愛是專屬的·給寶玉上課的女孩齡官Love Is Meant for One Alone · Lingguan, the Girl Who Taught Baoyu a LessonLove Is Meant for One Alone · Lingguan, the Girl Who Taught Baoyu a Lesson愛是專屬的·給寶玉上課的女孩齡官

中篇小說（118）Novella (118)

賈寶玉從小就在脂粉堆裡長大。賈母疼他，王夫人護他，丫鬟們圍著他轉，大觀園裡那些姐妹，也都與他親近。他幾乎從未真正受過冷落。 久而久之，寶玉心裡便慢慢生出一種連他自己都未察覺的想法。他覺得，只要自己真心疼愛女孩子，那麼女孩子自然也都會喜歡他，愛他。 這種想法，天真，幼稚，甚至可以說，很危險。彷彿只要自己有情，天下女子便都應該回應他的情。 直到齡官出現，寶玉才第一次真正明白：不是所有女孩都會愛他。有些人的心裡，早已裝著別人。 齡官也是賈府為元春省親，特意從蘇州買來的小戲子之一。那些女孩年紀都很小，卻已經學會了唱戲，成為權貴們取樂的玩物。她們被養在戲班裡，像精緻的籠中鳥，看似華美，卻沒有自由。 在曹雪芹筆下，齡官生得極美。書裡說她「眉蹙春山，眼顰秋水，面薄腰纖，裊裊婷婷」，竟有幾分林黛玉的神氣。連寶玉第一次見到她時，都對她的美貌感到吃驚。 可她真正像黛玉的，並不完全是她的美貌，而是她骨子裡的那股冷。她不肯討好人，也不肯把自己當成供人取樂的玩物。 元春省親時，齡官的演唱格外出色，深得元春喜愛。元春便命她再唱兩齣，不拘哪兩齣都可以。管理戲班的賈薔讓她唱《遊園》《驚夢》，齡官卻認為那不是自己所演角色的本戲，執意不肯，偏要改唱《相約》《相罵》。賈薔拗她不過，只得依從。後來元春看了，果然十分喜歡，還特別賞賜了齡官。 這件事反映了齡官的性格。換了別的戲子，面對主子指定的戲碼，即便心裡不願意，也大概不敢拒絕。可是齡官卻不肯。她認為不是自己本角的戲，就不願勉強去唱。她看重自己的藝術，也看重自己的意願，不肯為了討好權貴而隨意低頭。 另外有一回，寶玉到梨香院，要她唱一套《裊晴絲》。對於這個在賈府被所有人寵著的貴公子，別人唯恐巴結不到，可齡官就是不買賬，以「嗓子啞了」當場拒絕。 齡官就是這樣一個另類。管你是誰，我不願意，就不肯低頭。這種倔強，寶玉大概只在黛玉身上見過。 後來，寶玉又一次遇見齡官，才真正被震動。 那天原本赤日當空。寶玉偶然走到薔薇花架旁，忽然看見一個纖細的身影蹲在花下，正拿著頭上的簪子，一筆一筆地在泥地上畫字。 他起初沒有看清。等他反覆觀看她所畫的筆畫，才發現齡官一直在畫的是一個「薔」字。 畫完一個，又畫一個。她像著了魔似的，一遍又一遍地畫著同一個字。後來天氣驟變，忽然落下一陣雨，她卻依舊渾然不覺。她一面反覆畫著，一面悄悄流淚，直到衣裳漸漸濕透，仍舊沒有察覺。 寶玉站在遠處，一下子看呆了。他從來沒有見過這樣的專情。那不是對富貴的情，也不是對權勢的情，而是對一個人的情。

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那個「薔」字，正是賈薔名字中的「薔」，原來，齡官心裡只有賈薔。 那一刻，寶玉忽然有了一種從未有過的失落。他第一次真正明白：原來女孩子的心，不是人人都能進去的；原來愛，不是誰對她好，她就一定會愛誰；原來這世上，有人會把自己的全部感情，只留給一個人。 因為從前的寶玉，雖然也懂情，卻始終帶著一種孩子氣的自戀。他愛所有女孩，也以為所有女孩都愛他。可齡官讓他第一次知道：真正的愛，是專屬的，而不能由一個人全部佔有。 齡官無意中給寶玉上了人生中極為重要的一課。她不像襲人那樣勸他，也不像黛玉那樣故意和他鬧彆扭。她甚至沒有和他說過幾句話。她只是蹲在薔薇花下，一遍又一遍地畫著那個「薔」字，就已經讓寶玉忽然長大了一點。 為了更進一步瞭解齡官，我們還是抄錄一段曹雪芹的原著。這段文字最能顯示她的孤傲、敏感，以及遠遠超出一般人的思維方式。 「一日，寶玉因各處游的煩膩，便想起《牡丹亭》曲來，自己看了兩遍，猶不愜懷，因聞得梨香院的十二個女孩子中有小旦齡官最是唱的好，因著意出角門來找時，只見寶官玉官都在院內，見寶玉來了，都笑嘻嘻的讓坐。 寶玉因問『齡官獨在那裡？』眾人都告訴他說：『在他房裡呢。』寶玉忙至他房內，只見齡官獨自倒在枕上，見他進來，文風不動。寶玉素習與別的女孩子頑慣了的，只當齡官也同別人一樣，因進前來身旁坐下，又陪笑央他起來唱『裊晴絲』一套。 不想齡官見他坐下，忙抬身起來躲避，正色說道：『嗓子啞了。前兒娘娘傳進我們去，我還沒有唱呢。』寶玉見他坐正了，再一細看，原來就是那日薔薇花下劃『薔』字那一個。又見如此景況，從來未經過這番被人棄厭，自己便訕訕的紅了臉，只得出來了。 寶官等不解何故，因問其所以。寶玉便說了，遂出來。寶官便說道：『只略等一等，薔二爺來了叫他唱，是必唱的。』寶玉聽了，心下納悶，因問：『薔哥兒那去了？』寶官道：『才出去了，一定還是齡官要什麼，他去變弄去了。』 寶玉聽了，以為奇特，少站片時，果見賈薔從外頭來了，手裡又提著個雀兒籠子，上面扎著個小戲台，並一個雀兒，興興頭頭的往裡走著找齡官。見了寶玉，只得站住。 寶玉問他：『是個什麼雀兒，會銜旗串戲台？』 賈薔笑道：『是個玉頂金豆。』 寶玉道：『多少錢買的？』賈薔道：『一兩八錢銀子。』一面說，一面讓寶玉坐，自己往齡官房裡來。 寶玉此刻把聽曲子的心都沒了，且要看他和齡官是怎樣。只見賈薔進去笑道：『你起來，瞧這個頑意兒。』齡官起身問是什麼，賈薔道：『買了雀兒你頑，省得天天悶悶的無個開心。我先頑個你看。』 說著，便拿些穀子哄的那個雀兒在戲台上亂串，銜鬼臉旗幟。眾女孩子都笑道『有趣』，獨齡官冷笑了兩聲，賭氣仍睡去了。 賈薔還只管陪笑，問他好不好。齡官道：『你們家把好好的人弄了來，關在這牢坑裡學這個勞什子還不算，你這會子又弄個雀兒來，也偏生干這個。你分明是弄了他來打趣形容我們，還問我好不好。』 賈薔聽了，不覺慌起來，連忙賭身立誓。又道：『今兒我那裡的香脂油蒙了心！費一二兩銀子買他來，原說解悶，就沒有想到這上頭。罷，罷，放了生，免免你的災病。』說著，果然將雀兒放了，一頓把將籠子拆了。 齡官還說：『那雀兒雖不如人，他也有個老雀兒在窩裡，你拿了他來弄這個勞什子也忍得！今兒我咳嗽出兩口血來，太太叫大夫來瞧，不說替我細問問，你且弄這個來取笑。偏生我這沒人管沒人理的，又偏病。』說著又哭起來。 賈薔忙道：『昨兒晚上我問了大夫，他說不相干。他說吃兩劑藥，後兒再瞧。誰知今兒又吐了。這會子請他去。』說著，便要請去。齡官又叫『站住，這會子大毒日頭地下，你賭氣子去請了來我也不瞧。』 賈薔聽如此說，只得又站住。寶玉見了這般景況，不覺痴了，這才領會了劃『薔』深意。自己站不住，也抽身走了。賈薔一心都在齡官身上，也不顧送，倒是別的女孩子送了出來。 那寶玉一心裁奪盤算，痴痴的回至怡紅院中，正值林黛玉和襲人坐著說話兒呢。寶玉一進來，就和襲人長歎，說道：『我昨晚上的話竟說錯了，怪道老爺說我是「管窺蠡測」。 昨夜說你們的眼淚單葬我，這就錯了。我竟不能全得了。從此後只是各人各得眼淚罷了。』 襲人昨夜不過是些頑話，已經忘了，不想寶玉今又提起來，便笑道：『你可真真有些瘋了。』寶玉默默不對，自此深悟人生情緣，各有分定，只是每每暗傷『不知將來葬我灑淚者為誰？』此皆寶玉心中所懷，也不可十分妄擬。」 這一段描寫裡面，有太多的故事。它不僅說明齡官與其他女孩的不同，也讓寶玉真正上了一堂深刻的人生課。 第一，寶玉是賈府上下極度受寵的公子哥兒。他想親近哪個女孩，別人多半會受寵若驚，恨不得趕緊湊上去。可是齡官偏偏不肯。寶玉在她身旁坐下，她便立即起身躲避。寶玉「從來未經過這番被人棄厭」，一時訕訕地紅了臉，只得退出房間。 這是寶玉第一次發現：並不是所有女孩都歡迎他的親近。即使他是賈府最受寵的公子，也沒有權力隨意進入任何一個女孩的內心世界。 第二，寶玉為了聽她唱戲，還陪著笑央她唱一套《裊晴絲》。齡官卻正色拒絕，只說：「嗓子啞了。前兒娘娘傳進我們去，我還沒有唱呢。」一句話便讓寶玉無言以對。 這未必是齡官故意藐視寶玉，卻清楚表明：她不是一件誰想聽便必須唱給誰聽的玩物。即使面對寶玉，她也保留著說「不」的權利。 第三，賈薔花銀子買了一隻會銜旗串戲台的小鳥，本想用來討好齡官，讓她開心。可是齡官看到那隻被關在籠子裡、被訓練著演戲的小鳥，立即想到了自己。 她對賈薔說：「你們家把好好的人弄了來，關在這牢坑裡學這個勞什子還不算，你這會子又弄個雀兒來，也偏生干這個。你分明是弄了他來打趣形容我們，還問我好不好。」 這句話極為深刻。 在賈府的主子眼中，大觀園是顯示富貴、權勢和風雅的地方，是人間仙境。可是在齡官眼裡，這裡卻是一個「牢坑」。 因為她看透了。她知道，自己雖然住在大觀園，雖然有人捧著、哄著，可本質上，她仍然只是個被買來的戲子。她沒有選擇來不來的自由，也沒有選擇唱不唱的自由。今天唱給這家人聽，明天又唱給那家人看。她的眼淚、笑容、身體和青春，都不真正屬於自己。 那隻雀兒被關在籠子裡，學著銜旗、串戲台，供人觀看取樂；而齡官又何嘗不是如此？ 所以，別的女孩看到小鳥表演，都覺得有趣，只有齡官一眼看穿了其中的殘酷。她不是不懂賈薔的好意，而是那隻雀兒使她看到了自己的命運。 弄得真心喜歡她、甚至可以說愛她的賈薔慌了手腳，只得拆籠放鳥，甘願聽從她的意思。在一般人看來，賈薔是主子，齡官只是被買來的小戲子；可在兩個人的感情中，齡官並不肯把自己放在低人一等的位置。 她可以愛賈薔，卻不肯因此放棄自己的尊嚴。 齡官身體不好，已經咳嗽吐血，心情也總是鬱鬱寡歡。即便賈薔可能真心愛她，她仍然不快樂。因為她知道，兩個人的感情再真，也改變不了她身處牢籠的事實。 賈薔可以給她買一隻鳥，可以為她請大夫，也可以陪著笑哄她開心，可他未必有能力真正還給她自由。 而寶玉，也是在齡官身上，第一次真正明白了：有些女孩即使表面在笑，內心也未必快樂，因為她們不自由。 寶玉從前說，希望天下女孩的眼淚都來埋葬自己。這句話看起來深情，其實仍然帶著一種以自我為中心的幻想。他希望得到所有女孩的感情，希望每一個女孩都為他流淚。 可是看見齡官與賈薔之間的感情後，他終於明白：「昨夜說你們的眼淚單葬我，這就錯了。我竟不能全得了。從此後只是各人各得眼淚罷了。」 每個人的感情都有自己的歸屬。不是你喜歡所有人，所有人就都必須喜歡你；也不是你對別人好，別人就必須用愛來回報你。愛不是平均分配的，也不是可以由誰全部佔有的。 愛是專屬的。 後來，老太妃薨逝，一年之內，官宦人家不許筵宴音樂，賈府的戲班也隨之解散。那些曾經在戲台上唱盡悲歡離合的小女孩，像風吹花散一樣，各自飄零。 曹雪芹在前八十回中沒有仔細交代齡官最後去了哪裡。也可能是他沒有時間，無法為每一個人物都寫出最後的命運。 有人推測她後來跟隨了賈薔，也有人根據她咳嗽吐血，推測她年紀輕輕便病死了。可是這些都只是後人的推測，原著沒有給出確切答案。 曹雪芹不寫，反而更讓人難受。因為在那樣的時代，一個戲子的命，本來就像水上的浮萍。即便她再清高，再痴情，再像林黛玉，也改變不了自己的身份和命運，因為她終究只是個戲子。 可是，她留下的那場薔薇花下的驟雨，那個被反覆畫了幾千遍的「薔」字，卻永遠留在了寶玉心裡。 很多年後，寶玉大概仍然會記得：曾經有一個女孩，在薔薇花下，一筆一筆地告訴他：愛不是人人都有份，愛，是專屬的。 （未完待續）

Jia Baoyu had grown up surrounded by girls and women. Grandmother Jia doted on him, Lady Wang protected him, maids attended him wherever he went, and the young ladies of the Grand Prospect Garden were all close to him. He had scarcely ever experienced what it meant to be rejected. Over time, an idea began to take shape in Baoyu’s heart without his even realizing it. He believed that as long as he sincerely cherished girls, they would naturally like him and love him in return. The idea was innocent, childish, and even, one might say, dangerous. It was as though, simply because he possessed a loving heart, every girl beneath heaven ought to answer his affection with her own. It was not until Lingguan appeared that Baoyu truly understood for the first time: not every girl would love him. Some hearts already belonged to someone else. Lingguan was also one of the young opera performers purchased from Suzhou by the Jia family for Yuanchun’s imperial homecoming. Those girls were still very young, yet they had already been trained to perform onstage and turned into playthings for the amusement of the powerful. They were kept in the opera troupe like exquisite birds in a cage—beautifully adorned, but never free. In Cao Xueqin’s writing, Lingguan was exceptionally beautiful. The novel describes her as having “brows furrowed like spring hills, eyes wistful as autumn waters, a delicate face and slender waist, and a graceful, willowy bearing.” She even possessed something of Lin Daiyu’s air. When Baoyu first saw her, he too was astonished by her beauty. Yet what truly made her resemble Daiyu was not merely her appearance, but the coldness rooted deep within her character. She refused to flatter anyone, and she refused to regard herself as a plaything brought out for the entertainment of others. During Yuanchun’s imperial homecoming, Lingguan performed exceptionally well and won the Imperial Consort’s particular admiration. Yuanchun therefore ordered her to perform two more scenes, allowing her to choose whichever two she wished. Jia Qiang, who managed the opera troupe, wanted her to perform The Garden Stroll and The Interrupted Dream, but Lingguan insisted that these were not appropriate to the role in which she had been trained. She refused and demanded instead to perform The Rendezvous and The Quarrel. Jia Qiang could not prevail upon her and had no choice but to give in. Yuanchun was delighted by the performances and gave Lingguan a special reward. The episode revealed Lingguan’s character. Another performer, when presented with the wishes of her masters, would probably not have dared refuse, however unwilling she might have been. Lingguan did refuse. If a scene did not belong to her proper role, she would not force herself to perform it. She valued her art, and she valued her own will. She would not casually bow her head merely to please the powerful. On another occasion, Baoyu went to Pear Fragrance Court and asked her to sing the aria “The Fine Curling Threads.” Everyone else was eager to ingratiate herself with this pampered young master of the Jia family, but Lingguan remained unmoved. She refused him on the spot, saying simply, “My voice is hoarse.” That was the kind of exception Lingguan was. Whoever you may be, if I do not wish to do something, I will not bow my head. Baoyu had probably encountered such stubbornness only in Daiyu. It was during another encounter with Lingguan, however, that Baoyu was truly shaken.

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The sun had been blazing overhead that day. As Baoyu happened to pass a trellis covered in roses, he suddenly noticed a slender figure crouching beneath the flowers, using a hairpin to trace a character in the earth, stroke by deliberate stroke. At first he could not make out what she was writing. Only after repeatedly following the movements of her hand did he realize that Lingguan was writing the same character again and again: “Qiang.” She finished one and immediately began another. As if possessed, she drew the same character over and over. Then the weather abruptly changed and rain began to fall, but she remained completely unaware. She continued tracing the character while quietly weeping, never noticing that her clothes were gradually becoming soaked. Watching from a distance, Baoyu was transfixed. Never before had he witnessed such single-hearted devotion. It was not love for wealth or power. It was love for one particular person. The character “Qiang” was the same “Qiang” in Jia Qiang’s name. Lingguan’s heart, it turned out, belonged to Jia Qiang alone. At that moment, Baoyu felt a kind of loss he had never known before. For the first time, he truly understood that not every girl’s heart was open to everyone; that simply because someone treated a girl well did not mean she must love him in return; and that there were people in this world who reserved all their affection for one person alone. Although Baoyu had always understood something of love, his feelings had remained tinged with a childlike vanity. He loved all girls and assumed that all girls loved him. Lingguan taught him for the first time that true love is exclusive—it cannot all be possessed by one person. Without intending to do so, Lingguan taught Baoyu one of the most important lessons of his life. She did not advise him as Xiren did, nor did she deliberately quarrel with him as Daiyu sometimes did. In fact, she had scarcely spoken more than a few words to him. She merely crouched beneath the rose trellis, tracing the character “Qiang” over and over, and in doing so made Baoyu grow up a little. To understand Lingguan more fully, let us return to a passage from Cao Xueqin’s original text. Nothing reveals more clearly her aloofness, her sensitivity, and a way of thinking far beyond that of ordinary people. “One day, weary of wandering from place to place, Baoyu remembered an aria from The Peony Pavilion. He read it over twice but still found himself unsatisfied. Having heard that, among the twelve girls of Pear Fragrance Court, Lingguan, who played young female roles, was the finest singer, he deliberately went out through the side gate to look for her. Baoguan and Yuguan were both in the courtyard. When they saw Baoyu arrive, they smilingly invited him to sit down. “Baoyu asked, ‘Where is Lingguan by herself?’ The girls told him, ‘She is in her room.’ Baoyu hurried inside and found Lingguan lying alone on her pillow. When she saw him enter, she did not move in the slightest. Baoyu was accustomed to joking and playing with other girls and assumed that Lingguan would be no different. He went forward, sat down beside her, and smilingly begged her to get up and sing the aria ‘The Fine Curling Threads.’ “Unexpectedly, the moment Lingguan saw him sit down, she hastily raised herself and moved away. With a grave expression, she said, ‘My voice is hoarse. The other day, Her Highness summoned us to perform, and even then I did not sing.’ When Lingguan sat upright, Baoyu looked at her more carefully and realized that she was the same girl who had traced the character ‘Qiang’ beneath the rose trellis. Finding himself treated in this way—never before had anyone shown such dislike for him—he flushed awkwardly and could only leave the room. “Baoguan and the others did not understand what had happened and asked him the reason. Baoyu told them and continued on his way. Baoguan said, ‘If you wait just a little while, Second Master Qiang will come. If he asks her to sing, she will certainly sing.’ Baoyu was puzzled and asked, ‘Where has Brother Qiang gone?’ Baoguan replied, ‘He just went out. Lingguan must have wanted something, and he has gone to find it for her.’ “Baoyu thought this very strange and waited for a short while. Sure enough, Jia Qiang soon returned from outside carrying a birdcage. Inside was a bird, and above it was fastened a tiny stage. Brimming with excitement, he hurried in to find Lingguan. When he saw Baoyu, he had no choice but to stop. “Baoyu asked him, ‘What sort of bird is that? Can it carry flags in its beak and perform on the stage?’ “Jia Qiang smiled. ‘It is a Jade-Crested Golden Bean“ ”How much did it cost?’ Baoyu asked. ‘One tael and eight mace of silver,’ Jia Qiang replied. As he spoke, he invited Baoyu to sit down and then went into Lingguan’s room. “By this time Baoyu had completely forgotten his desire to hear Lingguan sing. He only wanted to see how she and Jia Qiang behaved together. Jia Qiang went in and said with a smile, ‘Get up and have a look at this little amusement.’ Lingguan sat up and asked what it was. Jia Qiang said, ‘I bought a bird for you to play with, so you would have something to cheer you up instead of feeling miserable all day. Let me show you what it can do.’ “He took out some grain and coaxed the bird into hopping about on the little stage and carrying tiny demon-faced flags in its beak. All the other girls laughed and called it amusing. Lingguan alone gave two cold laughs, turned away in anger, and lay down again. “Jia Qiang continued smiling ingratiatingly and asked whether she liked it. Lingguan said, ‘Your family took perfectly good human beings, brought us here, and shut us inside this prison to learn this wretched trade. As if that were not enough, now you bring in a bird and force it to do the same thing. You plainly brought it here to mock us—to hold it up as a picture of what we are—and you still ask whether I like it.’ “Hearing this, Jia Qiang became alarmed and hurriedly swore that he had meant no such thing. ‘What possessed me today? I must have had perfumed oil clouding my mind! I spent one or two taels of silver buying it because I thought it would amuse you. It never occurred to me that you might see it that way. Enough, enough—I shall set it free. Perhaps the good deed will help relieve your illness.’ With that, he released the bird and smashed the cage to pieces. “Lingguan continued, ‘The bird may not be human, but it too has an old mother bird waiting in some nest. How could you bear to catch it and make it perform this wretched nonsense? Today I coughed up two mouthfuls of blood. Madam ordered a doctor to examine me, but instead of asking carefully about my illness, you bring this thing here to make fun of me. I have no one to care for me or pay attention to me, and now I am ill as well.’ With that, she began to cry. “Jia Qiang hurriedly said, ‘I asked the doctor last night. He said it was nothing serious and that two doses of medicine would cure it. He was going to look at you again the day after tomorrow. How was I to know you had coughed up blood again today? I shall fetch him now.’ As he spoke, he turned to leave. Lingguan called after him, ‘Stop! The sun is poisonous at this hour. If you rush out in anger and bring him here, I shall refuse to see him.’ “Hearing this, Jia Qiang had no choice but to stop. Baoyu watched the scene in a daze. Only now did he understand the true meaning of the character ‘Qiang’ traced beneath the rose trellis. Unable to remain any longer, he quietly withdrew. Jia Qiang’s whole heart was fixed on Lingguan, and he gave no thought to seeing Baoyu out. It was the other girls who escorted him from the courtyard. “Baoyu pondered and reflected all the way back to Happy Red Court, lost in thought. He found Lin Daiyu and Xiren sitting together in conversation. As soon as he entered, he sighed deeply and said to Xiren, ‘What I said last night was entirely wrong. No wonder Father said that my understanding was like peering at the sky through a tube and measuring the sea with a gourd. “‘Last night I said that all of your tears would be shed for me and would bury me, but I was wrong. I can never have them all. From now on, each person’s tears must belong to the one for whom they are meant.’ “Xiren had regarded the previous night’s conversation as nothing more than playful nonsense and had already forgotten it. She had not expected Baoyu to mention it again and laughed. ‘You really are a little mad.’ Baoyu remained silent. From that moment on, he understood deeply that the bonds of human affection are separately ordained for each person. Yet he would still secretly grieve and wonder, ‘Who will shed tears over my grave in the years to come?’ These were the thoughts Baoyu carried in his heart, though we should not speculate too freely about them.” There are too many stories contained within this single passage. It not only reveals how different Lingguan was from the other girls; it also shows how she taught Baoyu a profound lesson about life. First, Baoyu was the pampered young master of the entire Jia household. Whenever he wished to approach a girl, most would have felt flattered and hurried eagerly toward him. Lingguan alone refused. The moment Baoyu sat beside her, she immediately rose and moved away. Baoyu, who “had never before experienced such rejection and dislike,” flushed with embarrassment and could only retreat from the room. This was the first time Baoyu discovered that not every girl welcomed his attention. Even if he was the Jia family’s most cherished young master, he had no right to enter any girl’s inner world whenever he pleased. Second, Baoyu had even smiled ingratiatingly and begged her to sing “The Fine Curling Threads.” Lingguan refused him gravely, saying only, “My voice is hoarse. The other day, Her Highness summoned us to perform, and even then I did not sing.” Her single reply left Baoyu speechless. This did not necessarily mean that Lingguan deliberately despised Baoyu. It did, however, make one thing perfectly clear: she was not a plaything who must sing whenever someone wished to hear her. Even before Baoyu, she retained the right to say no. Third, Jia Qiang spent money on a little bird trained to carry flags in its beak and perform on a tiny stage. He had hoped to please Lingguan and cheer her up. Yet the moment Lingguan saw the bird imprisoned in its cage and trained to perform, she thought of herself. She told Jia Qiang, “Your family took perfectly good human beings, brought us here, and shut us inside this prison to learn this wretched trade. As if that were not enough, now you bring in a bird and force it to do the same thing. You plainly brought it here to mock us—to hold it up as a picture of what we are—and you still ask whether I like it.” The words were extraordinarily profound. In the eyes of the Jia family’s masters, the Grand Prospect Garden was a display of wealth, power, and refinement—an earthly paradise. In Lingguan’s eyes, however, it was a “prison.” She had seen through it. She knew that although she lived in the Grand Prospect Garden, and although someone might flatter or indulge her, she remained, in essence, a purchased opera performer. She had never been free to decide whether she came there, nor was she free to decide whether she would sing. Today she performed for one household; tomorrow she might perform for another. Her tears, her smiles, her body, and her youth did not truly belong to her. The little bird was imprisoned in a cage and taught to carry flags and perform on a stage for the amusement of spectators. In what way was Lingguan’s own fate any different? The other girls found the bird’s performance amusing. Lingguan alone recognized its cruelty at a glance. It was not that she failed to understand Jia Qiang’s good intentions. Rather, the bird forced her to see her own fate. Jia Qiang, who sincerely cared for her and perhaps truly loved her, became flustered. He could only break the cage, release the bird, and willingly obey her wishes. In the eyes of others, Jia Qiang was a master and Lingguan merely a lowly performer who had been bought by his family. Yet within their relationship, Lingguan refused to place herself beneath him. She could love Jia Qiang, but she would not surrender her dignity for that love. Lingguan was in poor health. She had already begun coughing up blood, and her spirits were habitually low. Even if Jia Qiang truly loved her, she remained unhappy, because she knew that however genuine their affection might be, it could not alter the fact that she was living inside a cage. Jia Qiang could buy her a bird, summon a doctor for her, and smile as he tried to cheer her up. But he might never possess the power to give her true freedom. It was also through Lingguan that Baoyu first truly understood that some girls might smile outwardly and still remain unhappy within, because they were not free. Baoyu had once said that he hoped the tears of all the girls beneath heaven would be shed for him and would one day bury him. The words sounded deeply affectionate, yet they still contained a self-centered fantasy. He wished to possess the feelings of every girl and hoped that each of them would weep for him. After witnessing the love between Lingguan and Jia Qiang, however, he finally understood: “Last night I said that all of your tears would be shed for me and would bury me, but I was wrong. I can never have them all. From now on, each person’s tears must belong to the one for whom they are meant.” Every person’s love has its own destination. Simply because you love everyone does not mean that everyone must love you. Nor does treating someone kindly oblige that person to repay you with love. Love is not distributed equally, and no one person can possess all of it. Love is meant for one alone. Later, an Imperial Dowager died, and noble families were forbidden to hold banquets or musical performances for an entire year. The Jia family’s opera troupe was consequently disbanded. The young girls who had once performed every imaginable joy and sorrow upon the stage were scattered like flowers blown apart by the wind. In the first eighty chapters, Cao Xueqin never explains in detail where Lingguan ultimately went. Perhaps he simply did not have the time to complete the fate of every character. Some readers speculate that she later followed Jia Qiang. Others, remembering that she was already coughing up blood, believe that she may have died of illness while still very young. Yet these remain nothing more than later conjectures. The original novel gives us no certain answer. Cao Xueqin’s silence only makes her story more painful. In that age, the life of an opera performer was like duckweed drifting upon the water. However proud she might be, however devoted, however much she resembled Lin Daiyu, she could not change her identity or her fate, because in the end, she was still merely an actress. Yet the sudden rain beneath the rose trellis, and the character “Qiang” traced thousands of times in the earth, remained forever in Baoyu’s heart. Many years later, Baoyu would probably still remember that there had once been a girl beneath the roses who told him, one stroke at a time: love is not something in which everyone may claim a share. Love is meant for one alone. (To be continued)