by Jinkang Wang
He nodded at Mei Yin, in silent support. She responded with a look of gratitude.
Director Zhang then exchanged a few quiet words with Deputy Mayor Jin, who nodded. Having heard Mei Yin’s testimony, Jin’s anger at her had mostly dissipated. No matter whether her beliefs were right or wrong, she’d given up everything in pursuit of them, and this alone was worthy of respect. She’d sacrificed so much for her faith, both in terms of money and her personal life. She was a kind of devout ascetic. In this world, and in Chinese society, such martyrs were few and far between. Even so, her actions had gone against the law, and the Nanyang Prosecutor’s Office, after consulting with counterparts in the county and national offices, had decided to bring charges against her. A warrant had been issued, and immediately after this meeting, she and Sun would be arrested and brought to the detention center, to await their hearings. Still, she was a good person—her work with the orphans alone ought to have brought her a better reward that this. Jin Mingcheng’s heart was full of doubt, and he found himself unable to meet her eyes.
Director Zhang said to the rest of the press corps, “If any of you have further questions, please feel free to ask them.”
A reporter from the Xinhua Agency, clearly disgusted by the unspoken sympathy for Mei Yin welling up in the room, asked with some passion: “Ms. Mei Yin, you might well believe in your own account of your motives. But regardless of that, your actions have led to catastrophic consequences. Never mind the economic damage, let’s look at the personal loss. The first person to report the epidemic, old Dr. Ma, has passed away. Some of the beautiful girls in the orphanage are now scarred for life. And as Mr. Matsumoto said, China managed to swiftly handle this outbreak through sheer luck. Hundreds of thousands, even millions of people, could have died. Would you have the courage to face these people and their families in court?”
Mei Yin shivered visibly. She’d never met Dr. Ma, and while she felt guilt over his fate, she hadn’t directly experienced that loss. Mei Xiaoxue’s image, though, was branded in her mind. She’d been the most beautiful girl in Nanyang: clear features and sparkling teeth, fine blushing skin and a smile that radiated purity. Now that face was covered in hideous scars. Of course, amid the vast flowing river of human civilization, one person’s pockmarked face was less than a fleck of foam on a single wave. But for that individual, particularly a young girl who’d once been beautiful, it could ruin her entire life. With some pain, she said, “I’m to blame for that. I’m willing to accept the punishment of the law.”
The reporter hadn’t expected such a thorough admission of guilt, and had nothing to say in response. The rest of the press corps had other questions, but none as pointed as the first one. They’d been touched by Mei Yin’s strength of character, and from a rational standpoint also had to admit that her argument made sense in some ways. The main outline of the case was clear now, and they were just filling in some gaps.
A journalist from Hong Kong asked, “I have a question for Mr. Sun. Did you know anything about Ms. Mei’s actions?”
Sun Jingshuan shook his head. “Not at all. When Director Mei asked me to build her this lab, she said only that it was for private research into mutated white pox viruses, which should have been harmless to humans. I had no idea she was actually working with smallpox. I should be punished for my gullibility and negligence. But having heard her argument, I should also add that—if I had known at the time, I would still have supported her.”
He turned to look at Mei Yin, who nodded in gratitude.
Several reporters obviously didn’t believe in Sun’s ignorance, but none of them pursued this line of questioning. Mei Yin’s eyes swept the room, lighting on Xue Yu in the back row. Smiling, she called out to him, “How are you doing, Xue? Do you remember, I once asked you to take over my research? If you’d agreed then, I’d have told you the whole truth right away. But it’s just as well you didn’t, otherwise you’d have been implicated too.”
His heart a tangle of emotion, Xue Yu could only smile grimly.
“Xue, I have a favor to ask you. If both my husband and I were to . . . I’d like you to take care of Mei Xiaoxue. She has the worst scarring of all the children, and must be suffering a lot.”
Xue Yu knew what she was asking, and replied with sorrow, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”
Director Zhang said, “Fine, then that’s all for now. The two of you can go.” The couple stood and nodded their good-byes as they left the conference room. When they were almost at the door, Mr. Matsumoto confounded everyone by striding ahead so he could respectfully bow to them, a full ninety degrees at the waist. Mei Yin was a little flustered by this overt show of deference, and hastily returned the bow. Matsumoto didn’t say anything to her, but returned to his seat.
When they were gone, Director Zhang made an announcement. “Even if Ms. Mei acted from the very best motives, even if she was only putting her own beliefs into practice, she has broken Chinese law, and the law has no flexibility. As of now, the Nanyang Prosecutor’s Office has issued a warrant for their arrest, and they’ll soon be arraigned in the municipal court. Before this happens, we’ll be sure to notify all of you, and you’re very welcome to be present there too.” To Miguel de Las Casas, he said, “Especially you. You said you wanted the whole story—you’ll have to attend the trial for that.”
Director Zhang was now completely at ease. The curtain had come down on this nail-biting play, and his bold move had succeeded. There was no further danger. Even if he somewhat regretted Mei Yin’s downfall, there was no way to help her. It was worth sacrificing her if it meant the country could clear its name. Las Casas, sharp-eyed, could see the happiness in this official’s heart, and a wave of displeasure surged up in him. As an official of the CDC, Zhang’s conduct had been irreproachable, even outstanding, but he shouldn’t be so callous with an individual like Mei Yin. After a moment’s hesitation, he said tactfully, “Ms. Mei is only a suspect at the moment. Should we be so quick in stating that she’s broken the law?”
Director Zhang blushed, and quickly said, “Of course not. I misspoke.”
“Mr. Zhang, I’ll come straight back after I’ve interviewed Mr. Dickerson in the States. At that time, would I be able to visit the Meis? If they agree, I’d like to engage a good foreign lawyer for her.”
Zhang shot a glance at him. He was observant enough to know that Las Casas was unhappy with him. This was quite a reversal; three days ago, this journalist had still been reporting that Mei Yin was China’s “Dr. Germ”—a reference to Rihab Taha, the Iraqi scientist in charge of Saddam Hussein’s biological warfare program—and now he was firmly on her side? But that was good too, at least it meant Mei Yin had convinced all of them, which meant the “Chinese biological weapon” narrative would go away. Plastering a smile on his face, he said, “Thank you, on behalf of Ms. Mei and her husband, I’m grateful for your concern. But you may not be familiar with the Chinese judicial system, which stipulates that lawyers cannot operate in this country unless they are qualified and certified to practice law in China. You can certainly engage a foreign lawyer, but they’d need to hold these documents. China has many very good lawyers, in fact—as competent as those from any other country. We’re just as concerned for Ms. Mei Yin’s fate as you are.”
“Are you? I’m glad to hear that,” said Las Casas dryly.
The police car sped to the municipal station, where the actual arrest paperwork would be processed. The officer in charge would read them the charges, which the couple would sign. Before their trial, they’d be held in a detention center. The officers confiscated their personal effects, and issued a receipt. Their belts and penknives were taken away too—a suicide prevention measure. Even their shoes were removed, replaced by slippers. All of this was carried out skillfully and respectfully. Jin was present throughout the processing. The police had never seen a deputy mayor accompanying suspects to the station like this and understood that this couple were no ordinary criminals. When they tried to t
ake away the crucifix hanging around Mei Yin’s neck, she held up a hand and said politely, “This is a symbol of my faith, please let me keep it.”
This put the officers in an awkward position. They looked at Deputy Mayor Jin, who was well aware that Mei Yin was no Christian. But he didn’t expose her, just waved his hand so the police didn’t push the matter. Afterward, the couple’s hands were put into shiny handcuffs. Xue Yu, looking on, felt a weight in his heart, and couldn’t stop the tears gushing from his eyes. He was the one who’d blown the whistle on them. At the same time, he hadn’t done anything wrong—his conscience should be clear. All these thoughts swirled together in his mind, and he couldn’t disentangle them, only weep. Mei Yin brushed away his tears with her cuffed hands, and said warmly, “Xue, don’t cry. You’re twenty-eight now, a grown man, people will laugh at you. I don’t blame you, really, I don’t blame you at all.” Then she repeated, “Help me take care of Xiaoxue, and I’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Still crying, he nodded.
The couple got in the car and were driven off, lights flashing. Deputy Mayor Jin and Xue Yu watched the police vehicle disappear into the distance. On their way back, Xue Yu stopped the car at the orphanage. Jin patted him heavily on the shoulder, then drove on alone. Drying his eyes, Xue Yu went in to look for Xiaoxue, the little girl he still remembered looking like the most delicate flower, in order to carry out his mentor’s wishes.
Many years later, when Mei Xiaoxue thought back to this day, she would understand that she’d already known of the two great tragedies awaiting her, but had deliberately closed her eyes in willful blindness. The future described by Mommy Mei had been too bright, too glittering, and she’d been dazzled.
She’d stayed in her room, lost in daydreams, not noticing the confusion engulfing the rest of the orphanage, like a beehive that had been struck with a pole. Mei Xiaokai and Xue Yuanyuan barged in, shouting in a panic, “Xiaoxue, Xiaoxue, why are you still here? Something’s happened! Something big.”
Xiaoxue said, “Hey, what are you two doing in here? Get out, Mommy Mei and Mother Liu both said I’m a serious case, you should stay away from me.”
Xiaokai told her Mother Liu had announced the quarantine was lifted. Xiaoxue saw faint pockmarks on both their foreheads, and her heart trembled. Just running her hand across her face, she could feel the indentations. But never mind, Mommy Mei said surgery could make her skin smooth again. Breathing hard, Xiaokai said, “You still don’t know? Mommy Mei’s been taken away by the police! They say our smallpox didn’t come from America, but from some secret smallpox lab Mommy Mei had in the Heavenly Corp. building. The virus somehow escaped! It was at that birthday celebration. She spread it to us.”
Xiaoxue stared at them, openmouthed. Something perfect in her heart was slowly, unstoppably crumbling. She screamed hoarsely, “No! That’s all lies! I don’t believe you!”
Yuanyuan was crying. “We didn’t believe it either, but—so many people are saying this. You know why Mother Liu and Mother Chen aren’t here? They’ve gone to visit Mommy Mei, to bring her clean clothes. They were afraid you’d be too sad, so they didn’t dare tell you.”
“No, I don’t believe it!”
Xiaokai said, “Do you remember Uncle Xue Yu who came that day? He was Mommy Mei’s student, he was at that birthday party . . .”
Yuanyuan interrupted angrily. “Don’t call him ‘Uncle,’ he’s a traitor!”
Xiaokai said, “He was the one who accused Mommy Mei, and he personally brought people to the Xinye lab. Uncle Sun was taken away too. I heard that when Granny Sun learned about her grandson being arrested, she screamed and collapsed on the ground. It was a stroke. They might not be able to save her.”
Xiaoxue finally believed what they were saying. Now she suddenly recalled that strange expression in Mommy Mei’s eyes when she’d said good-bye, earlier that day, when the police came to summon her to a meeting. She’d been puzzled then, and now she understood that Mommy Mei had been saying farewell. She burst out crying, sobbing so hard it choked her. The seven or eight other kids who hadn’t already been taken away heard the weeping and came running, crowding into the doorway, terrified to see their big sister in such floods of tears, and of course they started howling too. Xiaokai and Yuanyuan could only leave, coaxing them all away.
That left Xiaoxue alone in the room, crying, looking around her with tear-blurred vision. On the bed was the blanket her Mommy had slept under. By the bedside were her medical books. On the desk were some basic makeup, a wooden comb, and a hair clip. In the two weeks Mommy had spent with her here, the orphan had enjoyed true mother’s love for the first time in her life. Mommy had said she would bring Xiaoxue home and become her real Mommy, but that beautiful bubble had burst in an instant.
She was worn out from weeping, and now slumped on the foot of the bed, sobbing. Her hand landed on something hard and round. It was Mommy Mei’s mirror, stuffed under the mattress. Xiaoxue fished it out, and looked at herself. In that instant, the second disaster crashed cruelly onto her—she’d felt a pang seeing the faint marks on Xiaokai and Yuanyuan’s faces, but she was so much worse off than them. They only had light scars, whereas her whole face was covered with deep pits. She’d become a scarred woman! An ugly, scarred woman!
No wonder Mommy Mei had hidden the mirror, and kept talking about plastic surgery.
No wonder Mommy Mei, Xiaokai, and Yuanyuan, not to mention Mother Liu and Mother Chen, found it so hard to look directly at her, their eyes skittering from her face.
The smallpox virus from Mommy Mei’s lab did this to her!
Xiaoxue could no longer cry. At moments of deepest sorrow, human beings move beyond tears.
It was late. Time flowed calmly on. For a long while, Xiaoxue’s mind was blank, empty of any thoughts, leaving only the sense of destruction that engulfed her, body and soul. Then she heard someone speaking in the courtyard, a man asking: Where is Mei Xiaoxue? And the kids cursing at him, “You’re looking for Sister Xiaoxue? Traitor! You’re the one who betrayed Mommy Mei!”
She looked out the door, and there was Xue Yu. He looked embarrassed, besieged by the kids, uncertain what to do with himself. Mother Liu led the children away, but had no kind words for him, only pointing coldly at Xiaoxue’s room.
Ashen-faced, Xue Yu walked over, only for the door to slam hard in his face. He tapped and called gently, “Xiaoxue, please open the door. Mommy Mei sent me. She wanted me to take care of you, and to send you for plastic surgery. Xiaoxue, it really was Mommy Mei who sent me.”
The door remained tightly shut, no sounds behind it. Xue Yu spent a whole half hour trying to persuade her, but behind the door was only the silence of the grave. Eventually he called toward the door, “Xiaoxue, I’ll come again tomorrow.”
That night, dinner was very late at the orphanage. The two mothers had spent all day dealing with the chaos, first visiting Director Mei at the detention center, where they hadn’t been allowed to see her. Then they’d come back to check on the unruly mass of children, while trying to work out where the money would come from to continue taking care of them. Director Mei had always supported this place out of her salary, which she wouldn’t be getting in prison. It was eight or nine by the time they got the evening meal on the table, and the starving children refused to say grace, grabbing their bowls and wolfing down their food.
Mother Liu said, “Xiaokai, go call Xiaoxue to dinner. She’s not under quarantine anymore.”
Xiaokai left, but was soon back. “Mother Liu, Xiaoxue’s not in her room or the courtyard.”
“Where could she have gone? Continue with the meal, I’ll look for her.”
A moment later, they heard Mother Liu’s tearful cries outside. “Xiaoxue! Xiaoxue! Where have you gone, child? Xiaoxue, I hope you haven’t done something foolish.”
She couldn’t find the girl anywhere, and began to worry that Xiaoxue had succumbed to despair. Mother Chen and the other seven or eight children couldn’t bear to keep eati
ng, so they came out too, looking over the entire grounds and neighboring streets, but she was nowhere to be found.
Finally, Yuanyuan discovered the note under her pillow:
Mother Liu, Mother Chen,
I’m sorry, I’m going far away. I’ll never come back here. Don’t come looking for me.
Xiaokai and Yuanyuan, please take care of the younger kids for me.
Mei Xiaoxue
Mother Liu burst into tears when she’d finished reading.
“Xiaoxue, you silly child, how will you survive all on your own? Xiaoxue, how will I explain this to Director Mei?”
In the months after that, Mother Liu and Mother Chen searched everywhere for Xiaoxue, but there was no sign of her at all.
CHAPTER FOUR
SENTENCING
Spring 2017—Nanyang, China
Mei Yin’s case was formally brought to trial three months later, as spring was just beginning to arrive. The outbreak that had come so abruptly and left so quietly now seemed like no more than a wisp of smoke, and even many of the locals had all but forgotten it. It was still in the world’s consciousness, though, and people still remembered that peculiar “virus-smuggling case.” The trial attracted international attention, and the various big media organizations sent their best reporters.
All the good hotels in Nanyang were packed, and they were running out of rental cars. The court could hold a thousand people, but with so many turning up, they decided to allocate seats by a system of vouchers, which quickly became sought-after, hard-to-find items.