Still, the sight of the marchers stirred feelings he hadn’t experienced for so long, as if he’d awakened from a long dream, from a sojourn in a passionless world. Suddenly, a strong sense of purpose and meaning directed his life. Perhaps, everyone did have an ultimate destiny. It was all going to happen anyway. But maybe Lili was right too.
“They’ve agreed to a dialogue!” a student leader announced to the crowd after talking by phone to his counterpart in Beijing.
Surprised by massive public support for the widespread student demonstrations, government leaders had obviously miscalculated the mood of the people. The crowd was jubilant.
“What will you do if Party officials reject your demands?” Chi-Wen asked his new friend.
“There is always May fourth,” Tu replied. “An auspicious date, don’t you agree?”
Chi-Wen felt a tremor of apprehension, a chilling breeze in that tropical heat. May fourth. An auspicious date indeed. The fate of everything and everyone he loved might well be decided that day.
Washington, D.C.
News of Martin Carpenter’s death was carried in the Wall Street Journal, both the U.S. and Far East editions: “Car Over Bridge; VP of Aligen Drowns in Potomac.” According to the account, the victim had been drinking heavily and crashed through a guardrail, plunging into the river. While there had been early speculation that Carpenter, distraught over Aligen’s losses that quarter, might have committed suicide, insurance investigators were now satisfied his death was indeed an accident.
Although most who read the article concurred, one individual with serious doubts was determined to conduct his own investigation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tuesday
May 2
Seoul, Korea
The ch’ulssang — carrying of the bier to the gravesite — was accomplished with much fanfare.
The coffin itself was built of six planks of wood, each eight centimeters thick — the heaven plank, the earth plank, and the east, west, south, and north planks. Inscribed inside the top was the Korean character for heaven; the character for sea, at each of the four corners. Once the top was nailed down, the name Shin-yung Kim was written on it. Decorated with banners and paper flowers, his bier was borne on the shoulders of relatives and members of the funeral kye, preceded by friends holding funeral flags and burning incense. David, as the eldest son, was followed by the rest of the mourners, all dressed in black with armbands of stiff ramie.
After arriving at the gravesite, which had been prepared to exact specifications divined by the geomancer, incense burned and the grave was cleansed of evil spirits. Amid formal bows and appropriate wailing, David watched the coffin slowly lowered into the pit.
I have fulfilled my filial duties according to the basic teachings of Confucius. Though I have not always honored you in life, in death I have shown the proper respect for my ancestors. Good-bye, Father.
Sighing, he turned toward his waiting limousine. Going through the ritual burial had liberated him. It was time to begin living his own life, free from his father’s disapproval. From now on, he would do things his way.
As he slid into the back seat, a manicured hand reached out to him. “Shillye-hamnida. I’m sorry, cheri.”
“Camille, what are you doing here?”
“I came to be with you, darling,” she purred, “to take your mind off your sorrow.” She tapped the closed glass partition, directing the driver to Tuksom Track. “I have a tip on a filly running in the fourth race. If we hurry, we’ll make it before the betting window closes.”
David was aroused by Camille’s closeness. Her perfume hinted of lilacs and jasmine. “I should go to the office.”
Her eyes half-mocking. “I thought you were in charge now.” Moving still closer, her hands began to loosen his belt. “Surely the boss can take one day off.” Her voice a husky whisper.
The boss. It sounded good. David’s heart pounded as Camille unzipped his trousers. “I guess you’re right.”
Her hand encompassed his throbbing shaft. “Of course I’m right.”
By the time the limo passed the Kim Building, resolve to visit the office had slipped away. If David had entered, he would have noticed unusual activity on the South Korean Composite. Someone was buying up huge blocks of Kim Company stock in David Kim’s name.
Xi’an, China
Midnight
Lili lay content in Chi-Wen’s arms, her head resting on his chest. Everything new and exciting, yet old and familiar. It was as if they were trying to store memories — just in case — each afraid to discuss the possibility of future separation.
“Are you being careful enough?” she asked.
“No one saw me slip into your room. I’m sure. And I’ll leave well before morning.”
“I meant your work with the students. Grandfather told me what you’re doing.”
“He shouldn’t have.”
“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll be fine.”
“Why are you doing it?”
Chi-Wen sighed. “For a lot of reasons — family, country, you.”
“Me?”
“You’ve been my inspiration. Your Mr. Hemingway made me see there may be something beyond blindly following one’s duty.”
Lili smiled. “I must have been seven or eight years old when I questioned my Chinese tutor. He taught me the five bonds Confucius claimed as the true basis for an orderly life.”
“You remember them?”
“Wives must be subject to husbands, children to parents, brothers and sisters to the eldest brother, friendships subordinated to family relationships, and everyone subject to the ruler.”
“No doubt that didn’t sit too well with the independent Lili Quan.”
“No doubt,” Lili laughed. “Poor mother. She never understood my need to be my own person.”
“She wouldn’t. She was born here. It must have been hard for her — ten years old, steeped in Chinese customs and culture — to flee to a foreign country.”
Lili understood that more easily now that she had seen China. “It was,” she agreed. “Mother had no one to help her adjust to her new life.”
“I thought she was sent to your grandfather’s sister.”
“Yes, but Auntie Tan was old and as wedded to the ancient ways as mother.” Lili looked into Chi-Wen’s eyes. “You, on the other hand, would have me.”
For a moment, Chi-Wen did not respond. There it was. Even though unspoken, they both knew what she meant. “That would be wonderful,” he said finally, shutting his eyes to hide his doubts and fears. “Wonderful,” he whispered, holding her close, matching his breathing to hers, until both of them finally drifted off to sleep.
“And they are together now?” Dr. Seng questioned the cadre whose telephone call had just disturbed his own sleep.
“Yes, sir. Shall I arrest him?” Even with the relative easing of restrictions between the sexes, Chi-Wen’s punishment for cohabitation would, at the very least, be expulsion from the Institute.
“No. Let them be. For now. Continue to keep watch. Report to me in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” The cadre clicked off.
Seng returned to bed, lost in thought. Something was up. He was sure of it. Some kind of double cross. He didn’t believe for a moment that Ni-Fu Cheng would reveal his secret so easily — even with his granddaughter’s life in jeopardy. As long as he kept his eye on Lili and Chi-Wen, he was certain he’d discover it. Seng wanted them to feel as free as possible.
Patience.
Very soon, like unsuspecting insects tiptoeing onto the web, they’d be ensnared in the spider’s trap.
Five a.m.
The fullness of Lili’s bladder aroused her from a deep sleep. She sat up, forcing her way back to consciousness. In the half-light of predawn, she could see the gentle rise and fall of Chi-Wen’s breathing. She’d expected him to be gone by now. Well, she’d wake him the moment she returned.
She pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt, cursing the location of the community bathroom at the far end of the hallway. If not for the overwhelming mephitis of human waste, she might have missed it in the darkness. Squatting over the open hole in the floor, Lili wondered how people survived without simple flush toilets. But then, she speculated, what they hadn’t experienced, they couldn’t miss.
She rose, splashed a few drops of water coaxed from the rusty faucet, wiped her hands on her jeans (in lieu of hand towels), and backed into the hallway, walking in the direction she thought her room to be. Progress through the corridor was frustratingly slow in the pitch-blackness. She had to grope her way along the wall.
Damn, was this the right way? Should she have turned left? Within moments she had become disoriented, finding herself turning into another corridor and farther down, yet another. Though she continued blindly, she was sure she was lost. A rat in a maze! Lili leaned against the wall, eyes shut, heart hammering. Just as in her nightmare, she felt a sense of confinement. The walls seemed to press in on her with a suffocating closeness. Sweat beading on her forehead, in her armpits, and between her breasts came more from fear than the relentless Xi’an humidity.
A noise ahead.
She froze in her tracks, afraid to be discovered by some cadre who’d insist on escorting her back to her room. If Chi-Wen were found there, they’d both be reported to Seng. At the far end of the corridor she heard someone unlock a door. Also like her dream. And from the recesses of her mind, Chi-Wen’s words: Doors are never locked in China.
A narrow streak of white light swept the hallway. For an instant, it shrouded a figure coming through the door. Her grandfather! At least from a distance it appeared to be. For some unknown reason Lili remained silent, watching. Immediately, the door shut, wrapping her in total darkness again. What was going on? Where was Grandfather going? Why did she feel so terrified?
Calm down and think!
There had to be a rational explanation. She must have wandered into the corridor connecting the staff quarters with the Institute. That door must be the one she’d found locked during her tour last week. But why was it locked? What was behind it? Lili slowly edged her way along until her hand found the knob. She tried to turn it several times, but it wouldn’t budge.
Damn!
About to retreat, she dug into the pockets of her jeans. Her hand grasped a few bobby pins she used to keep her hair in place. It was worth a try. She bent one back and inserted it into the keyhole, moving it up and down until she heard the soft click of the tumbler.
She paused at the door before twisting the knob. Unsure what she might find, she held her breath, carefully cracking it open. Its unoiled hinges groaned faintly in protest. Lili froze, praying the noise would not betray her entry. No one appeared, so she eased the door a little farther until she could pass through. She breathed normally again.
A soft fluorescent light illuminated another long empty hallway. Her ears strained, but she heard nothing except the quiet rasping of her own breath and the hammering of her own heart. Yet she knew that beneath the eerie silence there was something else. Trepidation mixed with curiosity as she inched her way along the corridor until it opened into a large room. Its stark white, windowless walls and tiled floor embraced and magnified the quietude.
Lili stood rooted to the spot. The scene had a surreal quality: thirty men and women dressed in loose cotton trousers and tunics gliding in a slow motion ballet across the floor. She felt hypnotized watching them. She recognized a few of the tai chi forms Chi-Wen had taught her, though some were new. The grace and control of the players impressed her, but of course they’d had many years to practice.
As she watched, she was struck by their youthful appearance, every face unlined. She looked more closely. Something was odd. For a few moments it nagged and tugged at the edges of her consciousness until finally it struck her — the feet.
That’s it!
All the women had tiny feet. She’d read about the ancient practice of foot binding, but had never actually seen any of its victims. Each foot couldn’t have been more than three inches long. My God, she thought, how could anyone call such grotesque extremities “golden lilies”? Thank goodness this barbaric practice had been officially banned. When was it? Over seventy years ago. That would place these women well into their eighties.
From a smaller room just off this large one, Ni-Fu emerged carrying a tray of vials filled with clear liquid. Unaware of Lili’s presence, he handed each person one vial, waiting until they had drunk it before moving on to the next. No one spoke; they drank a single swallow, then reassumed zhan zhuang, the rest position. Lili was spellbound, her mind filled with scattered thoughts and images.
Dr. Seng told me about your exciting research.
The glass dropping from her grandfather’s hand, shattering into a dozen tiny shards on the floor.
Using Chinese herbs.
Ni-Fu had seemed so upset. At the time Lili had simply explained it away as justified concern about confidentiality. Now she wondered if she might have misdiagnosed the cause.
Did Dr. Seng tell you anything else?
Anything else?
About my work.
Her grandfather was standing over a tiny white-haired woman. Although he whispered, Lili was just close enough to overhear his words. “Nien,” he said softly, in English. “This is the last treatment. It will all be over soon.”
The woman drank, then touched Ni-Fu with a gentle hand. “It is better this way.”
Anything else?
About my work.
Maybe it was fatigue mixed with curiosity, fear, and more than a touch of paranoia, but Lili’s mind made a fantastic leap. My God, this was her grandfather’s secret laboratory and these people were his research subjects. But for what purpose?
Her involuntary gasp made Ni-Fu turn. “Lili.”
“Grandfather, what’s going on?”
He put his fingers to his lips and motioned her into the small room where they could not be heard. Closing the door, he faced her.
For the first time since she’d arrived, Lili noticed deep lines of worry and fatigue etched around his eyes.
“I didn’t want to get you involved, child, but I suppose it’s too late.”
“Involved? In what?”
“Those people in there. How old do you think they are?”
“How old? I don’t know. About eighty,” she guessed, based on the foot binding. “Perhaps a little more. Although they look younger.”
Ni-Fu shook his head. “The youngest is one hundred ten. Nien Hu, the oldest, is one hundred twenty.”
Lili was incredulous. Surely he must be joking. “What are you saying?”
“That I’ve discovered the secret of longevity.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain.” Ni-Fu nodded towards a chair. “But first sit.” He filled two porcelain cups with hot water. “And have some tea. I have a very long story to tell you.”
Twenty minutes later, Chi-Wen stirred restlessly in his sleep, then abruptly awakened. It wasn’t his usual protracted waking, the relaxed emergence from the cocoon of sleep. Instead it was a sudden sharpening of all his senses, a tensing of his body.
Eyes still shut, he listened for the sound of Lili’s even breathing. Nothing. He reached beside him. Empty. Lili was gone!. Probably just a trip to the bathroom.
He sat up. Amber rays of sunlight struggled in through the dirty window. He’d slept too long. Soon the Institute would come alive and he’d never get away unseen.
Hurriedly, he dressed and tiptoed barefoot out into the hallway.
What Ni-Fu Cheng remembered from the moment he was old enough to understand was the instability of the times into which he was born.
China’s imperial government, mortally weakened by corruption and its inability to compete militarily with the West and Japan, had survived the nineteenth century only by dint of its own inertia. Three years after the Empress Dowager’s dea
th, the revolution overthrowing Manchu rule began. City after city repudiated the Manchus, and in February 1912 the child emperor, Pu Yi, abdicated.
“I was only eight years old. The new Chinese Republic had problems from the beginning as various factions vied for control. Followers of General Yuan Shikai consolidated their power in Bejing, while Sun Yatsen set up the Guomindang in Guangzhou. We lived in Shanghai where my father and his brother ran a prosperous export business, trading with the West. If not for World War I, we could have ignored these internal struggles. I was thirteen when my father left to fight on the side of the Allies. I was fifteen when the message came that he’d been killed.
“My mother and my two brothers came to live in my uncle’s home. Business after the war was better than ever. We ate well, even drove in chauffeured limousines, while around us the city spawned urban slums, rumbling bellies, and growing discontent. Under Shanghai’s glittering surface festered opium dens, brothels, crime syndicates, and rampant corruption. Its gutters were littered with the corpses of the poor who had died from exposure and starvation.
“While my brothers and I played in the streets, workers began organizing strikes to fight foreign rule and influence. Our experiences touched each of us differently. Daqin embraced my uncle’s way of life and eventually took over the business. Hao was drawn into the tempestuous struggle around him. He wanted to change the world with guns. He joined the Communist Party after the first National Congress. Four years later he helped organize the demonstrations and strikes known as the May Thirtieth Movements.”
Ni-Fu wiped a tear from his eyelid. “Hao was twenty-one when Chiang Kai-chek’s troops shot him during one of these uprisings.”
“I’m sorry.” It seemed an insipid remark and yet, Lili was deeply moved by her grandfather’s account of his life.
He touched her hand.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I smelled the stench of greed and killing and wanted to run away. When my mother died a few months later of typhoid, I begged my uncle to send me to England to study medicine. I hoped to help China too, but not with bullets and not with yuan. I felt that only with modern science could our people ever truly compete with the outside world.”
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