Rebirth 2004: A lone figure in the literary world

Chapter 439 A Thought-Provoking Ending
Liang Dandan is right; Zhang Chao did indeed give "Wei Laosan" a good life in the end.

In the following episodes, the angry crowd begins a massive "hunt" for "Wei Laosan"—they believe that this Chinese man, who doesn't even have a real name, colluded with swindlers to deceive them emotionally, and of course, to make political donations.

The illegal labor dens controlled by "Old Wang" were overturned one by one, and "Wei Laosan" also took advantage of the chaos to escape.

In his panic, he pulled out the last of his cash, boarded a Greyhound bus, and headed off into the unknown distance.

Strangely, it seemed that none of the people on the bus recognized him.

Just a few days ago, "Old Man Wei's" weathered face was a household name throughout California, especially in Los Angeles, where he could be seen on almost every street.

However, after the myth of "Wei Laosan" was shattered, his face seemed to lose all its memorable features.

When he escaped the junkyard, the enraged voters did not recognize him, the former "God"; when he boarded the Greyhound bus, no one even glanced at him.

Just like those bad students who can't remember what they learned in the previous lesson.

After an eight-hour journey, the Greyhound bus stopped in San Francisco, another major city in California.

"Wei Laosan" got off the car in a daze, almost driven by instinct, and arrived in Chinatown.

Looking at the massive Chinese-style archway and the rows of Chinese-style buildings, "Old Man Wei" felt as if he had returned to China...

Deep within San Francisco's Chinatown, in the greasy kitchen of "Fu Man Lou," a restaurant, the enormous exhaust fans roared, unable to dissipate the thick fumes and wok hei (the smoky aroma of stir-frying). Wei Laosan, dressed in an ill-fitting but reasonably clean white chef's uniform, a gray towel draped around his neck, was diligently scrubbing a mountain of dishes. The scalding water, mixed with strong detergent, soaked his already rough hands, making them white and wrinkled. Sweat streamed down his forehead, gathering at his chin before dripping into the foamy sink.

After escaping from the junkyard, Wei Laosan was taken in by Uncle Fu, a kind-looking but shrewd businessman from Guangdong. Uncle Fu didn't read English news and was clueless about the "governor" farce. He had only heard a few brief mentions of Wei Laosan from his fellow villagers, concluding that "the unlucky guy had a stroke of good luck but also met with terrible misfortune." What attracted him to Wei Laosan was his physique, strength, honesty, and quiet dedication to his work.

"Ah San, that's a wrap! You've worked so hard!" Chef Ah Bing called out in Cantonese, turning off the noisy range hood as he did so.

Old Wei looked up blankly, wiping the sweat and grease from his face. The kitchen instantly quieted down, leaving only the sizzling sound of the stove. Uncle Fu strolled over, hands behind his back, looked at the gleaming dishes and the clean floor, nodded with satisfaction, and pulled a few crumpled US dollar bills from his greasy apron pocket, stuffing them into Old Wei's hand: "Here, your pay for today. You did a great job!"

Clutching the banknotes still warm from his body and smelling of oil, Wei Laosan awkwardly said in his newly learned Cantonese, "Thank you... boss."

"Are you hungry? Sit down and eat!" Uncle Fu pointed to a small square table in the corner of the kitchen.

Several simple dishes were already laid out on the table: a plate piled high with roast goose meat, steaming hot; a dish of bright green stir-fried bok choy, glistening with oil; and a small dish of golden, oily salted fish pieces. The most eye-catching dish was a large plate of freshly cooked egg fried rice in the center—each grain of rice distinct, coated with golden egg, mixed with bright green scallions and pink ham cubes, emitting an enticing, pure aroma.

The aroma, like a warm hand, instantly captivated all of Wei Laosan's senses. At that moment, the familiar, burning hunger in his stomach roared wildly, more real and urgent than any "gurgle" or "freedom good." He practically pounced onto the small stool, ignoring the heat, and grabbed his chopsticks to shovel a huge mouthful of fried rice into his mouth.

Piping hot! Salty and fragrant! The soft, sticky rice and the caramelized egg exploded in his mouth! The oil from the diced ham and the savory aroma of the scallions blended perfectly! Even after eating like this for a week, he still felt it was the most delicious and satisfying thing he had ever eaten in his life! He didn't bother to chew, swallowing large mouthfuls, the scalding rice grains sliding down his esophagus, bringing an almost painful sense of satisfaction. He picked up a large chopstick of bok choy and stuffed it into his mouth, crisp, tender, and sweet; then he carefully picked up a few pieces of salted fish, the unique salty and savory flavor making his eyes squint. Finally, he picked up the bowl of fried rice, mixed in the vegetable broth and salted fish pieces, and devoured it in a whirlwind.

He was full. A heavy, warm feeling of fullness spread from the depths of his stomach to every part of his body. He put down his chopsticks and let out a long, satisfied burp, filled with the aroma of food. A fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead from eating, which he wiped haphazardly with a towel. He leaned against the greasy wall and closed his eyes, tired but incredibly relaxed.

The kitchen was quiet. Chef Ah Bing hummed an off-key Cantonese tune as he cleaned the stove. Uncle Fu sat behind the counter, wearing his reading glasses, calculating accounts with a calculator under the dim light. A faint sound came from the radio, seemingly the local Chinese station's evening news, a female announcer speaking in perfect Mandarin:

"...The day before yesterday, the California Supreme Court finally ruled to disqualify the so-called 'Third Brother Wei' from governorship. This months-long, dramatic, and absurd 'symbolic political frenzy' has finally come to an end. Analysts point out that this incident exposed..."

With his eyes closed, Wei Laosan heard the radio's audio through a thick layer of frosted glass, muffled and indistinct. The words—"revocation," "qualification," "revelry," "curtain call"—rippled across his drowsy mind like ripples on water, then vanished without a trace. They were far less real than the aroma of the fried rice and the fullness in his stomach.

He patted his bulging belly, feeling the long-lost sense of contentment and exhaustion brought on by labor and a full meal. The few loose bills in his pocket, though meager, were the result of washing hundreds and thousands of dishes with his own hands. There was no embezzlement by Old Wang, no pursuit by the immigration authorities, and certainly no suffocating "governor" aura that put him on the hot seat. He was just "Ah San," a silent dishwasher in the kitchen of Fu Man Lou.

As dusk settled over Chinatown outside his window, neon signs shimmered with the warm glow of "roast meats" and "wonton noodles." The aroma of food, the calls of Cantonese vendors, and the faint clatter of mahjong tiles wafted from the alleyways. All of this seemed irrelevant to him, yet it enveloped him in a comforting embrace.

Wei Laosan shifted to a more comfortable position against the greasy wall, his heavy eyelids slowly closing. Just before drifting into a deep sleep, he vaguely thought: Tomorrow… there seems to be half a piece of char siu that Master A Bing left him for a midnight snack? In the shadows unseen by anyone, the corner of his mouth twitched extremely slightly upwards, forming a pure and primal, contented arc belonging to a well-fed man.

The night sky outside the window, where the laser projection of "WEI IS THE WAY" once occupied, is now only a silent, deep blue, as if nothing had ever happened.

"Is that all?" Zhu Yanling put down the manuscript, still feeling unsatisfied. "Wei Laosan," who had always been hungry, finally got his fill at the very end of the novel.

This highly symbolic ending evoked a bittersweet feeling in her, a mixture of melancholy and intense joy.

Initially, she wasn't very interested in the novel "Running for Governor," after all, it was a "custom-made" product for the American publication of "A Joke."

But once she got to the middle, she was completely engrossed. Undoubtedly, Zhang Chao displays a more joyful and unrestrained quality in "Running for Governor" compared to his previous four works—of course, this is how it is perceived by Chinese readers; Americans may not necessarily see it that way.

Zhu Yanling said, "It seems Zhang Chao isn't very optimistic about the future of America—don't you think Zhang Chao's ending was too rushed? How come Wei Laosan is suddenly washing dishes in Chinatown? At least give him a decent ending..."

Liang Dandan laughed and said, "How come you've gone from a literary editor to an ordinary reader? You can't stand leaving things unsaid in a story? I think the ending is the most brilliant touch."

Remember Hemingway's *Hills Like White Elephants*? The conversation between the man and woman about abortion ultimately dissolves into the roar of a train. That abrupt ending is reality.

Zhu Yanling playfully slapped Liang Dandan and said, "Stop showing off your literary theories! Speak plainly! Look here—" She turned to the ending of the manuscript, "Wei Laosan was eating and dozing off in the restaurant kitchen, which echoes his state of hunger when he first appeared, but those overwhelming waves of public opinion just disappeared?"

Liang Dandan also smiled and dodged slightly, then said, "Zhang Chao did this on purpose. Look, the US election has just ended, and those campaign posters haven't even been taken down yet. But who among the general public remembers the loser's embarrassing situation?"
"Look at today's newspapers, they're still hyping up the Wall Street subprime crisis, nobody cares how much mud was on McCain's shoes when he left the game!"

Zhu Yanling then asked, "Why is it Chinatown in the end? Why a Chinese restaurant? Why is it called 'Fu Man Lou'? Why Chinese people?" Her curiosity was fully aroused. She was not familiar with life in the United States, and Liang Dandan had to fill in many details.

Liang Dandan thought for a moment before saying, "Do you remember 'Homeland'? Zhang Chao did do some research. In recent years, Chinese restaurants in Chinatown have indeed adopted this kind of tacky name."

But you've hit the nail on the head—the most brilliant part of the whole ending is the involvement of the Chinese perspective. The reason "Wei Laosan" became a candidate for governor of California is precisely because he was a "stranger".

Strangers possess an inherent mystery and the unknown, making them easy targets for manipulation. However, in the eyes of Chinese people, "Wei Laosan" holds no mystery whatsoever.

He was just an ordinary, low-level worker. Any accolades bestowed upon him were seen as a joke by the Chinese, so they were naturally not fooled.

Therefore, while the American public opinion field is still playing identity politics, the most basic common sense about names has become a fatal flaw.

Zhang Chao's "Running for Governor" exposes the underlying logic of certain political games, albeit using a satirical, carnival-like, and absurd approach.

Zhu Yanling said, "Don't you think there's a wonderful intertextuality between 'Wei Laosan' and Mark Twain's original work?"

Liang Dandan said, "Yes, back then Mark Twain used irony to expose the dark side of elections, but Zhang Chao is playing with surreal political allegory. You see, in Mark's writing, candidates were forced out by rumors, but now Zhang Chao makes rumors themselves the fuel to ignite political prestige. This reversal can be considered a typical example of black humor."

Zhu Yanling turned to a page in the middle of the novel, pointed to a passage and said, "Actually, my favorite part is the one about the committee filling out forms. It's practically the 'Crowd: The Story of the Popular Mind' for the internet age."

A so-called 'candidate' whose entire campaign form was filled out by someone else, and who didn't even show up when submitting it, was somehow able to have the law and the system make way for him...

Will America really become like that one day? I don't really believe it.

Zhu Yanling was speaking from the heart. After all, in 2008, the United States was at its peak, at its zenith, and was expected to continue rising for the next eight years. To tell any Chinese intellectual at that time that the US was actually fraught with crises and would be in unimaginable chaos a decade or so later...

Even those who aren't "public intellectuals" would scoff at such remarks.

Liang Dandan closed the manuscript and said, "In short, this piece is destined to cause controversy. However, based on my experience, the more unconventional a work seems, the more it will resonate deeply. Just like everyone says that housing prices will never go back to normal, but when they actually see a property on sale, don't they still scramble to buy it?"
By the way, I heard Zhang Chao will be attending the Mao Dun Literature Prize ceremony?

Zhu Yanling then came to her senses: "Oh right, he was the presenter for the newcomer award..."

Liang Dandan covered her mouth and laughed, "Isn't he a 'newcomer' himself? I wonder what the winners' expressions will be when they see him presenting the awards."

As she spoke, she packed the manuscript into her bag, preparing to leave, but suddenly sighed, "The last line of the novel, 'At this moment there was only a silent, deep blue, as if nothing had happened,' always reminds me of the green light at the end of 'The Great Gatsby'..."

Zhu Yanling escorted her to the door, and upon hearing this, immediately said, "Stop, stop, stop! If you keep talking, you'll start quoting Nietzsche again. Go back to your university and teach graduate students. I'll treat you to morning tea another day."

Suddenly remembering something, he said seriously, "Don't forget the in-depth analysis and glossary of 'Running for Governor'! Without these two things, domestic readers will definitely be completely confused when reading this novel."

Liang Dandan waved and walked into the elevator, then turned back and said, "Got it, Editor Zhu! I'll write an article titled 'Postmodern Identity Anxiety from the Perspective of Name Politics' when I get back!"

As the elevator doors slowly closed, Zhu Yanling turned around and returned to her seat.

She looked at the novel she was working on, "Running for Governor," which was also over 2 words long. Together with the other four novels, it totaled 12 words, almost the length of a full-length novel. Now, all she had to do was finalize the cover and design as soon as possible...

Just as Zhu Yanling was feeling a "happy trouble" about this, David Miller was having a huge fight with his boss over "running for governor".

(End of this chapter)