THE WHITE FILES: THE MANY LIVES OF LU HERUO, TAIWANS FIRST LITERARY TALENT  

Chapter Two: Lu Heruo Returns to Taiwan and Attends a Literary Salon

5

Taichung, in the gentle light of early morning. A fresh breeze swept through the lush green park, and dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves. Lu Heruo stood at a street corner beside Zhang Wenhuan, his close friend of many years. The two walked side by side, chatting as the aroma of soy milk and fried dough sticks drifted through the air.

“Heruo,” Zhang Wenhuan said with a smile, patting him on the shoulder. His voice carried deep sincerity. “Since youre going to Taipei this time, you must make a point of meeting Ms. Ku Yen-pi-hsia. Her literary salon has practically become a gathering place for all the talented writers and artists.”

“I understand what you mean,” Lu Heruo replied with a smile and a nod, though there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “Its just that... with my modest musical abilities, would I really be welcome in a place like that?”

“Dont underestimate yourself!” Zhang Wenhuan laughed heartily, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “Yen-pi-hsia isnt just a connoisseur of literature. She also has an exceptionally refined taste in music. Ive already recommended you to her. Shes heard that youve returned from Tokyo after completing your studies, and shes quite eager to meet you. This is a wonderful opportunity!”

Lu Heruo fell silent for a moment, as though weighing his options. At last, he nodded. “All right. Ill give it a try.”

6

Taipei, at Ku Yen-pi-hsias literary salon. It was an elegant Western-style residence tucked away in a narrow alley, its walls covered with climbing ivy and trailing vines. The stone steps in front of the house glimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Holding his instrument case, Lu Heruo stood somewhat stiffly at the entrance. He took a deep breath before knocking on the intricately carved wooden door.

The door opened, and Ku Yen-pi-hsia herself came out to greet him. She appeared to be around thirty, with an elegant bearing. She wore a silk qipao, and her smile conveyed a dignified gentleness.

“You must be Mr. Lu Heruo, arent you?” Her voice was as gentle as flowing water. She looked him over with a trace of curiosity and admiration.

“Yes, Ms. Ku. Ive heard so much about you.” Lu Heruo bowed slightly, his manner humble and courteous.

“Wenhuan has already told me about your talents. Please, come in.” Ku Yen-pi-hsia gestured invitingly and warmly led him into the living room.

Inside, several cultured men and women were seated together, discussing poetry and novels. Paintings and calligraphy adorned the walls. The fragrance of tea filled the air, while the melodies of classical piano music flowed gracefully through the room. Lu Heruo felt as though he had stepped into another world. The elegant atmosphere gradually eased his initial nervousness.

“Heruo, this is our salon. Please make yourself comfortable. Theres no need to feel constrained.” Ku Yen-pi-hsia smiled as she guided him to a seat. A servant then poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” Lu Heruo held the teacup in both hands. The warm fragrance of the tea lingered beneath his nose, but it could not entirely dispel his nervousness.

“Wenhuan tells me youre skilled at both piano and vocal music. We have a piano here. Why dont you let us hear you play?” Ku Yen-pi-hsia gently pointed toward the piano.

Lu Heruo nodded and walked over to the gleaming black piano. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the piano lid. He gently placed his hands on the keys, took a deep breath, and began to play the piece he knew best.

A beautiful melody flowed from his fingertips like running water, filling the entire living room. Everyone who had been talking fell silent and listened attentively. Lu Heruo felt as though he were once again on a stage in Tokyo, rediscovering the sensation of music and soul merging into one.

“Wonderful, Mr. Lu!” Ku Yen-pi-hsia could not help applauding. Genuine admiration appeared on her face. “Your music certainly lives up to its reputation!”

“Thank you for your kind words.” Lu Heruo lowered his head slightly, gratitude shining in his eyes.

“If you dont mind, I would like you to become my childrens private music tutor here. They are also studying piano and vocal music.” Ku Yen-pi-hsia looked at him with hopeful anticipation.

“It would be a great honor for me.” Lu Heruo smiled and nodded, feeling a warmth he had not experienced in a long time.

In the days that followed, Lu Heruo became the private music tutor in Ku Yen-pi-hsias household.

Every morning, he walked along the stone-paved lanes of Taipei before entering the quiet Western-style residence. The sounds of the piano and singing flowed between him and Ku Yen-pi-hsias children, gradually driving away the gloom in his heart, little by little, like sunlight breaking through the darkness.

His financial situation gradually improved. He was even able to provide his children with adequate food and clothing. At occasional salon gatherings, he would also play the piano or sing for the guests, earning rounds of applause and praise.

Yet, despite the gradual improvement in his circumstances, a trace of unease and uncertainty remained deep in Lu Heruos heart. It came from the unknown future, his longing for his homeland, and his search for his own sense of worth.

7

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the intricately carved glass windows, illuminating the oil paintings and calligraphy on the walls. An upright piano stood in the corner, its black lacquer reflecting a soft, warm sheen. The champagne-colored curtains swayed gently, bringing in a faint cool breeze along with the noise of the bustling streets.

In the salons living room, several beautifully carved wooden chairs surrounded a long table. A teapot, porcelain cups, and open literary journals were arranged on the tabletop. Lu Heruo sat with Yang Kui and Lung Ying-tsung, and the three engaged in an animated discussion about literature and current affairs.

Yang Kui held his teacup, his brows tightly furrowed. His voice carried restrained anger. “That Nishikawa Mitsuru is clearly arrogant and conceited! He looks down his nose at our novels and says things like, ‘They cannot escape the vulgarity of their local roots.’ What kind of criticism is that?”

“Exactly.” Lung Ying-tsung put down his notebook, a mocking smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Hes nothing more than a man who thinks he can belittle others at will simply because hes a celebrated figure in Japanese literary circles. We dont write our novels to please those critics who look down on everyone from their lofty positions.”

“Well said!” Lu Heruo nodded in agreement, clasping his hands in front of his chest. His eyes shone with an unyielding light. “Writing is about pursuing the truth, not pandering to false standards. How can people who have never experienced the suffering of our land and our people understand the cries in our writing?”

Yang Kui snorted and set his teacup down heavily on the table. “And thats not all. Have you heard? The Music Service Association is recruiting musicians again. They say they want songs composed for the ‘Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere’ to demonstrate loyalty to the Empire!”

“Utterly absurd!” Lung Ying-tsung tapped his fingers against the tabletop, a look of disdain flashing in his eyes. “They turn music into a tool simply to dress up their lies. Anyone who takes part in an event like that is truly pandering to vulgar taste!”

Lu Heruo smiled, his tone carrying a trace of self-mockery. “They approached me once, too. They must have heard that I returned from Tokyo after completing my studies and assumed I would submit to that kind of false ‘glory.’”

“You turned them down?” Yang Kui leaned forward excitedly, admiration shining in his eyes.

“Of course.” The corners of Lu Heruos mouth lifted slightly as he looked directly at the two men. “If music has to become a tool of propaganda, then it loses its soul. Its the same with literature. If we write merely to curry favor with the powerful, then our work is nothing but an empty shell.”

“Well said!” Lung Ying-tsung slapped the table, laughing heartily. “Heruo, I think we really are a group of kindred spirits!”

“Kindred spirits?” Yang Kui laughed too, raising his teacup toward the others. “Then lets drink to our friendship and our ideals!”

The men raised their teacups and gently clinked them together. The tea rippled softly inside.

8

That evening, the Ku familys Western-style residence remained brightly lit, and the literary salon was still in full swing. Through the haze of smoke, several cultured guests discussed a variety of subjects. Lu Heruo sat down at the piano, gently placed his hands on the keys, and began playing a melody that was both graceful and powerful.

“This piece... Is it something youve composed recently?” Ku Yen-pi-hsia approached with a teacup in her hand and asked softly.

“Yes,” Lu Heruo replied in a low voice, his eyes gazing at the nighttime view outside the window. “I want to use music to express the anger and indignation of the Taiwanese people.”

“Then...” Ku Yen-pi-hsia said with a smile, “perhaps you should let more people hear it.”

“I will.” Lu Heruo nodded gently and placed his hands on the keys once more. The notes poured forth like running water, carrying the defiance and longing deep within his heart.