A Lifetime of Old Regrets

Spring, 1971. Wucun Village in western Hunan. Shen Nianhe made the most important decision of her life: she would marry a widower from the neighboring county. Not for herself, but so that the “black-category” youth who had been sent down from Beijing could return to the city without worry. The night before he left, she said, “It’s not that I don’t love you. I love you too much to ruin your life.” On the morning Lu Chenzhou left, she stood behind the door, listening as the bells on the donkey cart grew fainter and fainter. It was the longest morning of her life. What he didn’t know was that someone had already taken his place on the list to return to the city. That spring, the day he left Wucun Village, she stood outside her home all night. In the years that followed, he became a celebrated writer. Every novel he published pointed to the same place: Wucun Village. In the mountain village of western Hunan, she washed clothes and gathered herbs, put her younger brother through school, and raised her daughter. The only thing of value she owned was the copy of The Mountain Moon he had written, its edges worn from countless readings. Ten years later, he finally had the means to look for her. He stood beneath the old pagoda tree at the village entrance all night, watching her draw water from afar, but never went up to her. The day after he left, she burned the letters he had sent by lamplight. To the messenger, she said, “Tell Comrade Lu that Shen Nianhe is dead.” She was lying. When she died in that old house, she was still clutching the book he had written. She had traced the words on its title page with her fingers countless times. The Years We Could Never Make Peace With: a story of love, sacrifice, and forty years of regret. Some people spend their whole lives loving someone, then spend the rest of their lives paying for the regret of never having been together. -