“Good, then I’ll let you rest for tomorrow.” At the exit he turned and added, “Please remember, Dr. Cheng, there is no place, even among the scientific elite, for counterrevolutionary tendencies.” The door slammed shut.
As soon as Seng had gone, Ni-Fu found a fresh sheet of paper, raised the sheep’s hair brush, and dipped it into the ink several times until he felt it was properly loaded. A familiar ache in his left jaw almost took his breath away before it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Ni-Fu chose to ignore it. There was no time for self-indulgence. Not now. Not if his plan was going to work.
He held the brush just above the page for a moment before beginning the smooth calligraphy. For almost five minutes he worked, filling the paper with the characters of a poem he’d composed. When he finished, sweat glistened on his forehead.
This, he thought, would be one creation he would never destroy.
Xi’an was at various times the capital of eleven dynasties. Once called Chang An, Everlasting Peace, the city lying on the broad, sluggish Wei River in Shaanxi Province commanded the approaches to Central China from the rugged mountains of the northwest. It was the serendipitous discovery in 1974 of first emperor Qin Shi Huangdi’s burial site, however, that catapulted Xi’an to world renown. With the unearthing of eight thousand life-size terra-cotta soldiers buried over two thousand years ago, the city quickly became one of the most popular tourist destinations in China.
Xi’an also served as the origin of the Silk Road along which Chinese merchandise was transported as far west as the Mediterranean during the seventh and eighth centuries. Then, Lili imagined, leisurely paced nomads on foot vied peacefully with equally unhurried camels and donkey carts for the right of way. Now, as the Santana, a Shanghai-manufactured Volkswagen sedan, rattled down the dusty airport road at sixty miles an hour, oncoming cyclists swerved from its path screaming abuse. Drivers in rickety-looking trucks and vans removed their straw hats and waved them furiously to disperse the thick dust clouds kicked up by the speeding car. The Santana didn’t slow until it reached the outskirts of the city, and the sun was just beginning its descent.
Although modern Xi’an seemed plain and businesslike, Lili sensed the more pretentious flavor of ancient times when they passed the moat and sections of the fourteenth-century old city wall with its crenellations, sentry posts, and crossbow-width towers. She could almost imagine the men and women living here six hundred years ago, strolling along the wide avenues, perhaps stopping to admire the fur pelts or hammered brass pots and pans that were probably offered in the market stalls. Today the vendors sold cheap clay replicas of the terra-cotta soldiers.
Because of the clammy heat, occupants of the apartment buildings that stretched like red brick cliffs along both sides of the street squatted in the dust on unpaved sidewalks. Most of the men had stripped to the waist, while the women and girls rolled their baggy blue trousers up above their knees in an effort to keep cool. Lili wiped the sweat from her brow and closed her eyes until the driver braked sharply in front of a massive stone facade.
“Xi’an Institute,” Chi-Wen announced.
The outside wall was at least eight feet high and made of untreated concrete blocks, dreary enough in itself, but rendered particularly forbidding, almost sinister by barbed wire. To Lili it seemed more a prison than a hospital.
Checking in with the uniformed guard at the gatehouse, the driver passed through its heavy curved portals to an inner courtyard. A short drive took them near the entrance of the Institute, a nondescript five-story brick building connected directly to the Shaanxi People’s Hospital. Although a research facility, it housed many workers for both the Institute and the hospital.
When the car stopped, Chi-Wen unloaded their bags while the cadre led Lili to the registration desk.
“You are Dr. Quan?” the young woman behind the window asked in halting English.
“Yes.”
“I will need your passport.”
“For how long?”
“It is required for all foreign visitors.”
“When will I get it back?”
The question came as a surprise.
“Ask Dr. Seng. He is the medical director.”
“Ah, yes, I know Dr. Seng.”
The young woman shrugged and handed Lili a key. “You are in room number five oh four.” Like Seng, she spoke English with a Russian acccent. She pointed to the far stairs.
Lili perused the lobby. Built in 1952 by Soviet technicians, the building reeked of incipient decay typical of Russian construction. “What about the elevator?”
“Out of order.” The receptionist laughed a Chinese laugh of embarrassment. “Also the hot water.”
Chi-Wen started to carry her bags to the stairs when the young cadre spoke to him in Chinese. Although she understood none of their conversation, Lili sensed from the flush on Chi-Wen’s face and the rapid pulsation of the artery in his neck that whatever transpired had clearly upset him.
“Anything wrong?”
For a brief instant they locked glances. In that moment Lili noted that Chi-Wen’s eyes, which had softened during their week together, showed their old wariness.
He looked away. “I’m afraid I can’t come up with you. Regulations. It’s not allowed.”
“Why not?”
“Men and women are separated. Unless —” he lowered his voice, “they are married.”
Lili took her bags from him. “I see.” Always superiors, always regulations. She had to remember this was Chi-Wen’s world.
“When can I meet my grandfather?”
“First thing tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Dr. Seng thought you should rest tonight.”
“Always looking out for my best interests.”
“Lili, you’re exhausted. Relax tonight. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”
“All right,” she said. She was exhausted. The revelations of the last twenty-four hours had left her emotions taut and frayed.
Chi-Wen started to retreat.
“Chi-Wen?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be there tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.” As if an afterthought, he turned back and handed her a fax. “This came to the Institute. It’s for you.”
She didn’t read it until she thought he had gone.
Glad you arrived safely. Miss you.
Love, Dylan.
Observing from behind the doorway, Chi-Wen caught her smile and his heart almost broke.
Miss you.
Had he been a fool to fall in love with someone from such a different world? This woman who expected so much. He couldn’t help but disappoint her.
Love, Dylan.
He stole one last look before heading for the entrance to the Institute’s administrative offices. Perhaps it was just as well that he hadn’t revealed the whole truth. Seng expected him right away and from the cadre’s tone, the summons seemed ominous. Chi-Wen feared he might not see her again.
Never to see Lili again. The thought produced a sudden and overwhelming sense of despair.
Beijing, China
David Kim was fuming when he finally located Lee Tong on the Beijing University campus. He disliked impromptu meetings and was especially annoyed by the distance to the northwestern suburbs. Even in a private taxi it had taken over half an hour.
“Why all the mystery?” David had to shout above the commotion of five thousand students crowded in the quadrangle.
“I need your help.”
David felt a twinge of alarm. Everything depended on Tong’s promise to deliver the secret of longevity. Nothing could go wrong. Not now. “You’re not able to keep your end of the bargain?”
“It’s not that. Dr. Quan arrived in Xi’an today. Everything’s going exactly as planned.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Look at that.” Tong pointed beyond the crowd to the bevy of foreign reporters and photographers. “The demonstrators ar
e gaining support.”
“So what? The student leaders can’t even agree among themselves. Do you believe they can change the structure of the entire Chinese government?”
A pigtailed girl holding a white cardboard donation box stopped to solicit a few yuan.
“I’m telling you,” Tong said, “something’s happening. Last week a Chinese businessman who took bribes and embezzled from the government was found guilty in court.”
By now the Korean knew that Tong always kept a cigarette lit. Tong’s voice shook as he spoke, letting the smoke puff around his face. “Yesterday that man received his sentence. He was executed Chinese style: a bullet in the back of the neck.”
“Surely your hou toi will protect you.”
Tong shrugged. “Who can tell? If the moderates in the government want to show their good faith, anyone could become a target.”
David was familiar enough with Chinese politics to appreciate the truth in Tong’s words. “You said you need my help.”
Tong lit another cigarette. “You must get me out of China.” He cast a nervous glance at the crowd. “I’ve got to get out!”
David feigned a cough, mostly to avoid showing his reaction. This was an unexpected and unwanted development. “It won’t be easy.” He tried to order his thoughts. “I certainly can’t do anything until you get hold of the longevity formula.”
Tong nodded. “I understand. Naturally, we’ll still be equal partners,” he added.
Greedy bastard. David fingered the collar of his hand-loomed shirt, a sharp contrast to Tong’s sweat-stained pullover. “Naturally.”
It really didn’t matter what he promised this poorly dressed fool. Their partnership had been doomed from the beginning.
Xi’an, China
The conversation meandered like the Yangtze for nearly fifteen minutes before the strike finally came.
“So you told her about her grandfather.” Seng’s tone was soothing, his face a mask of politeness.
Chi-Wen was speechless. He stared into his mug of hot green tea, the leaves uncurling like green flowers at the bottom. Seng knew! Of course. They knew everything. This was China.
Seng calmly watched his reaction. “Ordinarily, there would be serious consequences for defying orders, but as it turns out, your — how did the foreign minister put it, yes, indiscretion — is quite compatible with our plans for Dr. Quan.”
Chi-Wen gave no sign of acknowledgment, concentrating on the dregs of his tea, grown cold.
“As expected, Dr. Cheng resumed his research after learning that his granddaughter was coming here.” He smiled. “We Chinese have always had a strong sense of family. More hot water?”
Chi-Wen declined.
“This afternoon I had a talk with the professor. I think he’ll reveal his secret soon.” The medical director poured himself a fresh cup. “Hopefully, he’ll do it willingly. That’s why we’ve taken such pains to keep everyone happy — so far. Of course,” Seng said, sipping the steaming brew, “with his granddaughter in China, there are always more unpleasant ways to get results.”
Chi-Wen drew a sharp breath. “You promised no harm would come to Dr. Cheng or Lili.” He wiped sweaty palms on his pants.
“So it’s Lili, is it?” Seng shook his head. This lost generation had no sense of political passion. They only cared about getting from one day to the next. Occasionally, it was possible to manipulate emotions. Love always seemed to transcend politics. “It’s true, I made such a promise. But that promise only stands as long as we get what we need.”
Just as Lin, Han, and Tong, Seng had no qualms about using people to his advantage. He never doubted it was for a greater good. If the moderates wrested power from the old-timers, chaos would overrun the country. “You continue your relationship with Dr. Quan and work with Dr. Cheng as before.”
No response from Chi-Wen.
“The foreign minister has been too patient with you. Time is running out. He wants the formula by May fourth.”
The irony was not lost on Chi-Wen. That date marked the seventieth anniversary of the May 4 Movement of 1919, the prelude to the founding of the Chinese Communist Party two years later. Since 1939, Mao had designated May 4 as China’s Youth Day. Routinely celebrated by the students of China, Chi-Wen sensed that with the increasing unrest he’d already witnessed on several campuses, this year that date would mark trouble.
“You have ten days to convince Dr. Cheng to reveal his secret. Use your powers of persuasion.” Seng’s tone became mocking. “I understand they are formidable.”
Chi-Wen’s crimson cheeks betrayed his loss of face.
“You cooperate with us and I mean cooperate this time,” Seng underscored the point. “That way we can avoid any unpleasantness for you, for your aunt, for Dr. Cheng, and for your Lili Quan.” He emptied his mug. “I think we understand each other. You may go now.”
Seng never asked for Chi-Wen’s formal consent. He believed Chi-Wen had no choice.
In the twilight the stark details of her tiny room reminded Lili of homeless shelters she’d visited in San Francisco: the two army cots covered with thin khaki blankets and too-often washed sheets, the unrelieved grayness of the concrete walls, the metal dresser, the bare brown linoleum floor, the incessant buzzing of the unballasted fluorescent tube in the ceiling. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. Certainly not the Peninsula Hotel. But this was far worse than the sparse dormitory-like facilities she’d known as a resident. The fact that she wasn’t sharing the room was a concession afforded foreign guests.
Perspiration dripped from her forehead. Set amid the yellow burning drought of the Loess Plateau, Xi’an suffered unbearable heat and humidity — even in April, even at eight p.m. Lili tried to open the heavy, steel-framed window, but the crank stuck. Exasperated, she sat on the bed and then, in spite of her exhaustion, was embarrassed by her easy American expectation of comfort, her American presumptions. This was China. For all its advances, it was a developing Third World nation.
In this strange land nothing and no one was as they seemed. She thought how Seng had manipulated her into coming here:
Perhaps you would be interested in spending a few months at the Xi’an Institute as a visiting fellow. You could learn much from our approach to aging. And then: it happens that a young resident from Harvard was scheduled to come in April and canceled at the last minute.
So convenient. So neat. But why? At least she knew her grandfather was alive. Why not just tell her in L.A.? Her mind churned with questions.
We would welcome your coming home.
What did Seng mean? What was going on?
She lay down and closed her eyes, fighting contending emotions of indignation and anticipation. Tomorrow she would demand answers. Tomorrow she would see her grandfather.
Somewhere within this facility Ni-Fu Cheng waited for her. What would he be like? She tried to imagine forty years added to the snapshot in her mother’s lacquered box. There was so much she wanted to ask, so many memories she wanted to share — about her mother, about his life in China, about his work. Ch’uing tou-chi — the past, her mother had said, is a window to oneself. Yes, ultimately about herself.
As she began to drift off, she wondered what time it was in Los Angeles. So nice of Dylan to send her that fax. He was nice she mused, yawning. Someone who was exactly as he seemed. She smiled in her sleep. A good friend.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday
April 25
Xi’an, China
The snap of a twig woke her.
Startled, Lili realized she’d fallen asleep dressed in her jeans and T-shirt. Another sound from outside made her leap from bed and hurry to the window. The brick wall around the Institute was high, confining her view to the tiny courtyard below.
In the predawn light she could barely make out the figure until he turned. Immersed in the movements of tai chi, Chi-Wen jabbed and parried as if confronting an opponent, unaware that she was watching. She envied his contemplation
and, for a split second, wanted to join him, to do tai chi together, to extend their intimacy. But it was a fantasy. After yesterday, she sensed he wouldn’t welcome her.
She decided to practice alone. In the middle of her room, she stood silently, eyes closed, concentrating only on her breathing and the progression of the tai chi forms.
Empty your mind of thought. The result will be a look of serenity, representing the state of wu chi or absolute nothingness.
She raised her hands, palms outward in front of her chest.
The transition from outer stillness to readiness for movement: wu chi to tai chi.
She lunged slowly to one side, bent her knees, insinuated her hands through the air as Chi-Wen had taught her.
From the beginning stillness comes motion, always slow, monotonous, rising and falling with a natural rhythm like the ocean.
Gradually straightening, her movements graceful, the tempo, slow.
. . . the spirit of vitality or shen . . . must be held as if suspended by a string from the sky.
Her body began to feel limitless, the rounded motion of arm and leg drawing the world outside herself, that world merging into the spaces encompassed by her motion.
Starting from the center, following the out-going energy until it folds back on itself. Always returning to the center of the circle. Until your ch’i sinks to the tan t’ien.
A soft knock.
Her mind collapsed back into her body.
“Dr. Quan?”
She opened her eyes. In the completed calm, she was alert only to the shapes and colors and sounds immediately around her: the angularity of her room, the golden rays of the sunlight playing off the ceiling, the buzz of the cicadas just outside her window. She looked out to find morning come and Chi-Wen gone.
The knocking intruded.
Opening the door, she faced the receptionist. “Yes?”
“Dr. Seng would like to see you now.”
“Good,” she replied. “I’m ready.” Now she would get her answers.
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