‘‘There’s nothing wrong with anything here. All the legs on the chairs are sturdy; this isn’t so outside this room. Once I went out and saw people sitting on problematic chairs. I was so frightened that I had to shut my eyes and flee back here. I should go out less frequently. Don’t worry: everything in this room is sturdy. I don’t like being suspended in the air.’’ She smiled. She held out one gloved hand to the writer. Steeling himself, the writer shook it: he felt that the thing inside this glove was very suspicious.
‘‘I’ve decided not to take my gloves off. Don’t you think this is a good idea? The curtains are freshly mounted. Aren’t they quite special? I just recently had this idea.’’
‘‘Could it be that you had an unrealistic expectation of this world that you fabricated for yourself?’’ the writer said, deeply worried.
‘‘Are you talking about self-image? I’ve never been concerned about that. I just look at myself in the mirror, but I don’t have my photo taken. All of you know my foibles well. I’d inadvertently plunged into a kind of interlinked trap that was set by your-oh- Miss Chen. It’s hard to break away from it. I sit here and gain an increasingly unambiguous impression of the outside world. You, for example: you’re the one mending the net. You wanted to catch a little mouse. I made up my mind and solved all the problems.’’ She laughed softly again. ‘‘What have you come for? No one else has come: they aren’t used to being in a problem-free place. Young Miss Chen said, ‘It’s like an empty, transparent zone’ in which ‘people begin to float.’ ’’
The writer felt depressed. A shaft of light flashed out from a certain mirror and reflected his eyes. ‘‘Will you still go on with your research about eyeballs?’’
‘‘There’s no question but that my research has entered a high- level stage. I’m in the midst of struggling to break away from the microscope. I sometimes think: why don’t I
Truly, the writer had no way to make any connection-even one as fragile as a hair-between what Madam X was doing in her dark room and the mighty offensive of the crowds outside. She sat there, blocking out the light with heavy curtains, making rustling noises as she created ‘‘miracles.’’ Even if people couldn’t restrain their inner enthusiasm and rushed in and started attacking her, it would be hard to say whether she reacted or not. The people on Five Spice Street all happened coincidentally to act in refined ways. They definitely didn’t intend to turn to action: they just blindly used an invisible spiritual weapon. Outsiders regarded that weapon as a certain kind of ‘‘qigong,’’ and no one could ensure that Madam X would be harmed by it. Looking at her, it didn’t seem that she sensed this ‘‘qigong’’ at all, so after leaving Madam X’s home, the writer was deeply worried: had the elites been mistaken in their judgment? And could this cause trouble that would be difficult to mend?
The third big change in Madam X came about unconsciously. Some time or other, she gave up her nighttime ‘‘dispel boredom’’ activities and hid out in the dark room, ‘‘concentrating on creating miracles.’’ And thus the female colleague noticed that her good friend had ‘‘completely lost her femininity’’ and ‘‘wouldn’t be able to attract even the ugliest man’s interest.’’ Her best friend was ‘‘deeply mortified’’ by this and yearned for ‘‘the good old days,’’ because ‘‘those days had been so enraptured.’’ ‘‘Living in those days, she felt she would always be a young girl, always superior, and absolutely confident.’’
