Sick Boy[s] Paddle Club↓

Bodhisattva

Nan jing zhe 南惊蛰

Translated by: Fia Wu

Back in my hometown, there was once a woman who was exceptionally beautiful. Her features held a certain stillness, a certain compassion that made anyone looking at her feel a sense of profound peace. While young women are rarely truly unattractive, she possessed a particular grace, a spirit that set her apart. So people called her the “Bodhisattva.”

Later, my brother told me that this woman was, in fact, both blind and mute.

Such disabilities usually come with legendary backstories (tragic or miraculous, I won’t cite examples for sake of brevity), but this “Bodhisattva” was different. She was simply, truly blind and mute. And she was beautiful, but that was all.

It was lucky for her that by the time she was born, the country folk had become “civilized” enough to know you shouldn’t just strangle an unwanted child, so they kept her at home like some sort of decorative ornament.

I learned eventually that she wasn’t just called “Bodhisattva” because of her Guanyin*-like beauty. It was also because she was blind and mute, unable to write or speak. Many people treated her like a priest, confiding their life stories to her.

It started with a young girl who was close to the Bodhisattva. She loved talking to her, sharing her sorrows and heartbreaks. The Bodhisattva, with her radiant beauty, would listen and nod. Her merciful eyes seemed to flicker with understanding. The girl would then feel an instant sense of relief.

Word of this spread from one to ten, ten to a hundred, and soon more and more people came to speak to her.

There are certain things a person simply cannot share with others, but leaving secrets to fester inside wasn’t better. If they told the Bodhisattva, she would listen and offer a simple nod, acknowledging that she had heard. The person would then heave a sigh of relief, feeling as though the burden of their sins and secrets had been lifted.

The Bodhisattva’s father turned this into a business venture: ten yuan for a half-hour session to speak with her.

I found this whole affair fascinating, so this past summer, I decided to meet the Bodhisattva myself. The line to speak with her was long, and I sat waiting for quite a while before I entered the room.

The moment I did, I realized just how truly beautiful the Bodhisattva was. Her eyes lacked focus, yet her expression held a deep sense of tranquility. Hearing my movements, she smiled faintly and gestured for me to speak.

I thought for a moment and said, “I love you.”

The Bodhisattva seemed taken aback.

I continued, “I think you’re incredibly beautiful. Simply seeing you makes me happy.”

She made a gesture, reminding me that I had paid for my time.

“It’s alright,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to tell you. Goodbye.”

I never saw the Bodhisattva again after that. I only wanted to see what she looked like, and having seen her, I was satisfied. During winter break this year, I returned home. I suddenly remembered her at dinner and asked my brother, “Whatever happened to the Bodhisattva?”

“We don’t call her that anymore,” he replied.

“Huh?”

“We call her the Fox Spirit,” he said.

I pressed him for details and learned that this winter, just as heavy snows sealed the mountains, the Bodhisattva suddenly left home and headed into the hills. A passerby spotted her and shouted her name. She turned, cast a glance, and said, “Goodbye.”

That single word struck terror in everyone who had ever spoken to her. You see, people had confided in her all sorts of sordid things. Their evil deeds, their darkest secret, their dirty acts—she knew everything.

So people searched for her, scouring the entire mountain range in their desperation. But the Bodhisattva was gone!

She had vanished!

When had she gained her sight? When had she learned to speak? Would she tell others what she knew? If she started talking, how could those who sought her out ever show their faces again?

Then missing-person posters went up everywhere, and bounties were offered for the Bodhisattva’s return. People forced her seventy-year-old grandmother to climb the mountain and call out for her granddaughter until her voice went hoarse in the night.

But the Bodhisattva didn’t show. She simply wouldn’t.

And so, one day, a rumor broke out: “She was never a Bodhisattva at all. She’s a Fox Spirit, a demon who took human form specifically to spread malicious rumors about people.”

This relieved everyone. Yes, that “Bodhisattva” was a wicked fox. Assuming a human guise, she was incapable of uttering a single truthful word. Whatever she said wouldn’t warrant any concern since she was just a fox.

Word spread from ten to a hundred. Soon, everyone knew that there once was a beautiful girl in the town who was a fox, and that she’d returned to her den for the winter. Even if she were to take human form again and step out to speak, no one should believe her.

The rumors kept growing. They said she once lured a local child away with her words and ate them. They said she sang in the woods, and a man who followed her was never seen again. They said she was beautiful only because she sucked the life force out of other women.

As for who the actual victims were, no one could quite remember.

The Bodhisattva, once beloved by all, was now a despised Fox Spirit because she “told too many lies,” “tricked too many people,” and “spoke ill of everyone.” She became a monster beyond redemption, a ghost loathed by all. If you mention the Bodhisattva to anyone there today, they will stomp their feet and curse her for the harm she caused.

Yet, throughout her entire life, the only word the Bodhisattva ever said was “goodbye.”

I don’t know what she truly was. Was she a deity who descended from heaven, a fox turned human, or just a woman? I count myself lucky that I didn’t tell her any secrets; otherwise, I, too, would now be burdened by a sense of anxiety and unease.

But this much I know: living with the weight of other people’s secrets is incredibly agonizing.

So, much like everyone else, I hope that she might forget everything. If she remembers only one thing, let it be this—that I told her I loved her, and that she was incredibly beautiful.

Simply seeing her made me happy.

*East Asian bodhisattva of compassion and mercy.

Nanjingzhe

College student wandering the world and chasing whims. Whether it’s gaming/ photography/ traveling/ writing, they’ll do anything interesting to pass the time. To them, being truly understood is the greatest happiness on earth. If only people could be transported to another world!