A while ago, I received two copies of Jimmy P.’s new book “The Mandarin Promoter”. My junior schoolmate got them at the eslite bookstore in HK—what a blessing. Many thanks to her here.

Just two copies—one for my own collection, one as a gift for Brother Fatty.

Reading the new book, the people coming and going cast odd glances. Oh, sorry—it’s only published in traditional Chinese for now.

As a fan, this novel is exactly as the author wrote: 「This novel is dedicated to you; whether you like it or not, I don’t know. The taste of the taster is always independent of the cooking skill of the chef.」 To say jht has made no progress—he’s truly sincere. Writing in this form is his style, unchanged for twenty years. jht indeed never cheated, and indeed never stopped moving forward.

“The Mandarin Promoter” spans thirty years—his habitual lateness, her stubborn devotion. They both lived in each other’s hearts for decades, never collecting rent from the other. When the man finally decided to collect, the woman, tired of waiting, bought a house with someone else. Time didn’t erase what had been, yet many years later she left the home empty-handed, and the two kept drifting back into ambiguity. I thought the story would end just like that, until the last line 「Because I’m not old yet; you weren’t late, you’ve already arrived.」 closed the tale with a full stop.

If I’d read this novel at twenty, I’d have found it quite silly.

If I read it at thirty, there’d be less of that privilege.

Too bad I’m 18, and jht says he’s 49—that scared the baby away.

Come to think of it, back in middle school, I borrowed “The First Intimate Contact” from Feng’s place. To be honest, what I liked was just those few pretentious lines: “If I had ten million, I could buy a house. Do I have ten million? No…”

When I entered college, I met Brother Fatty. From him came the recommendation of “Peacock Forest”—an interesting psychological test where different roles lead to different conclusions. Life is full of coincidences; along with the plot of the story, it confirms the symbolic meaning of the answers.

From then on, I became a fan of jht.

Among all of jht’s works, my favorite by far is “Mistletoe”. A pack of MILD SEVEN, ten cigarettes ignite a story; with each cigarette smoked, a bygone memory surfaces. What moved him most was that she was still the same her. What deeply touched me was this line: “No matter where I am, I’m only a turn away from you. I am always here—before you, in your shadow, on the balcony, quietly waiting for you.” It truly is a novel I never tire of no matter how many times I read it.

Perhaps, like him and her, the story will still go as wished and life will go on as usual, forgetting each other in the jianghu. The jianghu is a siege; with the smoke of mortal life and the vast mountains and rivers, none of it is you, and all of it is you. He or she set the story in motion; the scenery of the past will eventually become sighs. In the end, in my heart I mutter: she was my habit, one that can be changed. You are my fate, one I can’t escape. I’m sorry, but I’m getting off here—I didn’t wait for you, and I’m late too.

I’m used to saying goodbye to people, because in this era, habits don’t say goodbye. At this age, the world is wild and coarse, and none of it concerns me. Still I’m grateful—the most beautiful thing remains that line:

「 Hey, come back when you’ve had your fun. Don’t stay away too long! 」

END

Xiamen Gaoqi International Airport