by Chen Qiufan
“Are you sure about this?” Li Wen watched, concerned, as Mimi put on the augmented-reality glasses and activated the tiny attachment next to her ear. A blue LED started to glow. “Your luck is going to run out one day.”
Mimi smiled and said nothing.
When she was still Mimi 0, Brother Wen had often showed off his skills to her. Using a modified radio and cracking software, he had demonstrated how he could circumvent the bitrate-restricting firewall briefly and connect the augmented-reality glasses to the high-speed network outside so that the wearer got to enjoy the pleasure of freely observing the world. The cheap equipment had cost a fortune on the Silicon Isle black market, and not everyone dared to make use of it.
You’ve got to be very, very careful, Brother Wen had warned Mimi. Don’t register on any site; don’t make any comments; don’t leave any traces. As soon as you see the red light go on, disconnect immediately. That means the net guardian spiders have detected some kind of vibration in their webs, and will be tracing the strands to be on you in a moment. Once they lock on to you, you’ll never escape. The spiders will pierce your body with their fangs and inject the poison that will paralyze your nerves and dissolve your muscles, and then they’ll slowly tear you apart, chew you up, and digest you in acid.
Circumventing the bitrate restrictions was a major crime. No one would even notice your disappearance.
Yet now, she was going to bring a whole crowd with her in an attempt to break through the firewall. This was like a group jumping off the top of a skyscraper, equipped with only a single parachute.
The blue-purple glow from the LED lit up Mimi’s face. Her features seemed to drift in space, mysterious and perfect.
Li Wen was mesmerized by her, and then he became angry at himself for the reaction. He knew that the worshipful sensation was nothing more than an artificial suggestion implanted in his mind that was intended to infect every waste person via the video virus. He understood that he had to pay a price for this mad game. He recalled how the old Mimi had often partook of digital mushrooms while plugged into the high-bitrate network, and her expression had been distant and confused, as though the act of browsing for information was but a compensatory behavior her brain engaged in to prevent her sense of self from collapsing into an abyss.
Or maybe that wasn’t even Mimi, but some other personality in her subconscious trying to study the world through Mimi’s flesh?
Li Wen shuddered as though a column of ants were marching across the back of his neck, slowly climbing onto the back of his skull. He secretly activated the pattern-recognition function in his glasses and waited, like a frog waiting for a passing fly, for that strange Western face to flicker into existence.
It appeared suddenly, and once again overlaid Mimi’s face like a veil of light for an instant before fading away.
Got it!
The computer soon returned the search results to Li Wen’s glasses, but that only deepened the mystery. The face belonged to Hedy Lamarr, the Hollywood star who had invented the frequency-hopping communication technique that would become the foundation for CDMA digital wireless networks later. A woman who excelled with both beauty and brains.
He finally recalled the strange digital drug called HEMK Ekstase. The initials of Lamarr’s birth name, Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler, were HEMK, and Ekstase was a sensual 1933 Czech film in which an eighteen-year-old Lamarr made her debut.
Why would this prodigy who has been dead for decades appear in Mimi’s brain?
“Give me some music,” Mimi said.
The young woman endowed with a virtual personality by Li Wen reclined in her chair like Manet’s Olympia. In that moment, Li Wen realized why he was willing to risk everything for her like a reprogrammed chipped dog. In her current state, Mimi was a cyber goddess, capable of transcending all layers of the net, of the world even, and she had hooked him on every level, too. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to help Mimi.
“Something with a kick.”
* * *
The tall figure of Scott stood before the iron gates. The broad, black umbrella shielded his face from the monitoring cameras; the black rain fell endlessly and streamed from the edge of the umbrella into an indistinct blur. The spotlights came on, and warm steam rose in their rays as they focused on the umbrella from different directions, collecting into a bright spot. Some hidden speaker emitted a series of stiff commands in a language Scott was unfamiliar with. He shifted the umbrella slightly so that his pale, non-Chinese face showed in the beams of the spotlights, and the rain drenched his shoes.
The iron gates screeched painfully as the two panels slowly slid apart. The chipped dogs inside the compound began to bark furiously.
Scott slid in sideways, recalling the first time he had dealt with one of the fierce creatures. That afternoon at Xialong Village seemed so long ago.
Luo Jincheng greeted him at the front door of the mansion with a smile that Scott had first seen grinning smugly up at him from the manila folders of his TerraGreen research files. Next to Luo Jincheng stood a few muscular young men whose expressions assured Scott of their familiarity with violence.
“Mr. Brandle! What an honor! I guess at least one good thing can be attributed to this typhoon if it has brought you. Where might your able assistant be?”
“I know that you’re comfortable with English and a savvy businessman. There are some discussions where it’s best to keep the number of participants down.”
After the two sat down inside, Luo Jincheng gestured for his minions to leave them. Then Luo busied himself at the eight-immortal table. He lit the brazier, boiled the water, unpacked the tea leaves, uncovered the pot, loaded the tea leaves, poured the water, cleaned the cups … After a complicated series of steps that resembled an artistic performance, a pot of tea was ready. Luo Jincheng arranged three tiny Yixing clay teacups about the size of walnuts in a tight triangle. Then, as Scott watched, mouth agape, Luo poured the first infusion into the three cups as he moved the stream evenly over them, and then poured the tea away. The mellow fragrance of the tea filled Scott’s nostrils and seemed to seep into every alveolus in his lungs.
Luo Jincheng then refilled the pot with fresh water—timing it so that the water had just started to boil and the bubbles resembled fish eyes—and once again moved the pouring spout over the three cups so that they were filled evenly, without any one of them receiving an infusion more concentrated than any other. By the time the cups were about 70 percent filled, Luo paused, and then carefully dipped the spout over the cups in turn, as though dabbing paint, until the cups were fully filled. Finally finished, Luo presented a cup with both hands to Scott.
“Mr. Brandle, please have a taste of our top-quality Phoenix baiye dancong, a variety of oolong.” Luo Jincheng looked serene and self-composed, as though he had just completed a tai chi session.
“I see why ganghu tea is so highly regarded.” Scott held the exquisite cup and admired it. The liquid inside appeared golden and translucent, exuding a complex fragrance in which the dominant flavor of tea was further embellished with traces of Osmanthus, jasmine, and honey.
“The tea leaves are collected from Wu Dong peak, in Phoenix County, at an altitude above one thousand meters. There, the tea bushes are steeped in fog and cloud, from which they absorb the essence of nature. The dancong part of the name refers to the fact that each tea bush gives off a different aroma, and each must be treated distinctly and processed with care.”
Scott expressed his admiration as he sipped the tea slowly. The floral, mellow flavor filled his mouth, and, as he swallowed, his tongue seemed to detect an aftertaste of sweetness. He could not imagine the subtlety of the flavor being replicated through a modern industrialized production line. Luo Jincheng smiled and indicated that he should feel free to enjoy another cup.
“Here in Silicon Isle, we always prepare three cups, even when two or four are sitting down to have tea. The extra cup goes to the guest, or the host does without—the principle is to always think
of the other side first. It’s the same when we do business.” Luo Jincheng picked up the last remaining cup, closed his eyes, and savored the tea.
“I suppose it’s the same principle we use: look for a win-win solution.” Scott acted as if he had just been enlightened.
“So, what has brought you to my humble abode today, Mr. Brandle? I’m all ears.”
“A business proposal in which we both emerge as winners.”
“Oh?” Luo opened his eyes and gazed at the storm raging outside. “Permit me to be frank, then. I’m guessing you’re here to ask for that waste girl, am I right?”
Scott said nothing. This old fox was even craftier than he had imagined.
“Although she’s only a waste girl, she still belongs to the Luo clan. She’s a bit like one of the tea bushes on Wu Dong peak—although she has some innate talent, the process of plucking, fermenting, baking, and rolling will determine the final market value. I have a duty to act in the best interests of the young people under my charge, don’t you agree?”
Scott almost laughed out loud. For this criminal mastermind to suddenly launch into a speech about his sense of responsibility, as if all that Mimi had suffered had nothing to do with him, was really too much. The Chinese, no matter how he thought he had finally figured them out, constantly surprised him. This was a people modeled on the classical yin-yang symbol: they somehow managed to harmonize opposites and unified the best and worst qualities without appearing to be bothered by the contradictions.
“I don’t think you need to worry about the price. I work for TerraGreen Recycling, not some no-name startup.”
“What price are you planning on offering, then?” The sly old fox could no longer suppress his excited tail.
“As you know, the formal signing ceremony for the project isn’t until next week. Anything is possible before then.” Scott put down his cup and showed Luo his professional, ambivalent smile.
“I was under the impression that we’re done with dividing the cake at the negotiating table.”
“Well, you might still get a bigger slice.”
“How much bigger?”
“If you successfully facilitate Mimi’s departure with us, you will receive three more percentage points than the original agreement.”
“I don’t think either of the other clans would be willing to give up any of their share.”
“Wealth Recycle would.”
Luo Jincheng looked thoughtful. After a while, he gazed at Scott serenely and said, “Is that girl really worth that much? What if I decide that I want to keep her?”
“Then you’ll be escalating this into a political incident—an outcome that no one wants, trust me. Also, I’ll take her away from you in the end, no matter what.” Scott’s tone was now firm and cold.
As far as Luo Jincheng could see, Mimi was the start of all his misfortunes, but certainly not the end. He personally witnessed the young woman’s extraordinary skills during the “oil fire” ritual. She had seemed to be possessed by some spirit, and though she had awakened his son, she had also left him with a permanent condition that would make him into a laughingstock. He knew very well that he had no hope of truly controlling this young woman, regardless of his application of violence, money, or raw authority. She was beyond what he could comprehend. He really was very happy with Scott’s proposal, but his habitual curiosity made him want to probe for Scott’s bottom line.
“I will think about it.” Luo Jincheng refilled the three cups and invited Scott to help himself.
“I will expect your answer tomorrow.” Scott drained his cup.
One of Luo’s minions rushed into the room and handed a mobile phone to Luo. Luo glanced at it and stood up. “My sincere apologies,” he said. “Something has come up that requires my immediate attention.”
“Of course. Thank you for your hospitality.” Scott got up to leave, but then seemed to remember something. He turned back, retrieved a phone from his pocket, and deposited it on the eight-immortal table.
“Would you please return this to its rightful owner and pass on my regrets for his … ‘lovely’ face?” He smiled, turned, and left in the company of Luo’s bodyguards. At the door of the mansion, he opened the umbrella, and stepped resolutely into the pouring rain.
Luo Jincheng stared at his departing figure, and his face spasmed a few times. He held the mobile up to his ear, and Hard Tiger’s voice, disguised by software, emerged from the earpiece.
“Boss Luo, there’s something you should see.”
* * *
Kaizong’s raincoat flapped behind him in the gale like the wings of a giant bat, flickering uncertainly at the edge of the cone of illumination cast by the streetlight.
The rain came heavier now, the drops accelerated by the wind striking his bare face painfully like bullets. His right eye had been preset to be more sensitive than regular eyes in dim light, and the brain was forced to combine the images from both eyes and achieve some compromise. However, when the rain forced him to close one eye or another, the world would dim or brighten. He regretted not wearing goggles, but the waste people would not have such equipment, either.
He stumbled closer to the sentry. The guard held up a hand to stop him; Kaizong showed him the electronic ID card, and the reader held in the guard’s hand beeped. The suspicious guard compared the photograph on the ID with his face. Forcing himself to be calm, Kaizong brushed the wet hair stuck to his forehead aside to reveal his features. The guard waved him by, and Kaizong let out a held breath. He knew that heading the other way across the border—coming into Silicon Isle Town—would be much harder.
The night wind’s chill mercilessly pierced the raincoat and made him shiver. Kaizong struggled along the muddy path, where shallow and deep puddles reflected the faint light like an uneven mirror and pointed his way. Vague childhood memories floated through his mind. Silicon Isle was often assaulted by typhoons, and the terrain of the town made it prone to flooding. Thus, Kaizong and his childhood friends had often floated in wooden buckets and paddled themselves through the muddy water with their hands as they splashed each other in water fights. This was perhaps one of his few surviving happy memories of Silicon Isle.
Typhoons visited Silicon Isle like some yearly festival—sometimes more than once a year, if they felt generous. The people, farmers by tradition, gradually gave up their fight with nature and abandoned the fields, turning to trade, fishing, waste recycling. They called the shift a sign of progress, but Kaizong wasn’t so sure.
Under the faint illumination of distant lights, Kaizong found his way to the village of the waste people. Hundreds of simple, rough shacks similar in appearance surrounded him, and he didn’t know where to start. The simplest thing would be to do what he had always done and walk straight in to look for Mimi, but the times were no longer normal. Pamphlets full of inflaming exhortations had spread to every corner of Silicon Isle, and, as a native, Kaizong might not meet a good reception here if he revealed himself.
Another cause for his uncertainty was Mimi’s current intentions.
He had to find Mimi and convince her to leave Silicon Isle with him so that they could fly across the Pacific Ocean and allow a group of American specialists to open up her skull and diffuse the ticking bomb inside. This sounded like a story more preposterous than local folk legends. Would she believe him?
And a bigger question still: did she even need Kaizong to rescue her?
Due to the heavy rain, all the chipped dogs had been kept inside, and the rain and wind made their sensitive noses useless. Kaizong was glad that he didn’t have to repeat his boss’s feat of subduing snarling dogs with his bare hands. Quietly, he crept close to one of the shacks and peered in from the edge of a window.
A strange waste man lay half naked on the bed, the augmented-reality glasses on his head flashing a blue light.
Kaizong ducked down and clumsily waddled his way to the next shack like a beached whale. Inside, he saw two women covered with complicated jewelry made from
junked electronic components. Their augmented-reality glasses were flashing in sync. He left again, and witnessed similar scenes in the other shacks he spied on. Kaizong began to realize that this wasn’t a coincidence.
He found a narrow gap between two shacks and squeezed himself in. The rain-drenched garbage emitted a stench that made him gag. The walls on both sides were the color of rust mixed with lichen and covered by graffiti featuring male and female sexual organs. Everything was covered with a layer of sticky filth. Kaizong held his breath and carefully poked his head up from between two windows so close together that they almost couldn’t be opened at the same time. As expected, the inhabitants of both shacks were lying in bed with augmented-reality glasses on, and the flashing blue lights on their glasses were in sync, as though they were members of the audience in some silent, still concert.
Kaizong was reminded of the eerie scene of Mimi at the “oil fire” ritual.
The flashing lights weren’t the only things in sync; the expressions on the waste people were also highly coordinated: sometimes tense, sometimes amazed, sometimes smiling … it was as if countless invisible strings had been let down from a giant hand and extended into each shack on this dirty patch of land, controlling the facial muscles of every waste person. In Kaizong’s experience, only fundamentalist religious ceremonies in which all participants were caught up in the same emotional fervor could achieve such results. A chill wind seemed to penetrate the back of his collar, and all the hairs on Kaizong’s back stood on their ends.
“Who’s there?” a voice shouted from behind him.
He turned around, scrambling for some explanation, but lost his footing in the wet mud and tumbled into a puddle. The rotting stench of the earth filled his mouth and nose, and he was soaked through. Kaizong gagged a few times, spat out the mud in his mouth, but before he could even get up, something cold was held at his throat.
It was a blade shaped like the spine of a fish, glinting coldly in the wind and rain. Kaizong was stunned to see that the blade emerged from a sheath in the marble-like muscles of the arm—it was a part of his assailant’s body. What little illumination there was came from behind the person, leaving the face hidden in darkness. All he could hear was the crisp cracks of rain striking the attacker’s body.