gradually emerged out of the oppressiveness of my situation a path into life: hills and lakes, foreign concessions, elaborate banquets under bright electric lights, ditches and moats, a dark, dark night, a blow of a sharp sword, noiseless footsteps . . .
I felt somewhat relieved and lighter; I even uttered a contemptuous "pooh" when I thought of the practical matter of traveling expenses.
Lying in bed, the future, as far as I was able to imagine it, soon exhausted itself before my eyes. In the darkness I seemed to see a pile of food, then the sallow, pale face of Tzu-chun, looking at me imploringly with her childlike eyes. When my gaze steadied, I could see nothing.
My heart again grew heavy. Why could I not have endured it a few days longer? Why must I have so impulsively told her the truth? Now that I had told her, there was nothing for her to look forward to but the harshness, as harsh as the burning sun, of her father—her creditor—and the chilly glances, chillier than frost and ice, of her friends and relatives. Outside of these there was only emptiness. How fearful was the prospect of walking along the so-called road of life with this heavy burden of emptiness on one's back and with nothing to encourage one except harshness and chilly glances! Especially when at the end of the road there was only—a tomb without even a tombstone!
I should not have told Tzu-chun the truth. Since we had loved each other once, I should have lied to her and told her that I loved her still. Truth cannot be such a precious thing if it has nothing better to offer Tzu-chun than this heavy burden of emptiness. Falsehood would, it is true, also lead to nothing in the end, but at the worst its burden could hardly be any heavier.
