May 21, 2003
Jì Chengyang
“I love you. I especially love you.” Jǐ Yi’s voice came from the other end of the phone.
For one instant, his hand paused.
In this moment, he felt he was not in Iraq and, rather, was in Beijing, in his home by the Third Ring Road. His little lady had, with immense earnestness, finished playing the song, “Angel,” and now, shyly turning around, was gazing at him as she said, “I love you. I especially love you.”
And then, there would surely be a very cute cake with the right number of candles on it.
The light of the candles’ flames would shine upon his little lady’s face and those eyes that captivated his soul and filled his dreams.
Someone unexpectedly knocked on the door. “Yang.”
His roommate was calling his name, interrupting this brief moment in which he had allowed his mind to wander.
Before he hurriedly hung up the phone, he told Jǐ Yi, “I may be calling you less and less. When I can, I’ll contact you through email.”
He very quickly heard her reply, “Mm-hmm. Happy birthday.”
“Hanging up now,” he said.
Because there was no time. He absolutely needed to leave this room right now to go do his work.
They had been here for a long time already, but still they had never gotten the opportunity to interview anyone from the American side. This was a current situation that was very frustrating and dispiriting. Although Bush had already announced on May 1 that the major combat operations in Iraq had ended[1], it was clear to Jì Chengyang and his roommate that this war had only just begun.
And they still had much to do.
Grabbing his jacket that he had tossed on the bed, he pulled open the door and stepped out. His roommate very soon told him that there was an opportunity to get an interview with the American side. “Tonight, we’ll head through the night to Baghdad. I have a friend there,” his roommate said.
He suddenly noticed his roommate was actually wearing, beneath his jacket, a shirt from their university days. On it, there was even their school’s emblem.
“So sentimental about the past? You’ve still kept this shirt?”
His roommate laughed. “Yup, sentimental. I’m preserving the passion of my student days.”
Jì Chengyang did not say much else The two took five minutes to gather their things, and then, pulling their bags onto their backs, they left this little hotel along with two other journalists who were from the United Kingdom and the United States.
There was a seven-hour driving distance between here and Baghdad, and at all times there was a risk of encountering armed conflict along the way. It was extremely perilous. The four of them searched for a long time before finally finding an Iraqi man, who was in his fifties, willing to take them there. Jì Chengyang swiftly discussed and agreed on a price with the man. Then, everyone jumped up into the vehicle and, in this dark night, headed out of the city.
Before long, the vehicle drove into the even blacker night on the city’s outside.
As he cast his eyes beyond the window, he could see, near and far from them, only the road, a brook, and ruins left behind from the war.
The two foreign journalists beside him were conversing in low tones. “You still haven’t eaten dinner today?”
“Yeah. My stomach’s cramping a bit. Yesterday, I finished the bread that was in my bag. When we get to where we’re going, I’m going to eat a nice, big meal.”
Since the start of the Iraq War, this was the general state of all journalists: They were constantly following the developments on the battlefield, often pushing through and continuing for more than twenty hours at a time. Furthermore, in order to be able to deal with any sudden dangers that might arise, their nerves were always taut. Forgetting to eat was, naturally, then, a very commonplace occurrence.
Rocking and jolting, the vehicle drove along for two hours. He was somewhat fatigued, so after conferring with his roommate about the timing of when they would rotate for the other person to rest, he pulled up his jacket until it covered his face and quickly slipped into a state of sleep.
A massive booming sound all of a sudden reverberated into his ears. The echoes of the sweeping fire of machine guns, the roar of explosions, and the high, ear-piercing screams and terrified shouts of people came assailing them from all directions. Their vehicle abruptly stopped.
Jǐ Yi
She lowered the white cloth covering the piano.
She wondered how long Jì Chengyang had used this piano. Even now, it still looked very new. Thinking about it, though, it did make sense. Since he became a war correspondent, he had been travelling from place to place and had not really had any opportunity to stay at home for long periods of time. And even when he did return, he likely did not have many moments where he could sit down quietly and play the piano.
Jǐ Yi could not imagine how an eight-year-old Jì Chengyang would play piano, or how he had taken first place in a high-profile competition.
Standing up, she exhaled a long breath.
What should she do next?
It was too bad. She had originally thought she would be able to talk on the phone a little longer with him and say a few more words.
After a couple of aimless back-and-forth steps, she picked up the book by her hand and pulled out the bookmark, which had happened to be covering these words beneath it:
“… the great war photographer, Robert Capa’s famous quote: ‘If your photographs aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough…’”
<>This is a copy, taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. It would sincerely be appreciated if you would support this translation by reading it on that site instead. Thank you.
May 23, 2003
Jì Chengyang
Last night, he and the several other journalists had arrived at this hospital.
As a result of that sudden outbreak of local conflict, that Iraqi man had backed out, and no matter how much money they offered, he was still unwilling to continue going forth on the journey with them. The four of them, therefore, could only get off the vehicle, and only after travelling by foot for an entire night did they at last come upon a hospital that had doctors in it.
In a war zone, a hospital is the place most able to give people a sense of safety and security.
“I come from China.” While adjusting his camera, Jì Chengyang smilingly chatted with the several children around him.
“I know. A few years ago, some doctors came here. One of them was from China,” a thirteen-year-old boy answered, and then beaming, the boy sang a few lines from a song. He was vaguely able to discern the lyrics to be “In the Far East there is a dragon.[2]”
Jì Chengyang did not really listen to pop music. However, though he did not know who sang this song, he knew it sang about his homeland.
“That doctor taught you this, too?”
“Yup. The way the doctor sang it was really funny.”
While the two of them were talking, the other three children near them suddenly burst out in guffaws. It turned out one of them had been mimicking the sound of a mortar, an artillery weapon which fires explosive shells, and because his imitation was so realistic, the nurse who had walked in had thought it was real and had anxiously hurried to tell patients to evacuate from there. Only when she noticed that everyone was staring at her and laughing did the nurse finally catch on that she had been tricked.
It was the hour of the day when the sunlight was at its best. The entire ward teemed with laughter.
Jì Chengyang took a photograph of the youth who had just sung, “In the Far East there is a dragon.” Inside the frame of his camera lens, the side profile of the youth’s face was so distinct, and his eyes held the imprint of sunshine.
Right then, his roommate beckoned to him from the doorway.
Seeing this, he took his camera and stepped out, and they walked together into the courtyard to have a smoke.
He tried seven or eight times to get the lighter going, but no flame appeared. From the looks of it, it was out of fuel. “I wonder what places nearby sell lighters.” Bouncing the lighter on his upturned palm a couple of times, he said in English, “While we’re at it, we’ll buy some lunch.”
His roommate had no objections.
And so, the two walked out from the courtyard. Before they had taken two steps outside, though, his roommate abruptly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a newly-dug trench. At the same time, exploding shrapnel was already falling on the spot five metres in front of them.
They had not even gotten to take a gasp of air before the sound of firing mortars began resounding in their ears.
Lying on their bellies in the trench, the two hurriedly exchanged a look. They could both tell that the sound was coming from the hospital. There were still doctors, nurses, and many children in there, as well as the two foreign journalists, who had been taking a midday rest…
Shells rained down, one after the other, all of them falling not far from where the two of them lay.
Sand and dirt continuously flew up and sprayed them.
Amidst the thunderous roars, Jì Chengyang could feel that his entire body was being covered in sandy dirt. His eyes and clothing and even his mouth had sand in it. There was a chance that, within the next minute, he would end up being buried here.
Since entering Iraq, this was his fourth time having such a close brush with death.
It would not be the first time, nor would it be the last.
After collecting and clearing his thoughts, he tried as best as he could to calm himself, waiting completely in the sandy dirt and not daring to shift his body in the slightest, for fear he would be made the next target of attack. It was not until five minutes later, when there were no more sounds of exploding shells, that his roommate beside him at last gingerly shifted his body and, all the while spitting incessantly, asked, “Yang, how are you doing?”
“Not hurt.” He gave this brief answer. There were still grains of sand between his teeth.
“If we had ended up being buried here, it would have even saved the need for a grave.”
“Forget that.” Jì Chengyang spat out the sand in his mouth. “Even if I am to be buried, it has to be in the place of my roots.”
Their bodies covered in dirt, the two crawled out from that trench, which had nearly been completely filled up with sand. Everywhere their gazes could reach, there were ruins left after the explosions, and for a moment, they could not even find the way back to the hospital.
After walking for approximately two minutes, when they turned a corner, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his ribs. But the next instant, he lost all consciousness.
Jǐ Yi
The large lecture class had already come to an end.
Jǐ Yi could not be bothered to get up. This time of day was when there were the most people in the dining hall. If you waited half an hour and then went, even though there would be fewer selections of food, there would also be fewer people. She was not picky about what she ate anyway, and it was fine to her to eat whatever was remaining.
Sprawling her upper body on the desk, she turned her head to the side and stared, somewhat lost in thought, at the tree leaves outside the window.
They were lush and green and swayed tremblingly in the breeze.
Refracting the sunlight.
Sunlight [yang guang].
Yang[3].
“Jì Chengyang…” she said to herself. Then, changing to a different tone, she quietly murmured something else. “Little Uncle Jì.”
Somehow, she felt that the latter three characters made her feel especially bashful. She felt her cheeks were a little hot, and there also was a slight tickly sensation in her ears as they inexplicably began to burn up.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
June 1, 2003
Jì Chengyang
The high fever would not break. The gunshot wound, plus the wounds that came from being severely beaten, was inflamed.
In his half-conscious state, Jì Chengyang felt a cool sensation spread outwards from his right hand. In his gaze, he hazily could make out a girl adeptly hanging a plastic bottle, which contained anti-inflammatory medicine, on the wall, and then she lowered her head to glance at him.
Jǐ Yi
She discovered that Jì Chengyang had not contacted her for ten days already.
Nuannuan said that in the past, he had always been like this as well. Because of the instability of things in a war zone, Jì Chengyang every time would find a suitable place before he would call or send an email home. In short, you could only wait for him to contact you; there were absolutely no means for you to contact him.
<>Please support this translation by reading it at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, its actual site of posting. It would be greatly appreciated if you would do so. Thank you.
February 14, 2004
Jì Chengyang
He did not know what these people wanted to do. They wanted no ransom, nor would they negotiate with the government.
Since being held captive here, he had not seen his roommate, who had been taken prisoner at the same time as him.
In this room with him was also a journalist from Italy. This person’s English was not very good, so Jì Chengyang could only speak to him in sentences put together from simple English words.
He was unable to work out the days and did not know what date it was today.
He only knew that in China, it should be winter now.
“I have a wife.” The Italian suddenly spoke. “About four months haven’t seen her. You?”
“Me?” His lips moved ever so slightly. The pain from his broken femur made even speaking seem strenuous.
These days, whenever he thought of Xixi, for some reason, he would always feel his eyes start to sting.
He raised his arm to cover his eyes slightly.
And it was this action that caused him to remember that late winter night many years ago in the mountain area of Sichuan. He had awoken to find that a light was still illuminated in the room. Because his eyes had not yet adjusted, he had also covered them slightly with his arm like this. And at the time, beneath the lamp’s glow, that little girl’s head had been bowed as she solemnly mended his jacket, one stitch at a time.
“I have a wife, too. She’s a lot younger than me,” he answered. “We haven’t seen each other since May of 2003.”
Jǐ Yi
That day, she and her old classmates had all gone together to visit Class Prefect.
That Class Prefect who came from a poor family, whose head had been shaved due to having had surgery for his lung cancer, and whose lips and face were pale, had still smilingly chitchatted with them and refused to accept the financial aid offered by his classmates…
Jǐ Yi felt especially pained with sorrow.
When she returned to her school, she wrote an email to Jì Chengyang, pouring out her heart to him about this matter regarding Class Prefect.
She felt that fate was unfair. This was plainly an outstanding and good person who had done nothing bad. Why had he suddenly gotten an incurable disease?
At the end of the letter, she still wrote this:
Love you,
Xixi.
Very quickly, she received his automatic email reply in her inbox.
As Jǐ Yi stared at that inbox filled with his automatic replies, she felt an empty type of sorrow. She suddenly felt that Jì Chengyang was so very far from her, so far that there practically was no more connection between them.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
July 19, 2005
Jì Chengyang
With the passage into summer, sweltering temperatures made it even more difficult for his wounds to heal.
The pain from his wounds, along with his continuous high fever that would not break, caused a rapid decline in Jì Chengyang’s ability to think. All of him was extremely weak, be it his body or his mind. Strangely enough, though, the images that he was able to conjure up from his memory were becoming increasingly peaceful and heartwarming.
Could it be it was because death was near?
Most of what he could remember were fragments of memories, bits and pieces of little details. For instance, when Xixi cried, she would always only let out intermittent little sobs and had never really made any loud cries. Or for instance, as she leaned back against him in his arms and watched television serial dramas, she always liked to do a little summary after each episode, as if only after she had summed it up would she be considered to have completely finished watching that drama…
On this night, for the very first time, those people actually took him out of that room.
In that house where all the windows were sealed up, he had seen no light, so now, as he suddenly came out of that space that was filled with darkness, the moon actually felt strange and unfamiliar to him.
“That person there, you translate for him.” The man holding a gun beside him motioned the gun in the direction of a blond-haired man who was kneeling on the open ground up ahead. Jì Chengyang brought his gaze to that spot. Before he had a chance to clearly hear what the gun-wielding man had to say next, his entire body froze completely.
He could see that behind the blond man, there were also two headless corpses.
And embroidered on the chest of the shirt of one of them was his university’s emblem…
Jǐ Yi
Hugging her knees, she crouched in that empty corridor, choked with sobs. Her fingers dug at the floor. Tears tumbled onto her arm, then flowed down over the back of her hand and onto the ground, dampening a large piece of it.
She really wanted to go inside. Today, she especially wanted to go into this home.
But she didn’t have the key. She would never be able to go inside there again…
<>It would be sincerely appreciated if you would read this translation at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the actual site of posting, instead. Thank you.
February 12, 2006
Jì Chengyang
Everywhere, there were the sounds of explosions and gunfire.
Government forces were exchanging fire with those people, attempting to rescue a British hostage…
Jì Chengyang, his upper body bound, lay near a wall. Sand and dirt were being relentlessly shaken from the surface of the wall, dropping down to the wall’s bottom edge and also on top of him. The multiple breaks in his bones, as well as his internal injuries from the beatings he had suffered, had long since left his body so frail it could not withstand a single blow. Though he could hear the shooting sounds that were so very close, he was utterly unable to shift himself even one inch towards the foot of the wall to take shelter from the bullets.
“When they break through, kill everyone.”
Kill everyone?
Jì Chengyang could understand this sentence.
The man holding the gun was in a rather wretched state from being beaten, and to vent his rage, he gave a vicious kick into Jì Chengyang’s thigh that had had its bone repeatedly re-broken.
Blackness exploded before his vision. All consciousness left him…
Jǐ Yi
The Lantern Festival happened to be two days before everyone was to return to school.
Inside her dormitory, there was only a person from the province of Hubei who had come back to school early and right now was standing on the balcony making a phone call home.
Jǐ Yi sat somewhat aimlessly in front of her computer, a webpage open before her, but she really did not know what she was doing. As if a supernatural presence was directing her, she went onto the website of the television station where he had once worked… Soon, though, her hand ceased its action, and she speedily closed the webpage.
<>This translation’s actual site of posting is on Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Please support it by reading it there instead. Thank you.
January 2, 2007
Jì Chengyang
In an inpatient room of a certain hospital in Jordan, there lay a patient in a comatose state.
It was a black-haired Asian man.
Reportedly, he was brought here from Iraq. After he arrived here, he had woken once, but when asked his name, before he could even give an answer, he had sunk into unconsciousness again…
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
[1] Here is a news article on this event.
[2] 遥远的东方有一条龙. This is approximately a line from the song 《龙的传人》The Descendants of the Dragon. The song was first released in 1978 and sung by Li Jianfu. Then, in the year 2000, Wang Leehom released a cover of it (which, based on timing, is likely the one Jì Chengyang is thinking about). I say this is “approximately” a line from the song, because the line the boy sings actually never appears in the song itself and seems to have mixed together two of the lines from the song: 遥远的东方有一条江 “In the Far East there is a river” and 古老的东方有一条龙 “In the ancient East there is a dragon.” There is a translation of the lyrics of both the original song and the cover by Wang Leehom here.
[3] The character 阳 “yang” in Jì Chengyang’s name is the same “yang” in sunlight 阳光 “yang guang.” Therefore, the thought of sunlight reminded Jǐ Yi of Jì Chengyang.
This story was translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. All forms of reproduction, redistribution, or reposting are not authorized. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the copy is unauthorized and has been taken without consent of the translator.
The Healing Sunshine can be considered the novel for which I took the longest duration to complete its online serial releases, beginning in the summer of 2013 and ending in the summer of 2014.
When, in the wee hours of the morning of July 20, 2014, I wrote the word “completed,” just like each time all my other books came to a conclusion, I felt a sense of emptiness, like something was gone. This story has the style that I all along have used, slowly telling a story, playing down the sorrowful components and emphasizing the heartwarming details. But there are also things that are different about it than what I have done before.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
The original intention in starting this story was very simple: I wanted to use a romance story to jot down some memories.
To write out some of my past experiences as someone born in the eighties.
The love and romance piece may not necessarily have anything to do with me, but that period of time [that was written] is intimately tied to me. Many of the details, feelings and thoughts, events, and people once did vividly appear in my life. I was afraid that with the passage of time, these memories would grow hazy and then would become fragments of scenes that I would be unable to record. And I was also afraid that as my creative inspiration dries up, I will slowly forget the feeling and mood of writing a story.
Hence, this novel came into being.
<>This was originally translated at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Please support the translation by reading it there instead. Thank you.
No matter how hard a writer tries to conceal her true thoughts, her own written words will eventually still expose her.
For this book, there is much that I want to say, but the great majority of it has already been written into the book.
I thereby sincerely give this book as a gift to myself, as well as to the many friends who are already gone from my life.
This is my sunshine, and it is also the sunshine that I wish to share with all of you.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
Mo Bao Fei Bao
August 2014
In reality, these closing comments from me are essentially the same as what I said in the last additional comments. I considered whether I should still write this, but there is something in my heart that feels this is important enough to restate.
For the last two years or so, since Together Forever‘s translation came to an end, I had been mentally prepping myself to translate The Healing Sunshine. In those two years, I had PMs or comments from MBFB fans asking me why I hadn’t done that translation yet as it is a fan favourite. Some even thought I had never read it (otherwise, why wouldn’t I translate it? LOL) and were strongly recommending that I give it a try, because once I did, I’d want to translate it. My response to all was, yes, I had read it, and yes, it was a favourite of mine. However, the emotions in the novel are simply too real, and I needed to be prepared to walk with Xixi and Jì Chengyang on this part of the journey of their life and experience all the emotions with them.
That reason was certainly true. Together Forever has a similar effect on me as this novel does, and I was emotionally drained after translating that one and took several months to recover. However, that was only a part of the reason. You may have noticed that this novel actually has a very clear timeline embedded in it, and we are given markers on that timeline, through real world events, movies, songs, etc. I have a crazy affinity to dates and time. So, when this timeline is stretched out before me through the novel, with each marker that is laid, I feel as if I am being transported back to that point in time, and I will also remember what happened in my life then. My experiences themselves were not all similar to Xixi’s, but many of my emotions were. Hence, with the translation, I not only needed to be prepared to “experience” Xixi and Jì Chengyang’s emotions, I also needed to be prepared that I would be pulling my own back up from my memory.
This novel takes place over the period of 1997 to 2008, and in my own life, those were years of remarkable growth for me. Very significant changes and events happened in my life. Without going into details, I will say, I shed many tears, said goodbye to people very important to me, experienced many things, learned many things.
There is one line that I love in The Healing Sunshine: “In these atypical growing-up years that had been so very long, she had still been able to preserve the kindness and goodness of the very beginning. And amid the wave upon wave of adversities, she had been able to walk her journey of life to this point now…” (chapter 22.2) I truly appreciate how the author used the word “atypical,” not “horrible,” not “tragic,” not “woeful,” not even “sad.” I’m sure, at some point in time, each of these words could have been used to describe something in Xixi’s life. However, Mo Bao Fei Bao chose to describe that period as “atypical,” because she did not want to write off the good in those years. There was good. Xixi worked hard and got into a good university, she met new friends, she found a job, she saw herself improving and moving forward in life. Perhaps these might seem small in comparison to the hurdles she had to overcome, but they nevertheless existed and were good.
In the process of my own growing-up decade, I also learned that it contained my “atypical years.” I won’t lie; they were hard, probably the hardest years of my life to date. There were days when I only wanted to curl up in a corner and cry, where every breath felt like too much of an effort. I was very, very fortunate, though. I had family around and we all loved each other; I had health; and if I looked, there were always people ready to encourage. I had people, some of them barely more than strangers, who would take me into their arms and say, “This, too, shall pass.” And I certainly and moments of joy intermixed in there. These were all my sunshine amidst the darkness, and for them, I am forever grateful. What I learned in that period is what I wrote in the additional comments last time: “Darkness cannot exist in the presence of light.” Even if it’s only a little sliver of light, a little bit of sunshine, you can fix your eyes on it and use it to divide the blackness, light your way, and walk out of that tunnel of darkness.
Everyone will have times in his or her life that are atypical. Have you ever said something like, “Why do I have to go through this when everyone else can just go about their normal lives?” Or “Why is it so hard for me to do this and it’s so easy for them?” Those are your atypical times. Atypical is hard because you feel so different, so alone, because no one is really experiencing what you are at this moment. But everything is only ever a season. Seasons may last longer, but they, too, shall pass.
If I can give you only one thing through this translation, I hope that it is this, that in your atypical times, you will remember to search for the things you have that are worth being grateful for, search for the things that bring sunshine to your life, and let them warm you. I hope that you can remember this and be encouraged, like I was by the people who once hugged me and said to me, “This, too, shall pass.” Don’t give up on tomorrow—because one day, you will come out of the darkness as well and be completely swathed in the warm sunshine.
Even if there were but one centimetre of sunshine, it would still have its own searing heat.
— Mo Bao Fei Bao
Once again, thank you, everyone, for reading. My desire is to share, and your presence here is evidence that I have achieved that. I appreciate all my readers. Next project has received approval, but I have not decided on the start date. I’m guessing it will probably be after New Year’s. Will give firmer details when I make an official announcement. In the meantime, take care.
Cheers!
—H
Completed:
69 of 69 Chapter segments
1 of 1 Epilogue
May 21, 2003
Jì Chengyang
“I love you. I especially love you.” Jǐ Yi’s voice came from the other end of the phone.
For one instant, his hand paused.
In this moment, he felt he was not in Iraq and, rather, was in Beijing, in his home by the Third Ring Road. His little lady had, with immense earnestness, finished playing the song, “Angel,” and now, shyly turning around, was gazing at him as she said, “I love you. I especially love you.”
And then, there would surely be a very cute cake with the right number of candles on it.
The light of the candles’ flames would shine upon his little lady’s face and those eyes that captivated his soul and filled his dreams.
Someone unexpectedly knocked on the door. “Yang.”
His roommate was calling his name, interrupting this brief moment in which he had allowed his mind to wander.
Before he hurriedly hung up the phone, he told Jǐ Yi, “I may be calling you less and less. When I can, I’ll contact you through email.”
He very quickly heard her reply, “Mm-hmm. Happy birthday.”
“Hanging up now,” he said.
Because there was no time. He absolutely needed to leave this room right now to go do his work.
They had been here for a long time already, but still they had never gotten the opportunity to interview anyone from the American side. This was a current situation that was very frustrating and dispiriting. Although Bush had already announced on May 1 that the major combat operations in Iraq had ended[1], it was clear to Jì Chengyang and his roommate that this war had only just begun.
And they still had much to do.
Grabbing his jacket that he had tossed on the bed, he pulled open the door and stepped out. His roommate very soon told him that there was an opportunity to get an interview with the American side. “Tonight, we’ll head through the night to Baghdad. I have a friend there,” his roommate said.
He suddenly noticed his roommate was actually wearing, beneath his jacket, a shirt from their university days. On it, there was even their school’s emblem.
“So sentimental about the past? You’ve still kept this shirt?”
His roommate laughed. “Yup, sentimental. I’m preserving the passion of my student days.”
Jì Chengyang did not say much else The two took five minutes to gather their things, and then, pulling their bags onto their backs, they left this little hotel along with two other journalists who were from the United Kingdom and the United States.
There was a seven-hour driving distance between here and Baghdad, and at all times there was a risk of encountering armed conflict along the way. It was extremely perilous. The four of them searched for a long time before finally finding an Iraqi man, who was in his fifties, willing to take them there. Jì Chengyang swiftly discussed and agreed on a price with the man. Then, everyone jumped up into the vehicle and, in this dark night, headed out of the city.
Before long, the vehicle drove into the even blacker night on the city’s outside.
As he cast his eyes beyond the window, he could see, near and far from them, only the road, a brook, and ruins left behind from the war.
The two foreign journalists beside him were conversing in low tones. “You still haven’t eaten dinner today?”
“Yeah. My stomach’s cramping a bit. Yesterday, I finished the bread that was in my bag. When we get to where we’re going, I’m going to eat a nice, big meal.”
Since the start of the Iraq War, this was the general state of all journalists: They were constantly following the developments on the battlefield, often pushing through and continuing for more than twenty hours at a time. Furthermore, in order to be able to deal with any sudden dangers that might arise, their nerves were always taut. Forgetting to eat was, naturally, then, a very commonplace occurrence.
Rocking and jolting, the vehicle drove along for two hours. He was somewhat fatigued, so after conferring with his roommate about the timing of when they would rotate for the other person to rest, he pulled up his jacket until it covered his face and quickly slipped into a state of sleep.
A massive booming sound all of a sudden reverberated into his ears. The echoes of the sweeping fire of machine guns, the roar of explosions, and the high, ear-piercing screams and terrified shouts of people came assailing them from all directions. Their vehicle abruptly stopped.
Jǐ Yi
She lowered the white cloth covering the piano.
She wondered how long Jì Chengyang had used this piano. Even now, it still looked very new. Thinking about it, though, it did make sense. Since he became a war correspondent, he had been travelling from place to place and had not really had any opportunity to stay at home for long periods of time. And even when he did return, he likely did not have many moments where he could sit down quietly and play the piano.
Jǐ Yi could not imagine how an eight-year-old Jì Chengyang would play piano, or how he had taken first place in a high-profile competition.
Standing up, she exhaled a long breath.
What should she do next?
It was too bad. She had originally thought she would be able to talk on the phone a little longer with him and say a few more words.
After a couple of aimless back-and-forth steps, she picked up the book by her hand and pulled out the bookmark, which had happened to be covering these words beneath it:
“… the great war photographer, Robert Capa’s famous quote: ‘If your photographs aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough…’”
<>This is a copy, taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. It would sincerely be appreciated if you would support this translation by reading it on that site instead. Thank you.
May 23, 2003
Jì Chengyang
Last night, he and the several other journalists had arrived at this hospital.
As a result of that sudden outbreak of local conflict, that Iraqi man had backed out, and no matter how much money they offered, he was still unwilling to continue going forth on the journey with them. The four of them, therefore, could only get off the vehicle, and only after travelling by foot for an entire night did they at last come upon a hospital that had doctors in it.
In a war zone, a hospital is the place most able to give people a sense of safety and security.
“I come from China.” While adjusting his camera, Jì Chengyang smilingly chatted with the several children around him.
“I know. A few years ago, some doctors came here. One of them was from China,” a thirteen-year-old boy answered, and then beaming, the boy sang a few lines from a song. He was vaguely able to discern the lyrics to be “In the Far East there is a dragon.[2]”
Jì Chengyang did not really listen to pop music. However, though he did not know who sang this song, he knew it sang about his homeland.
“That doctor taught you this, too?”
“Yup. The way the doctor sang it was really funny.”
While the two of them were talking, the other three children near them suddenly burst out in guffaws. It turned out one of them had been mimicking the sound of a mortar, an artillery weapon which fires explosive shells, and because his imitation was so realistic, the nurse who had walked in had thought it was real and had anxiously hurried to tell patients to evacuate from there. Only when she noticed that everyone was staring at her and laughing did the nurse finally catch on that she had been tricked.
It was the hour of the day when the sunlight was at its best. The entire ward teemed with laughter.
Jì Chengyang took a photograph of the youth who had just sung, “In the Far East there is a dragon.” Inside the frame of his camera lens, the side profile of the youth’s face was so distinct, and his eyes held the imprint of sunshine.
Right then, his roommate beckoned to him from the doorway.
Seeing this, he took his camera and stepped out, and they walked together into the courtyard to have a smoke.
He tried seven or eight times to get the lighter going, but no flame appeared. From the looks of it, it was out of fuel. “I wonder what places nearby sell lighters.” Bouncing the lighter on his upturned palm a couple of times, he said in English, “While we’re at it, we’ll buy some lunch.”
His roommate had no objections.
And so, the two walked out from the courtyard. Before they had taken two steps outside, though, his roommate abruptly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a newly-dug trench. At the same time, exploding shrapnel was already falling on the spot five metres in front of them.
They had not even gotten to take a gasp of air before the sound of firing mortars began resounding in their ears.
Lying on their bellies in the trench, the two hurriedly exchanged a look. They could both tell that the sound was coming from the hospital. There were still doctors, nurses, and many children in there, as well as the two foreign journalists, who had been taking a midday rest…
Shells rained down, one after the other, all of them falling not far from where the two of them lay.
Sand and dirt continuously flew up and sprayed them.
Amidst the thunderous roars, Jì Chengyang could feel that his entire body was being covered in sandy dirt. His eyes and clothing and even his mouth had sand in it. There was a chance that, within the next minute, he would end up being buried here.
Since entering Iraq, this was his fourth time having such a close brush with death.
It would not be the first time, nor would it be the last.
After collecting and clearing his thoughts, he tried as best as he could to calm himself, waiting completely in the sandy dirt and not daring to shift his body in the slightest, for fear he would be made the next target of attack. It was not until five minutes later, when there were no more sounds of exploding shells, that his roommate beside him at last gingerly shifted his body and, all the while spitting incessantly, asked, “Yang, how are you doing?”
“Not hurt.” He gave this brief answer. There were still grains of sand between his teeth.
“If we had ended up being buried here, it would have even saved the need for a grave.”
“Forget that.” Jì Chengyang spat out the sand in his mouth. “Even if I am to be buried, it has to be in the place of my roots.”
Their bodies covered in dirt, the two crawled out from that trench, which had nearly been completely filled up with sand. Everywhere their gazes could reach, there were ruins left after the explosions, and for a moment, they could not even find the way back to the hospital.
After walking for approximately two minutes, when they turned a corner, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his ribs. But the next instant, he lost all consciousness.
Jǐ Yi
The large lecture class had already come to an end.
Jǐ Yi could not be bothered to get up. This time of day was when there were the most people in the dining hall. If you waited half an hour and then went, even though there would be fewer selections of food, there would also be fewer people. She was not picky about what she ate anyway, and it was fine to her to eat whatever was remaining.
Sprawling her upper body on the desk, she turned her head to the side and stared, somewhat lost in thought, at the tree leaves outside the window.
They were lush and green and swayed tremblingly in the breeze.
Refracting the sunlight.
Sunlight [yang guang].
Yang[3].
“Jì Chengyang…” she said to herself. Then, changing to a different tone, she quietly murmured something else. “Little Uncle Jì.”
Somehow, she felt that the latter three characters made her feel especially bashful. She felt her cheeks were a little hot, and there also was a slight tickly sensation in her ears as they inexplicably began to burn up.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
June 1, 2003
Jì Chengyang
The high fever would not break. The gunshot wound, plus the wounds that came from being severely beaten, was inflamed.
In his half-conscious state, Jì Chengyang felt a cool sensation spread outwards from his right hand. In his gaze, he hazily could make out a girl adeptly hanging a plastic bottle, which contained anti-inflammatory medicine, on the wall, and then she lowered her head to glance at him.
Jǐ Yi
She discovered that Jì Chengyang had not contacted her for ten days already.
Nuannuan said that in the past, he had always been like this as well. Because of the instability of things in a war zone, Jì Chengyang every time would find a suitable place before he would call or send an email home. In short, you could only wait for him to contact you; there were absolutely no means for you to contact him.
<>Please support this translation by reading it at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, its actual site of posting. It would be greatly appreciated if you would do so. Thank you.
February 14, 2004
Jì Chengyang
He did not know what these people wanted to do. They wanted no ransom, nor would they negotiate with the government.
Since being held captive here, he had not seen his roommate, who had been taken prisoner at the same time as him.
In this room with him was also a journalist from Italy. This person’s English was not very good, so Jì Chengyang could only speak to him in sentences put together from simple English words.
He was unable to work out the days and did not know what date it was today.
He only knew that in China, it should be winter now.
“I have a wife.” The Italian suddenly spoke. “About four months haven’t seen her. You?”
“Me?” His lips moved ever so slightly. The pain from his broken femur made even speaking seem strenuous.
These days, whenever he thought of Xixi, for some reason, he would always feel his eyes start to sting.
He raised his arm to cover his eyes slightly.
And it was this action that caused him to remember that late winter night many years ago in the mountain area of Sichuan. He had awoken to find that a light was still illuminated in the room. Because his eyes had not yet adjusted, he had also covered them slightly with his arm like this. And at the time, beneath the lamp’s glow, that little girl’s head had been bowed as she solemnly mended his jacket, one stitch at a time.
“I have a wife, too. She’s a lot younger than me,” he answered. “We haven’t seen each other since May of 2003.”
Jǐ Yi
That day, she and her old classmates had all gone together to visit Class Prefect.
That Class Prefect who came from a poor family, whose head had been shaved due to having had surgery for his lung cancer, and whose lips and face were pale, had still smilingly chitchatted with them and refused to accept the financial aid offered by his classmates…
Jǐ Yi felt especially pained with sorrow.
When she returned to her school, she wrote an email to Jì Chengyang, pouring out her heart to him about this matter regarding Class Prefect.
She felt that fate was unfair. This was plainly an outstanding and good person who had done nothing bad. Why had he suddenly gotten an incurable disease?
At the end of the letter, she still wrote this:
Love you,
Xixi.
Very quickly, she received his automatic email reply in her inbox.
As Jǐ Yi stared at that inbox filled with his automatic replies, she felt an empty type of sorrow. She suddenly felt that Jì Chengyang was so very far from her, so far that there practically was no more connection between them.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
July 19, 2005
Jì Chengyang
With the passage into summer, sweltering temperatures made it even more difficult for his wounds to heal.
The pain from his wounds, along with his continuous high fever that would not break, caused a rapid decline in Jì Chengyang’s ability to think. All of him was extremely weak, be it his body or his mind. Strangely enough, though, the images that he was able to conjure up from his memory were becoming increasingly peaceful and heartwarming.
Could it be it was because death was near?
Most of what he could remember were fragments of memories, bits and pieces of little details. For instance, when Xixi cried, she would always only let out intermittent little sobs and had never really made any loud cries. Or for instance, as she leaned back against him in his arms and watched television serial dramas, she always liked to do a little summary after each episode, as if only after she had summed it up would she be considered to have completely finished watching that drama…
On this night, for the very first time, those people actually took him out of that room.
In that house where all the windows were sealed up, he had seen no light, so now, as he suddenly came out of that space that was filled with darkness, the moon actually felt strange and unfamiliar to him.
“That person there, you translate for him.” The man holding a gun beside him motioned the gun in the direction of a blond-haired man who was kneeling on the open ground up ahead. Jì Chengyang brought his gaze to that spot. Before he had a chance to clearly hear what the gun-wielding man had to say next, his entire body froze completely.
He could see that behind the blond man, there were also two headless corpses.
And embroidered on the chest of the shirt of one of them was his university’s emblem…
Jǐ Yi
Hugging her knees, she crouched in that empty corridor, choked with sobs. Her fingers dug at the floor. Tears tumbled onto her arm, then flowed down over the back of her hand and onto the ground, dampening a large piece of it.
She really wanted to go inside. Today, she especially wanted to go into this home.
But she didn’t have the key. She would never be able to go inside there again…
<>It would be sincerely appreciated if you would read this translation at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the actual site of posting, instead. Thank you.
February 12, 2006
Jì Chengyang
Everywhere, there were the sounds of explosions and gunfire.
Government forces were exchanging fire with those people, attempting to rescue a British hostage…
Jì Chengyang, his upper body bound, lay near a wall. Sand and dirt were being relentlessly shaken from the surface of the wall, dropping down to the wall’s bottom edge and also on top of him. The multiple breaks in his bones, as well as his internal injuries from the beatings he had suffered, had long since left his body so frail it could not withstand a single blow. Though he could hear the shooting sounds that were so very close, he was utterly unable to shift himself even one inch towards the foot of the wall to take shelter from the bullets.
“When they break through, kill everyone.”
Kill everyone?
Jì Chengyang could understand this sentence.
The man holding the gun was in a rather wretched state from being beaten, and to vent his rage, he gave a vicious kick into Jì Chengyang’s thigh that had had its bone repeatedly re-broken.
Blackness exploded before his vision. All consciousness left him…
Jǐ Yi
The Lantern Festival happened to be two days before everyone was to return to school.
Inside her dormitory, there was only a person from the province of Hubei who had come back to school early and right now was standing on the balcony making a phone call home.
Jǐ Yi sat somewhat aimlessly in front of her computer, a webpage open before her, but she really did not know what she was doing. As if a supernatural presence was directing her, she went onto the website of the television station where he had once worked… Soon, though, her hand ceased its action, and she speedily closed the webpage.
<>This translation’s actual site of posting is on Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Please support it by reading it there instead. Thank you.
January 2, 2007
Jì Chengyang
In an inpatient room of a certain hospital in Jordan, there lay a patient in a comatose state.
It was a black-haired Asian man.
Reportedly, he was brought here from Iraq. After he arrived here, he had woken once, but when asked his name, before he could even give an answer, he had sunk into unconsciousness again…
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
[1] Here is a news article on this event.
[2] 遥远的东方有一条龙. This is approximately a line from the song 《龙的传人》The Descendants of the Dragon. The song was first released in 1978 and sung by Li Jianfu. Then, in the year 2000, Wang Leehom released a cover of it (which, based on timing, is likely the one Jì Chengyang is thinking about). I say this is “approximately” a line from the song, because the line the boy sings actually never appears in the song itself and seems to have mixed together two of the lines from the song: 遥远的东方有一条江 “In the Far East there is a river” and 古老的东方有一条龙 “In the ancient East there is a dragon.” There is a translation of the lyrics of both the original song and the cover by Wang Leehom here.
[3] The character 阳 “yang” in Jì Chengyang’s name is the same “yang” in sunlight 阳光 “yang guang.” Therefore, the thought of sunlight reminded Jǐ Yi of Jì Chengyang.
This story was translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. All forms of reproduction, redistribution, or reposting are not authorized. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the copy is unauthorized and has been taken without consent of the translator.
The Healing Sunshine can be considered the novel for which I took the longest duration to complete its online serial releases, beginning in the summer of 2013 and ending in the summer of 2014.
When, in the wee hours of the morning of July 20, 2014, I wrote the word “completed,” just like each time all my other books came to a conclusion, I felt a sense of emptiness, like something was gone. This story has the style that I all along have used, slowly telling a story, playing down the sorrowful components and emphasizing the heartwarming details. But there are also things that are different about it than what I have done before.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
The original intention in starting this story was very simple: I wanted to use a romance story to jot down some memories.
To write out some of my past experiences as someone born in the eighties.
The love and romance piece may not necessarily have anything to do with me, but that period of time [that was written] is intimately tied to me. Many of the details, feelings and thoughts, events, and people once did vividly appear in my life. I was afraid that with the passage of time, these memories would grow hazy and then would become fragments of scenes that I would be unable to record. And I was also afraid that as my creative inspiration dries up, I will slowly forget the feeling and mood of writing a story.
Hence, this novel came into being.
<>This was originally translated at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Please support the translation by reading it there instead. Thank you.
No matter how hard a writer tries to conceal her true thoughts, her own written words will eventually still expose her.
For this book, there is much that I want to say, but the great majority of it has already been written into the book.
I thereby sincerely give this book as a gift to myself, as well as to the many friends who are already gone from my life.
This is my sunshine, and it is also the sunshine that I wish to share with all of you.
<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com only
Mo Bao Fei Bao
August 2014
In reality, these closing comments from me are essentially the same as what I said in the last additional comments. I considered whether I should still write this, but there is something in my heart that feels this is important enough to restate.
For the last two years or so, since Together Forever‘s translation came to an end, I had been mentally prepping myself to translate The Healing Sunshine. In those two years, I had PMs or comments from MBFB fans asking me why I hadn’t done that translation yet as it is a fan favourite. Some even thought I had never read it (otherwise, why wouldn’t I translate it? LOL) and were strongly recommending that I give it a try, because once I did, I’d want to translate it. My response to all was, yes, I had read it, and yes, it was a favourite of mine. However, the emotions in the novel are simply too real, and I needed to be prepared to walk with Xixi and Jì Chengyang on this part of the journey of their life and experience all the emotions with them.
That reason was certainly true. Together Forever has a similar effect on me as this novel does, and I was emotionally drained after translating that one and took several months to recover. However, that was only a part of the reason. You may have noticed that this novel actually has a very clear timeline embedded in it, and we are given markers on that timeline, through real world events, movies, songs, etc. I have a crazy affinity to dates and time. So, when this timeline is stretched out before me through the novel, with each marker that is laid, I feel as if I am being transported back to that point in time, and I will also remember what happened in my life then. My experiences themselves were not all similar to Xixi’s, but many of my emotions were. Hence, with the translation, I not only needed to be prepared to “experience” Xixi and Jì Chengyang’s emotions, I also needed to be prepared that I would be pulling my own back up from my memory.
This novel takes place over the period of 1997 to 2008, and in my own life, those were years of remarkable growth for me. Very significant changes and events happened in my life. Without going into details, I will say, I shed many tears, said goodbye to people very important to me, experienced many things, learned many things.
There is one line that I love in The Healing Sunshine: “In these atypical growing-up years that had been so very long, she had still been able to preserve the kindness and goodness of the very beginning. And amid the wave upon wave of adversities, she had been able to walk her journey of life to this point now…” (chapter 22.2) I truly appreciate how the author used the word “atypical,” not “horrible,” not “tragic,” not “woeful,” not even “sad.” I’m sure, at some point in time, each of these words could have been used to describe something in Xixi’s life. However, Mo Bao Fei Bao chose to describe that period as “atypical,” because she did not want to write off the good in those years. There was good. Xixi worked hard and got into a good university, she met new friends, she found a job, she saw herself improving and moving forward in life. Perhaps these might seem small in comparison to the hurdles she had to overcome, but they nevertheless existed and were good.
In the process of my own growing-up decade, I also learned that it contained my “atypical years.” I won’t lie; they were hard, probably the hardest years of my life to date. There were days when I only wanted to curl up in a corner and cry, where every breath felt like too much of an effort. I was very, very fortunate, though. I had family around and we all loved each other; I had health; and if I looked, there were always people ready to encourage. I had people, some of them barely more than strangers, who would take me into their arms and say, “This, too, shall pass.” And I certainly and moments of joy intermixed in there. These were all my sunshine amidst the darkness, and for them, I am forever grateful. What I learned in that period is what I wrote in the additional comments last time: “Darkness cannot exist in the presence of light.” Even if it’s only a little sliver of light, a little bit of sunshine, you can fix your eyes on it and use it to divide the blackness, light your way, and walk out of that tunnel of darkness.
Everyone will have times in his or her life that are atypical. Have you ever said something like, “Why do I have to go through this when everyone else can just go about their normal lives?” Or “Why is it so hard for me to do this and it’s so easy for them?” Those are your atypical times. Atypical is hard because you feel so different, so alone, because no one is really experiencing what you are at this moment. But everything is only ever a season. Seasons may last longer, but they, too, shall pass.
If I can give you only one thing through this translation, I hope that it is this, that in your atypical times, you will remember to search for the things you have that are worth being grateful for, search for the things that bring sunshine to your life, and let them warm you. I hope that you can remember this and be encouraged, like I was by the people who once hugged me and said to me, “This, too, shall pass.” Don’t give up on tomorrow—because one day, you will come out of the darkness as well and be completely swathed in the warm sunshine.
Even if there were but one centimetre of sunshine, it would still have its own searing heat.
— Mo Bao Fei Bao
Once again, thank you, everyone, for reading. My desire is to share, and your presence here is evidence that I have achieved that. I appreciate all my readers. Next project has received approval, but I have not decided on the start date. I’m guessing it will probably be after New Year’s. Will give firmer details when I make an official announcement. In the meantime, take care.
Cheers!
—H
Completed:
69 of 69 Chapter segments
1 of 1 Epilogue
