Folding Beijing

by Hao Jingfang

  “Sit, sit!” The older man clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Everything’s fine.”

  Lao Dao looked at him suspiciously.

  “You’re from Third Space, aren’t you?” The older man pulling ed him over to the chairs, and gestured for him to sit.

  “How do you know that?” Lao Dao couldn’t lie.

  “From your pants.” The older man pointed at the waist of his pants. “You never even cut off the label. This brand is only sold in Third Space; I remember my mother buying them for my father when I was little.”

  “Sir, you’re…?”

  “You don’t need to ‘Sir’ me. I don’t think I’m much older than you are. How old are you? I’m fifty–two.”

  “Forty–eight.”

  “See, just older by four years.” He paused, and then added, “My name is Ge Daping. Why don’t you just cal me Lao Ge?”

  Lao Dao relaxed a little. Lao Ge took off his jacket and moved his arms about to stretch out the stiff muscles. Then Lao Dao relaxed a little. Lao Ge took off his jacket and moved his arms about to stretch out the stiff muscles. Then he fill ed a glass with hot water from a spigot in the wall and handed it to Lao Dao. He had a long face, and the corners of his eyes, the ends of his eyebrows, and his cheeks drooped. Even his glasses seemed about to fall off the end of his nose. His hair was natural y a bit curly and piled loosely on top of his head. As he spoke, his eyebrows bounced up and down comical y. He made some tea for himself and asked Lao Dao if he wanted any. Lao Dao shook his head.

  “I was original y from Third Space as well ,” said Lao Ge. “We’re practical y from the same hometown! So, you don’t need to be so careful with me. I still have a bit of authority, and I won’t give you up.”

  Lao Dao let out a long sigh, congratulating himself silently for his good luck. He recounted for Lao Ge his experiencing of going to Second Space and then coming to First Space, but omitted the details of what Yi Yan had said. He simply told Lao Ge that he had successful y delivered the message and was just waiting for the Change to head home.

  Lao Ge also shared his own story with Lao Dao. He had grown up in Third Space, and his parents had worked as deliverymen. When he was fifteen, he entered a military school, and then joined the army. He worked as a radar technician in the army, and because he worked hard, demonstrated good technical skills, and had some good opportunities, he was eventual y promoted to an administrative position in the radar department with the rank of brigadier general. Since he didn’t come from a prominent family, that rank was about as high as he could go in the army. He then retired from the army and joined an agency in First Space responsible for logistical support for government enterprises, organizing meetings, arranging travel, and coordinating various social events. The job was blue collar in nature, but since his work involved government officials and he had to coordinate and manage, he was all owed to live in First Space. There were a considerable number of people in First Space like him—chefs, doctors, secretaries, housekeepers—skill ed blue–collar workers needed to support the lifestyle of First Space. His agency had run many important social events and functions, and Lao Ge was its director.

  Lao Ge might have been self–deprecating in describing himself as a “blue collar,” but Lao Dao understood that anyone who could work and live in First Space had extraordinary skill s. Even a chef here was likely a master of his art.

  Lao Ge must be very talented to have risen here from Third Space after a technical career in the army.

  “You might as well take a nap,” Lao Ge said. “I’ll take you to get something to eat this evening.”

  Lao Dao still couldn’t believe his good luck, and he felt a bit uneasy. However, he couldn’t resist the cal of the white sheets and stuffed pillows, and he fell asleep almost right away.

  When he woke up, it was dark outside. Lao Ge was combing his hair in front of the mirror. He showed Lao Dao a suit lying on the sofa and told him to change. Then he pinned a tiny badge with a faint red glow to Lao Dao’s lapel— a new identity.

  The large open lobby downstairs was crowded. Some kind of presentation seemed to have just finished, and attendees conversed in small groups. At one end of the lobby were the open doors leading to the banquet Hall ; the thick doors were lined with burgundy leather. The lobby was fill ed with small standing tables. Each table was covered by a white tablecloth tied around the bottom with a golden bow, and the vase in the middle of each table held a lily. Crackers and dried fruits were set out next to the vases for snacking, and a long table to the side offered wine and coffee. Guests dried fruits were set out next to the vases for snacking, and a long table to the side offered wine and coffee. Guests mingled and conversed among the tables while small robots holding serving trays shuttled between their legs, collecting empty glasses.

  Forcing himself to be calm, Lao Dao fol owed Lao Ge and walked through the convivial scene into the banquet Hall .

  He saw a large hanging banner: The Folding City at Fifty.

  “What is this?” Lao Dao asked.

  “A celebration!” Lao Ge was walking about and examining the set up. “Xiao Zhao, come here a minute. I want you to check the table signs one more time. I don’t trust robots for things like this. Sometimes they don’t know how to be flexible.”

  Lao Dao saw that the banquet Hall was fill ed with large round tables with fresh flower centerpieces.

  The scene seemed unreal to him. He stood in a corner and gazed up at the giant chandelier as though some dazzling reality was hanging over him, and he was but an insignificant presence at its periphery. There was a lectern set up on the dais at the front, and, behind it, the background was an ever–shifting series of images of Beijing. The photographs were perhaps taken from an airplane and captured the entirety of the city: The soft light of dawn and dusk; the dark purple and deep blue sky; clouds racing across the sky; the moon rising from a corner; the sun setting behind a roof.

  The aerial shots revealed the magnificence of Beijing’s ancient symmetry; the modern expanse of brick courtyards and large green parks that had extended to the Sixth Ring Road; Chinese style theatres; Japanese style museums; minimalist concert Hall s. And then there were shots of the city as a whole, shots that included both faces of the city during the Change: The earth flipping, revealing the other side studded with skyscrapers with sharp, straight contours; men and women energetic y rushing to work; neon signs lighting up the night, blotting out the stars; towering apartment buildings, cinemas, nightclubs full of beautiful people.

  But there were no shots of where Lao Dao worked.

  He stared at the screen intently, uncertain if they might show pictures during the construction of the folding city. He hoped to get a glimpse of his father’s era. When he was little, his father had often pointed to buildings outside the window and told him stories that started with “Back then, we…” An old photograph had hung on the wall of their cramped home, and in the picture his father was laying bricks, a task his father had performed thousands, or perhaps hundreds of thousands of times. He had seen that picture so many times that he thought he was sick of it, and yet, at this moment, he hoped to see a scene of workers laying bricks, even if for just a few seconds.

  He was lost in his thoughts. This was also the first time he had seen what the Change looked like from a distance. He didn’t remember sitting down, and he didn’t know when others had sat down next to him. A man began to speak at the lectern, but Lao Dao wasn’t even listening for the first few minutes.

  “… advantageous for the development of the service sector. The service economy is dependent on population size and density. Currently, the service industry of our city is responsible for more than 85 percent of our GDP, in line with the general characteristics of world–class metropolises. The other important sectors are the green economy and the recycling economy.” Lao Dao was paying full attention now. “Green economy” and “recycling economy” were often mentioned at the waste processing station, and the phrases were painted on t
he wall s in characters taller than a man.

  He looked closer at the speaker on the dais: An old man with silvery hair, though he appeared hale and energetic. “…

  all trash is now sorted and processed, and we’ve achieved our goals for energy conservation and pollution reduction He looked closer at the speaker on the dais: An old man with silvery hair, though he appeared hale and energetic. “…

  all trash is now sorted and processed, and we’ve achieved our goals for energy conservation and pollution reduction ahead of schedule. We’ve developed a systematic, large–scale recycling economy in which all the rare–earth and precious metals extracted from e–waste are reused in manufacturing, and even the plastics recycling rate exceeds eighty percent. The recycling stations are directly connected to the reprocessing plants…”

  Lao Dao knew of a distant relative who worked at a reprocessing plant in the technopark far from the city. The technopark was just acres and acres of industrial buildings, and he heard that all the plants over there were very similar: The machines pretty much ran on their own, and there were very few workers. At night, when the workers got together, they felt like the last survivors of some dwindling tribe in a desolate wilderness.

  He drifted off again. Only the wild applause at the end of the speech pulling ed him out of his chaotic thoughts and back to reality. He also applauded, though he didn’t know what for. He watched the speaker descend the dais and return to his place of honor at the head table. Everyone’s eyes were on him.

  Lao Dao saw Wu Wen, Yi Yan’s husband.

  Wu Wen was at the table next to the head table. As the old man who had given the speech sat down, Wu Wen walked over to offer a toast, and then he seemed to say something that got the old man’s attention. The old man got up and walked with Wu Wen out of the banquet Hall . Almost subconsciously, a curious Lao Dao also got up and fol owed them. He didn’t know where Lao Ge had gone. Robots emerged to serve the dishes for the banquet.

  Lao Dao emerged from the banquet Hall and was back in the reception lobby. He eavesdropped on the other two from a distance and only caught snippets of conversation.

  “… there are many advantages to this proposal,” said Wu Wen. “Yes, I’ve seen their equipment… automatic waste processing… they use a chemical solvent to dissolve and digest everything and then extract reusable materials in bulk… clean, and very economical… would you please give it some consideration?”

  Wu Wen kept his voice low, but Lao Dao clearly heard “waste processing.” He moved closer.

  The old man with the silvery hair had a complex expression. Even after Wu Wen was finished, he waited a while before speaking, “You’re certain that the solvent is safe? No toxic pollution?”

  Wu Wen hesitated. “The current version still generates a bit of pollution but I’m sure they can reduce it to the minimum very quickly.”

  Lao Dao got even closer.

  The old man shook his head, staring at Wu Wen. “Things aren’t that simple. If I approve your project and it’s implemented, there will be major consequences. Your process won’t need workers, so what are you going to do with the tens of mil ions of people who will lose their jobs?”

  The old man turned away and returned to the banquet Hall . Wu Wen remained in place, stunned. A man who had been by the old man’s side—a secretary perhaps—came up to Wu Wen and said sympathetic y, “You might as well go back and enjoy the meal. I’m sure you understand how this works. Employment is the number one concern. Do you real y think no one has suggested similar technology in the past?”

  Lao Dao understood vaguely that what they were talking about had to do with him, but he wasn’t sure whether it was Lao Dao understood vaguely that what they were talking about had to do with him, but he wasn’t sure whether it was good news or bad. Wu Wen’s expression shifted through confusion, annoyance, and then resignation. Lao Dao suddenly felt some sympathy for him: He had his moments of weakness, as well .

  The secretary suddenly noticed Lao Dao.

  “Are you new here?” he asked.

  Lao Dao was startled. “Ah? Um…”

  “What’s your name? How come I wasn’t informed about a new member of the staff?”

  Lao Dao’s heart beat wildly. He didn’t know what to say. He pointed to the badge on his lapel, as though hoping the badge would speak or otherwise help him out. But the badge displayed nothing. His palms sweated. The secretary stared at him, his look growing more suspicious by the second. He grabbed another worker in the lobby, and the worker said he didn’t know who Lao Dao was.

  The secretary’s face was now severe and dark. He grabbed Lao Dao with one hand and punched the keys on his communicator with the other hand.

  Lao Dao’s heart threatened to jump out of his throat, but just then, he saw Lao Ge.

  Lao Ge rushed over and with a smooth gesture, hung up the secretary’s communicator. Smiling, he greeted the secretary and bowed deeply. He explained that he was shorthanded for the occasion and had to ask for a colleague from another department to help out tonight. The secretary seemed to believe Lao Ge and returned to the banquet Hall . Lao Ge brought Lao Dao back to his own room to avoid any further risks. If anyone real y bothered to look into Lao Dao’s identity, they’d discover the truth, and even Lao Ge wouldn’t be able to protect him.

  “I guess you’re not fated to enjoy the banquet.” Lao Ge laughed. “Just wait here. I’ll get you some food later.”

  Lao Dao lay down on the bed and fell asleep again. He replayed the conversation between Wu Wen and the old man in his head. Automatic waste processing. What would that look like? Would that be a good thing or bad?

  The next time he woke up, he smell ed something delicious. Lao Ge had set out a few dishes on the small circular table, and was taking the last plate out of the warming oven on the wall . Lao Ge also brought over a half bottle of baijiu and fill ed two glasses.

  “There was a table where they had only two people, and they left early so most of the dishes weren’t even touched. I brought some back. It’s not much, but maybe you’ll enjoy the taste. Hopeful y you won’t hold it against me that I’m offering you leftovers.”

  “Not at all ,” Lao Dao said. “I’m grateful that I get to eat at all . These look wonderful! They must be very expensive, right?”

  “The food at the banquet is prepared by the kitchen here and not for sale, so I don’t know how much they’d cost in a restaurant.” Lao Ge already started to eat. “They’re nothing special. If I had to guess, maybe ten thousand, twenty thousand? A couple might cost thirty, forty thousand. Not more than that.”

  After a couple of bites, Lao Dao realized how hungry he was. He was used to skipping meals, and sometimes he could After a couple of bites, Lao Dao realized how hungry he was. He was used to skipping meals, and sometimes he could last a whole day without eating. His body would shake uncontrollably then, but he had learned to endure it. But now, the hunger was overwhelming. He wanted to chew quicker because his teeth couldn’t seem to catch up to the demands of his empty stomach. He tried to wash the food down with baijiu, which was very fragrant and didn’t sting his throat at all .

  Lao Ge ate leisurely, and smiled as he watched Lao Dao eat.

  “Oh.” Now that the pangs of hunger had final y been dulled a bit, Lao Dao remembered the earlier conversation.

  “Who was the man giving the speech? He seemed a bit familiar.”

  “He’s always on TV,” Lao Ge said. “That’s my boss. He’s a man with real power—in charge of everything having to do with city operations.”

  “They were talking about automatic waste processing earlier. Do you think they’ll real y do it?”

  “Hard to say.” Lao Ge sipped the baijiu and let out a burp. “I suspect not. You have to understand why they went with manual processing in the first place. Back then, the situation here was similar to Europe at the end of the twentieth century. The economy was growing, but so was unemployment. Printing money didn’t solve the problem. The economy refus
ed to obey the Phillips curve.”

  He saw that Lao Dao looked completely lost, and laughed. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand these things anyway.”

  He clinked glasses with Lao Dao and the two drained their baijiu and refilled the glasses.

  “I’ll just stick to unemployment. I’m sure you understand the concept,” Lao Ge continued. “As the cost of labor goes up and the cost of machinery goes down, at some point, it’ll be cheaper to use machines than people. With the increase in productivity, the GDP goes up, but so does unemployment. What do you do? Enact policies to protect the workers? Better welfare? The more you try to protect workers, the more you increase the cost of labor and make it less attractive for employers to hire people. If you go outside the city now to the industrial districts, there’s almost no one working in those factories. It’s the same thing with farming. Large commercial farms contain thousands and thousands of acres of land, and everything is automated so there’s no need for people. This kind of automation is absolutely necessary if you want to grow your economy—that was how we caught up to Europe and America, remember? Scaling! The problem is: Now you’ve gotten the people off the land and out of the factories, what are you going to do with them? In Europe, they went with the path of forceful y reducing everyone’s working hours and thus increasing employment opportunities. But this saps the vitality of the economy, you understand?

  “The best way is to reduce the time a certain portion of the population spends living, and then find ways to keep them busy. Do you get it? Right, shove them into the night. There’s another advantage to this approach: The effects of inflation almost can’t be felt at the bottom of the social pyramid. Those who can get loans and afford the interest spend all the money you print. The GDP goes up, but the cost of basic necessities does not. And most of the people won’t even be aware of it.”