
To attach this red handkerchief was to express the determination to struggle to the bitter end, without showing weakness to others even unto death!
The red silk seemed to bestow some kind of unwavering courage!
He brandished his sabre, shouted wildly, and charged.
The red silk danced, looking even more captivating than the flash of the sabre.
Immediately, he heard the sound of the sabre cutting into the skull of his opponent.
The man fell down, his eyeballs protruding as he stared at the fresh flowing blood.
He did not die under the sabre, nor did he die under the young man's hand.
It was the red silk that took his life, because from the start, his confidence had already been shattered by the indomitable courage that this red silk handkerchief represented!
* * *
The young girl leaned on the door panel, her eyes more gentle than the soft light of the stars in the sky.
She held on to his hand, for she couldn't bear to let him leave.
The handkerchief tied to his wrist fluttered lightly in the evening breeze.
A red silk handkerchief, red like a lover's heart.
The night was late. He should have left long ago.
He did not leave.
Because he could not tarnish the red silk attached to his wrist. So long as this handkerchief was worn, no young girl could be disappointed.
Not only did this red handkerchief represent courage, it also symbolized passion. A fiery kind of passion.
He finally went over and whispered into her ear.
Their sweet whispers were more stirring than the spring breeze.
But her eyes were still fixated on the handkerchief that was tied to his wrist.
His passion vanished, because he suddenly realized that what she loved was not him, but the piece of red silk on his wrist.
When she held his hand, she was not thinking of him in her heart, but the person whom the red silk handkerchief represented.
Who knew how many other young girls' had him in their hearts and dreams.
He was called Qin Ge.
* * *
He had a bath, fixed his topknot, trimmed his fingernails well and put on a newly-tailored black satin shirt. Then, he tied the red silk handkerchief carefully to his waist.
He did not like wearing black clothes, nor did he like red handkerchiefs.
But he couldn't avoid doing this.
Because if he didn't do this, it would show that he did not have courage, that he did not have passion.
Ever since the Battle of Tiger Hill, the dye-houses of Jiangnan had no choice but to dye all kinds of silk handkerchiefs red. Because all the young men wanted to tie a piece of red silk on their bodies.
If a young man did not carry a piece of red silk on his body, he simply didn't dare to step outside his door.
Some people who were no longer young, but wanted to act young, would also wear a piece of red silk to show that they were not too old, that they didn't get left behind.
Dashing young men would tie the handkerchief to their wrists or waists. Courageous young men would tie the handkerchief to their sabres or swords. The young men in the marketplace would tie the handkerchief around their heads.
But never would anyone tied it around his neck.
No one dared!
Because Qin Ge tied the red silk handkerchief around his neck.
Anyone who dared to tie the handkerchief around his neck -- even when Qin Ge was not around -- would have others cut it off. Along with his neck!
One could study and idolize him, but he could never be offended in the slightest way. If he enjoyed admiring the moonlight alone on top of a bridge, others could only do the same from underneath the bridge.
Qin Ge was Qin Ge. There would never be a second one. Never had, never would!
Since the Battle of Tiger Hill, Qin Ge had become a hero in the heart of every young man in Jiangnan, and an idol in the heart of every young girl.