Waste Tide

by Chen Qiufan

  She could never forget the expressions in the eyes of those who knelt, like thorns of frozen fire that stabbed into her heart. She understood that if any one of them hadn’t done so, perhaps the next day he or she would have turned into a rotting corpse by the side of the street like Good Dog. She also couldn’t forget the expressions in the eyes of the Silicon Isle natives: they stood, heads slightly lifted, as if they belonged to a completely different species whose birthright was to gaze down upon these people like animals, upon these people who were no different from themselves whether by genes or culture.

  But now, the natives were afraid. What was frightening them?

  Everyone headed for the exit. With Chen Kaizong’s support, Mimi also followed. Her pupils contracted as her eyes gradually adjusted to the bright light. She saw the source of the terror.

  Outside the Luo mansion, facing the guards and the chipped dogs across the iron gates, more than a hundred waste people stood in a dark mass. They stood in the glaring sun, their expressions impossible to see, faces and bodies contaminated with dark stains—the toxic dust and fumes from incinerating plastic and acid-washing metal. They sacrificed their health and lives in exchange for insignificant scraps to fill their bellies and distant dreams, built up the extravagant prosperity of Silicon Isle, and yet they were seen as only slaves, bugs, disposable trash. They were forced to watch it all with numbed gazes.

  It had been too long. The ice in their eyes began to melt in the sunlight, turning into searing flames.

  Mimi saw Brother Wen standing in the middle of the crowd. There were no banners, no slogans; only silence. But when they saw Mimi appear with the Silicon Isle natives, holding her arms, an invisible force seemed to spread among the crowd: the sound of muscles tensing was like the sighing of a breeze across a field of wheat, wafting up the flavor of boiling adrenaline.

  Director Lin Yiyu shouted angrily into his phone.

  Mimi felt her own consciousness parting like flowing sand into two separate streams: Mimi 0, overexhausted, was lost in a chaotic confusion; Mimi 1, on the other hand, understood that the waste people had come for her and knew also how to stir up or dissipate this oncoming war. She had to make a choice.

  She stopped, shook off Kaizong’s hands. She looked at his once-confident face, now filled with uncertainty and hesitation, and smiled. Slowly but resolutely, she walked forward by herself. The sun was blazing hot and she felt weak, as if each step sank into soft mud that gave her no purchase. The iron gates rumbled and carefully opened a crack. The crowd outside slipped in and out of focus. She thought of herself as sitting inside a tiny boat that drifted over the sea at night, and the gentle waves lifted her up and then set her down.

  She stood before the narrow opening, almost able to smell the sweet tang of rust on the iron grille. Mimi turned and saw that Kaizong had hesitantly followed her. He lifted up a hand, as though in farewell but also like a soldier readying himself for the final assault.

  She had reached her limit, though. Whatever strength had been holding her up drained away, and she collapsed toward the ground.

  The crowd cried out in surprise.

  But she did not strike the hard ground. Kaizong leapt forward and, at the last moment, managed to catch Mimi’s body and pulled her into his embrace.

  The move was the final straw for the crowd gathered outside the iron gates. Their tolerance had finally been breached, and a bestial bellow erupted from their chests as they rushed at the half-open gate with their unarmed bodies, clanging and dinging as flesh struck metal. The surprised guards tried to shut the gate, but it was too late. The chipped dogs barked violently and leapt toward the flood of waste people pouring through the gate.

  Mimi looked up at Kaizong’s blurry silhouette against the white light, felt his solid, warm embrace, and couldn’t understand if this was the result of her own actions or the outcome of Mimi 1’s careful planning. She only heard a deep vibration through the air like the infrasonic waves before a tidal wave struck shore; it stirred her innards and made her uneasy.

  She saw a dark shadow heading for Kaizong’s head—the motion was slowed down like a scene captured by a high-speed camera; a muffled explosion whose sound lingered in the air; Kaizong’s arms loosened and his head jerked backward, tracing out a bloody arc through the air. She wanted to scream, wanted to get up, but her body, like a stringless puppet, would not obey.

  Warm liquid fell against Mimi’s face, filled with the scent of rust. She was beginning to be certain that she was nothing more than a pawn to be sacrificed in some Great Game.

  12

  Luo Jincheng sat in a rosewood sofa chair while Lin Yiyu remained standing. Before them was a huge, solid mahogany desk. The man behind the desk sat with the back of his chair toward them, revealing only a balding head with a few wisps of hair. The man stared at the gigantic aquarium built into the wall, entranced. Some soft but large creature crept slowly against the bright, colorful background.

  He seemed to have forgotten about the two visitors behind him, anxiously awaiting his instructions.

  “Mayor Weng…” Lin Yiyu couldn’t hold back any longer, but then he faltered.

  Luo Jincheng cast Lin a contemptuous glance. “If we don’t do something quickly, I’m afraid we’re going to face even bigger trouble.”

  The man behind the leather chair back remained silent. Just as the patience of the two visitors was about to collapse completely, a slow but forceful reply came.

  “Bigger trouble? Why don’t you tell me what trouble could be bigger or more serious than kidnapping a teenage girl and causing hundreds of migratory workers to assemble and clash violently with the police? Ah, you think because the strike is harming the Luo clan’s business, the town is supposed to foot the bill?”

  Luo Jincheng had no answer. He could almost sense Lin Yiyu next to him chuckling silently in schadenfreude.

  “But Director Lin, you kept the truth from me, and I think we have to also assign you some blame for this mess, no?” The corners of Director Lin’s mouth convulsed, as if he had been slapped in the face. “Deploying the police without proper authorization is one of those things that could turn out to be nothing or a big deal. You’re lucky that no one died. However, I’m interested in how you intend to appease the Americans.”

  “Absolutely! I’ve already invited the most prominent ophthalmologists from the provincial capital, and they’re sparing no effort at treating the patient. The waste people responsible for the crime have already been apprehended.”

  An eerie peal of derisive laughter erupted from behind the chair back.

  “My dear Director Lin, you’re competent and skilled at maneuvering around officialdom, but I think you’ve got to become a little more politically aware. Others may be able to get away with using words like ‘waste people,’ but you can’t. Don’t you understand?”

  “Yes, yes…” Beads of sweat covered Lin Yiyu’s forehead. Luo Jincheng had to use every ounce of willpower to not laugh out loud.

  “The bidding for this project has drawn enormous attention,” Mayor Weng continued. “The provincial capital sent word that Silicon Isle is to be a trial for Sino-American cooperation, a point of focus. Boss Luo, it’s fine if you’re not on board to help, but you can’t mess this up for me. Of the three clans, right now you are the least cooperative and cause the most problems. Why don’t I get up so you can sit down in the mayor’s chair and do whatever you like? Would that make you happy?”

  “Come on, Mayor Weng, don’t talk that way. All I wanted was for the Americans to pay a bit more. Like you, I’m working for the benefit of Silicon Isle.” Luo Jincheng’s words appeared conciliatory, but there was an edge to his tone.

  “Pay a bit more? Aha, he paid with an eye! Is that enough for you? Say, Director Lin, you’ve been standing all this time. How about we find you a seat? Or are you worried that you’ll tremble so much that you’ll fall out of the chair?”

  “I’m good. I’m good with standing. I get to see farther if
I stand.” Lin Yiyu deliberately glanced at Luo Jincheng.

  “See farther? Pshaw. I think you might be looking, but you aren’t seeing. Look over there.”

  The two followed Mayor Weng’s finger and gazed at the glass aquarium, uncertain what game the mayor was playing.

  The aquarium appeared unremarkable at first glance, but it was said that the sand, soil, coral, and plants inside had all been carefully transplanted from their original natural environment. The water quality, trace elements, acidity, illumination, temperature, artificial waves … everything was technologically manipulated to replicate the real ocean environment. However, fish were not the main actors in the scene; the ruler of this miniature world was an octopus with a half-meter-long mantle, a common species in the sea around Silicon Isle. At this moment, the cephalopod was lazily hanging on to the side of the aquarium with its twenty-four hundred suckers. From time to time, it curled and waved one of its arms, waiting for the next feeding.

  Luo Jincheng saw the mayor’s hand lift up and press the buttons on a white remote control.

  The background of the aquarium instantly turned from the cerulean sea bottom to a field of molten lava, flashing a terrifying crimson. Almost simultaneously, Luo Jincheng noticed the octopus transform from head to toe to a matching shade of red, as though the octopus had had too much to drink. The skin of the octopus even imitated the bubbling lava in the background with multiple bright yellow circles that surfaced briefly before disappearing.

  Another press of the buttons on the remote, and the molten lava turned to desert. The octopus’s skin turned to a brownish yellow, sandy in texture, complete with faint traces left in the sand by hot passing breezes.

  The desert shifted to a tropical jungle, and the octopus’s green this time appeared a bit dull and uneven, matching the background only imperfectly. The mayor explained that this was due to the effects of the astaxanthin in the octopus’s body.

  The jungle transformed into an intense, ever-changing, animated scene where splashes and whirls of color entwined and wove together chaotically, like some madman’s improvised doodle. The octopus struggled to keep up with the changes but could only capture portions of the picture from time to time. The rate of color changes in the octopus’s skin was clearly slowing down.

  The chaotic background disappeared and was replaced by a mirror.

  The octopus seemed frightened. Instead of its earlier, leisurely pose, it now held on to the glass wall with only three arms and raised the other five arms high like banners proclaiming its sovereignty. Its twin in the mirror engaged in a similar display. The surface of both octopuses began to flash. Inside the chromatophores, the source of the animal’s coloration, elastic sacs filled with various pigments expanded and contracted. Collectively, like the pixel arrays on a display or a spinning kaleidoscope, the chromatophores formed into an endless series of colorful images.

  Luo Jincheng stared at the scene in wonder and began to understand why the mayor seemed so mesmerized by it.

  The transformations continued without cease.

  The mayor pressed the remote one more time and everything returned to the tranquil azure scene at the start. The octopus lazily came to rest between the gravel and sand, merging into the bottom.

  “To us, this little critter appears as one of the most alien animals on Earth. It has three hearts, two memory systems, and its body is covered with ultrasensitive chemical and tactile sensors.” The mayor lectured like a genuine octopus expert. “But from a certain perspective, it is also extremely similar to us.

  “Sensitive to its environment, it constantly changes itself, disguises itself, and could even be confused by itself into a deadly cycle. Once, I waited patiently to see if an octopus in front of a mirror would eventually settle down to a stable pattern; I ended up with a dead octopus. And this was how I came to understand that stability was the same as death.”

  The leather chair finally spun around and revealed the face of the occupant. Mayor Weng looked utterly at peace, even a bit bored in his eyes.

  “Director Lin advocates imposing a temporary curfew; Boss Luo suggests shutting off the communication channels of all the migrant workers. Both of these paths might lead to the same result. Even if we manage to suppress the smaller incidents, much bigger trouble isn’t going to be far off.”

  Luo Jincheng and Lin Yiyu stared at each other helplessly. They understood that it was pointless to expect a real answer from Mayor Weng today, and they had no choice but to retreat, defeated. Just as they were about to leave the office, they heard the mayor’s earnest farewell.

  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how Silicon Isle became a restricted-bitrate zone.”

  Luo Jincheng bit his bottom lip and clenched his jaw, having apparently come to a decision.

  * * *

  Scott Brandle called his temporary interpreter at five minutes past midnight and claimed to want to take a stroll through the night markets because he was hungry. He could tell that the man on the other end of the line was suppressing his displeasure as he replied that he needed to consult Director Lin first. Five minutes later, Scott’s phone rang, and the interpreter’s tone was much improved. He even solicitously offered to take Scott to one of the most-frequented food hawker lanes in Silicon Isle.

  Since Kaizong was still in the hospital under observation, Scott had to accept the temporary arrangements made by Director Lin. The new interpreter was a young man named Xin Yu. He hadn’t even graduated from college yet and was home on summer break when he was drafted for this duty. His accent was terrible and he sometimes used the wrong expressions, but his understanding of Silicon Isle’s current situation far exceeded Kaizong’s.

  Xin Yu’s typical excuse for every mistranslation was that “the Silicon Isle topolect is among the most ancient and unique of extant Chinese topolects. There are many words that I don’t even know how to translate into Modern Standard Mandarin, let alone English.”

  Scott usually shrugged his shoulders and said, “I wasn’t hoping for much anyway”; and then he would laugh and clap the young man with the wounded look on the shoulders.

  Though it was after midnight, the hawker lane was brightly lit and busy with customers. All kinds of flavors and smells wove through the air, stirring the appetites of visitors. Scott acted like a real tourist and followed Xin Yu to every stall, inquiring after the ingredients, methods of preparation, and cultural backstories of the local delicacies. Many of the dishes were far more complex and subtle than he had imagined. Of course, considering that he came from a young country that had been founded only about 250 years ago, it was understandable that his own culinary culture had progressed but a few steps beyond tossing the meat over an open fire after skinning the kill.

  From time to time, Scott stopped and pretended to be admiring some scene while stealing glances behind him. He noticed a diminutive man who had been following them from the hotel like a shadow, maintaining the distance of about ten meters. Ever since Scott’s return from his brief sortie to the open sea, he had been finding more spies around himself, watching his every move. However, he couldn’t tell who had sent this particular snoop.

  They were at a fishmonger’s, a waterless aquarium spilling over with the smells of the bounty of the sea. Grouper heads as big as the torso of a child hung in the air along with grouper sections, and sea creatures of various shapes and colors were spread out over the crushed ice in the display cases. Japanese scad, ure eels, red crucian carp, flathead mullets, fishes called angmagling and dêggianhe, Japanese blue crabs, gohoi crabs, moham clams, Chinese razor clams, hianglo conchs, geoducks, squids, cuttlefish, sand prawns, mantis shrimp17 …

  Scott was stunned by the string of names—Xin Yu was pretty sure many of them had no English equivalents—and the glistening scales, shells, membranes, carapaces … He was especially interested in a plate of greenish-black crustaceans. By appearance, they had probably come out of the sea but seconds ago, clearly not cooked or processed in any way, but the hawker encour
aged him to have a taste. Xin Yu pinched open the mantis shrimp’s shell and revealed the kernel of translucent flesh, handing it over to Scott.

  Scott flared his nostrils but couldn’t detect any odd scent. Carefully, he tore off a strip and placed it in his mouth: a waxy, glutinous texture accompanied by a fresh sweetness awakened his taste buds.

  Scott had tried the best sashimi in Akasaka District, Tokyo, where they took the tuna fresh from Tokyo Harbor, and sliced from the jaw. Each fish had yielded only two slices of the precious flesh, decorated with snowflake-like patterns of fat and steeped in the concentrated fragrance of fish oil. The taste had been unforgettable.

  But it was nothing like this. Not at all.

  His surprised, joyous expression moved Xin Yu, who hurried to explain that this delicacy was made by marinating fresh mantis shrimp in a sauce made of salt, cooking wine, diluted soy sauce, garlic, hot peppers, coriander, and other spices for ten to twelve hours. Afterward, the shrimp was chilled to between minus 15 and 20 degrees Celsius so that the shrimp muscles could contract and give it that crisp mouthfeel.

  Scott tore off another, bigger strip to savor the taste. Xin Yu added, with some regret, that due to the polluted seawater and the increased incidence of esophageal cancer, the government had warned the townspeople many times not to consume raw seafood. Scott choked and began to cough violently, red-faced and teary-eyed.

  With a smile, Xin Yu gently patted his back. “Don’t worry. One bite won’t kill you.”

  Scott figured out that the young man was getting him back, and laughed. He gracefully declined the hawker’s offer of a taste of dried pufferfish and went with Xin Yu into a beef restaurant.

  “The people of Silicon Isle are such gourmets.” Scott glanced back and saw that the spy had taken a seat at the noodle shop across the way. “When you’re away at college, you must miss the food here a lot.”