The Civil Servant's Notebook Part 6

Despite the warm reception, however, I felt a cold wind rustling at my back. That wind blew in from behind the backstage curtain, and keened as if it blew over a bare dagger blade.

Lyndon Johnson once said, 'It's better to have an enemy inside the tent p.i.s.sing out than outside the tent p.i.s.sing in.' My principle is, no matter whether these p.i.s.sers are friends or enemies, they'd all better do their business in the bathroom.

Most people believe that if someone makes up a story about them that isn't refuted immediately, the story will become truth within the s.p.a.ce of twenty-four hours. Though knives come at me from all directions, impossible to ward off, I still retaliate against each one. The means are simple: poke holes in each lie as it comes. In politics you can feel intuitively who your enemies are. They say that only the innocent are not afraid of rumours. After all, no wall can block all whispers. So I spoke frankly and fearlessly at the meeting, facing the rumours directly.

'There's been a lot of interest recently in my weekend trips to Changshan,' I joked. 'Some people think my wife is too fierce, and I ought to have a fling. They seem to think that if someone of my position keeps running off to Changshan, it must be for an affair, and so they've made up a beautiful soul mate to embellish the story. These folks really ought to have gone into screenwriting rather than politics. They have me giving my lover a dog as a present, worth several hundred thousand yuan.

'So what's my lover's name? It's Feifei. There really is a member of my family named Feifei: my wife's most beloved little dog, the apple of her eye.'

As I spoke, there was some embarra.s.sed laughter in the room, and I continued my tale with gusto. 'If you're dissatisfied with my work, you may attack me however you please; even my wife doesn't mind being attacked. Everyone calls her a shrew behind her back. She's used to it. But attacking my wife's dog, Feifei . . . well, she won't have that. Not only does my wife dislike attacks on Feifei, but Feifei herself is not pleased.'

By this point the whole meeting room had collapsed into laughter. I continued, 'So why is it I keep going to Changshan? Everyone knows that filial piety is part of China's traditional morality. For me, a major criterion for choosing friends is whether or not they're filial. Who could be friends with someone who doesn't respect their parents? Though the pressures of work mean that I can't often visit my parents a source of great guilt to me I still think of myself as a filial son. I love my parents as I love my motherland. My mother's health has been poor, and she was missing her daughter. You may not know that my elder sister lives in Changshan. I sent my mother to live at her house, and I go to visit them on the weekends. Who knew that some people with ulterior motives would make up such elaborate stories? I hereby warn the slanderers: resort to such low tactics, and you're bound to give yourselves away!'

The moment I said this, several vice-mayors turned towards Peng Guoliang. It looked like my sarcastic counterattack had found its mark.

Chief of the Munic.i.p.al Investment Promotion Bureau, Wen Huajian CONVICTION IS FRAGMENTED by nature. Who takes it seriously anymore? Whoever says their conviction is strong is bound to be the world's biggest hypocrite. As top dog in the Investment Promotion Bureau, however, I'm obliged to stress in public the connection between Conviction by which I of course mean faith in the Party and the soul. Hypocrisy is one of the fundamental skills of the politician, and the most profound lesson of politics. It's most important to strike an att.i.tude of great rigour. That's called sincerity. I know a secret to being sincere: surrept.i.tiously swapping the spiritual body and the physical body. Some people are worried that in the process they'll confuse the face with the b.u.t.tocks, and the key to this particular secret is showing people the b.u.t.tocks of the soul. But that sounds awfully crude, so I usually keep it a secret.

The b.u.t.tocks possess many advantages compared to the face, though we're in the habit of ignoring them in the same way we're in the habit of suppressing the talents of those under us. In terms of aesthetic appeal, the b.u.t.tocks are far more beautiful than the face: smoother, softer, more tender. They do not wrinkle and they get fewer pimples, moles and age spots. They are not only simpler and more appealing in shape, but you also don't have to spend money on their upkeep. Also, according to the fengshui principles of physiognomy, they indicate good fortune. When it comes to character, the b.u.t.tocks give an impression of sincerity, and never wear a false smile as the face might; no two-faced Ja.n.u.s there. They are humble and reserved, able to put up with humiliation when necessary, and accept hardship on behalf of the face. This is their most admirable quality. In truth, the b.u.t.tocks' greatest advantage is their reliability. They can sit and stand, and they are a window of communication between exterior and interior. From a dialectical standpoint, they are thesis and ant.i.thesis, capable of resolving the two. For this reason I always reverse the body and the soul whilst I am stressing the importance of Conviction, always with excellent results.

Is there anyone in this world who doesn't live by their brains? So many brainless bodies sit in our meeting rooms, it would be impossible not to talk about Conviction. But what is Conviction? It's definitely not a political slogan; sermons are of no use whatsoever.

I have been inoculated against Conviction. I have antibodies in my body but even more so in my soul. The more antibodies, the weaker the Conviction, and the weaker the Conviction, the more one needs something to fill Conviction's role. In most cases, those who have Conviction are as addicted as a drug user. In fact, anything that causes addiction will make people dogged in its pursuit. I hate drugs because they destroy the body, but I like stimulation, especially stimulation that addicts the soul and completely replaces Conviction. After searching endlessly for stimulation, I unexpectedly found it in gambling.

After falling in love with gambling, I began to win every bet I made, in the casinos or in government, to the point where my wife joked, 'I've heard that people's brains are split into left and right, but I'm starting to wonder if your brain is six-sided like a die. How did you get so good at wagers?'

She was telling the truth. Just as the light of life burns more brightly for someone who has resolved to die, when a person is determined to gamble, a fire begins to burn in their hearts that is more powerful than any faith, so much so that it replaces all faith. I wasn't the only one who felt this way. The Mayor was the same, another indication that gambling and faith are in some ways interchangeable.

The Mayor once said something particularly incisive: 'When you've been in politics long enough, you start to feel like a giant panda living in the world's most luxurious jail. There's no thrill whatsoever, and after a while you're bound to get the 'three highs' (he was referring to blood pressure, blood sugar and cholesterol) and need a breath of fresh air, a little stimulation. Otherwise it's like you've got a corpse buried inside you, like your heart is a grave. You need to dig a little hole in the grave and release the spirit of the corpse or you'll suffocate inside!'

I once went with the Mayor to the Philippines, and the local mayor who greeted us drove a Jeep and was accompanied by more than ten bodyguards. He had two handguns strapped to his waist. He invited us into his home and called out seven or eight of his wives to keep us company. As he poured the wine, he told us earnestly that while he was mayor, we were welcome to invest wherever we liked, get rich however we liked, and he would see to it that nothing went wrong. But there was one condition: we'd split the profits fifty-fifty. On the plane back to China, the Mayor said a true word: 'If we were businessmen, we could strike it rich for sure: just open a casino in the Philippines!'

The greatest thing I learned from that trip abroad was what freedom really is. Our politics are too hampered by rules and regulations, Party discipline here, national law there. Not only are our hands and feet tied, but even our hearts are bound. What do we know of freedom? In truth, it's every man for himself. Why do we pretend to the people that it's all for one and one for all? It's as if we're putting on a show for the common people. What do you want them to believe? The only thing you can't do is to let them see things as they are every man for himself or do away with all false equality. Only the truth will prevent exhaustion at every social level and encourage the lower cla.s.ses to wage a struggle against the upper cla.s.ses, creating a force for social progress. This alone const.i.tutes true freedom. In this sense, the rules of the casino are worth promulgating to society at large: small fry stay in the main hall, while big fish enjoy VIP treatment. They can borrow funds if they're broke, but they have to pay back what they owe, transparent and free. If you want to find out if you count among the powerful, walk into the casino and see where they put you.

You could say that the Mayor and I got to know each other best in Las Vegas. He was leading an investment attraction team to America and our time was tightly scheduled. At one point, he complained of exhaustion and asked where we could go to relax. I recommended we have fun at a casino and he agreed. To my surprise, he was hooked the first time he tried it, and soon after we returned to China, he started to feel the hankering. He wanted to gamble, but didn't dare be too brazen about the arrangements. He waited for someone else to broach the subject. My greatest strength is understanding the needs of others and taking the pulse of my leaders. As time went by, the Mayor began to feel that I was closer to him than anyone, and even his wife began to think it was strange that he took me with him every time he went abroad. But the Mayor didn't have a brain like a six-sided die. He lost continually, to the point where his funds began to run low, and I had to rack my brains for sources of cash.

Director-Level Section Member of the Provincial Disciplinary Committee's Sixth Office, Shang Xiaoqiong I AM ZHU Dawei's girlfriend. He usually calls me 'Cat' while I call him 'Rat'. I'm working undercover in the Janitorial Brigade of the Dongzhou Munic.i.p.al Government. I didn't tell Dawei about it at first. I wanted to get accustomed to the environment. The main job of the Janitorial Brigade is to come in early and clean the offices of the mayor, vice-mayors, chief secretary, deputy chief secretary and a few other directors of the Munic.i.p.al Government. We start work around five in the morning and are done by seven. People start work at eight-thirty, so Rat isn't likely to see me.

Our work isn't done when the offices are clean, of course. We have to hang around for the entire day. Who knows when a leader might need us? We need to be on call.

A week after I started in the Brigade, I met Rat in a hallway and gave him a healthy shock. I dragged him into a corner and explained that I was on a.s.signment and he was to pretend he didn't know me. Rat is sharp. Although he seemed perplexed, he complied without question.

This a.s.signment brought me a lot of stress at first. Qi Xiuying judged that whoever was mailing the The Civil Servant's Notebook was hiding within the Munic.i.p.al Government. That meant more than seven hundred possible suspects. One of the targets of investigation was Liu Yihe, Mayor of Dongzhou, and with a target as big as that, being discovered could have unthinkable consequences. Then I thought of Rat and felt that I wasn't totally alone in my mission. With the help of the person I loved, my confidence was strengthened immeasurably.

When I was young, my family lived next door to Rat's. He is two years older than me and we were childhood friends. By the time he was going to university we had fallen in love, and we would long for the weekend when I would go to his school or he would come to mine. Our favourite thing to do was to see a movie. My degree is in criminal investigation and I like crime films, so Rat would always try to make me happy by getting tickets to the newest crime movies the moment they came out. Rat studied politics, where he learned to be cunning, but he's never been insincere with me. I think he's really got a head for politics, and if he ever gets the chance to take high office, I'm sure he wouldn't be your average politician. But since he arrived at Number Two Department, he hasn't had a single break. All he's allowed to do is compose the minutes of conferences and meetings; he's never had the chance to display his writing skills.

Rat is a thinker. He has a point of view and is a good writer to boot. What's most important is that during the time we've been together, he's been tremendously thoughtful and understanding, and if he can understand a girl's thoughts and desires, he should have no problem understanding those of his leaders. I've always believed that all he needs is an opportunity to write some materials for one of his leaders and he'll be a success.

But Rat's luck was no good. There was someone in Number Two Department with a master's degree named Huang Xiaoming, and a woman named Ou Beibei, who was as beautiful as a flower and fluent in English. What's more, both the department head and vice-head were excellent writers. Not the smallest opportunity to show off his writing ever came Rat's way. But he was a clever one, and knew that being secretary to a mayor was a shortcut to the top. He wanted to be Peng Guoliang's secretary, but I thought he was being a little rash in his choice Peng might be powerful and his future bright, but we who work in the Provincial Disciplinary Committee are quite aware of how many reports are made of his misconduct. I advised Rat to go slow, pick his target more carefully. Rat usually listens to what I say. He had meant to compete with Huang Xiaoming for the position, but he took my advice to let it go.

Rat knew very well that in the two years I have worked on major corruption cases under Secretary Qi, I have seen and experienced far more than he. But I've always believed that Rat was made to work in politics, and that he would get the opportunity to make a future for himself one day.

Right now, however, my a.s.signment was the most important thing.

Had the The Civil Servant's Notebook really been written by Mayor Liu? If so, then he was the most corrupt of corrupt officials! But after more than a month of careful undercover observation, I simply couldn't see Mayor Liu doing it.

In addition to our regular cleaning duties, the Janitorial Brigade was also responsible for servicing the major government meetings. Once during a Munic.i.p.al Standing Committee meeting, I was a.s.signed to serve the leaders. The committee meeting primarily focused on attracting foreign investment, and during the meeting Mayor Liu solemnly declared, 'I've always said we should rather change our thinking than change our personnel. The plan to attract foreign investment is a product of liberated thinking. Ideas dictate results, and so long as we focus on developing Dongzhou instead of our own personal interests, the cliff edge of risk can become a vista of opportunity!'

I was thoroughly convinced by Mayor Liu's speech, and I wondered how someone who thought that way could possibly be corrupt. Later, a mayors' office meeting was held to discuss environmental protection in the city. The head of Oldbridge District had been tipping the wink at polluting industries to bring in more income for his district, and the chief of the Munic.i.p.al Environmental Protection Bureau had agreed to keep quiet in exchange for favours. Mayor Liu had already made a discreet investigation to confirm the situation, and during the meeting he banged the table and shouted, 'What have we got this cat for if not to catch rats! You're not worthy to be the Environmental Protection Bureau Chief! Don't think corruption only means taking bribes! Taking the taxpayers' money and doing nothing is just as corrupt a corruption of the soul!'

The Bureau Chief's face turned bright red and he hardly dared lift his head. The atmosphere in the meeting room was deadly tense. Mayor Liu's words impressed me deeply. Such a display of outrage couldn't be a show. It had to be true sentiment! This is what began to weaken my suspicions about Liu Yihe.

Senior Reporter at the Qingjiang Daily, Lin Yongqing MY RELATIONSHIP WITH Qi Xiuying is hard to describe in a nutsh.e.l.l. We were college cla.s.smates, together with her future husband. The three of us were in the same school and cla.s.ses, we were also cadres in the student committee. Her husband was the chairman of the committee, not only handsome and elegant, but also an eloquent speaker. I thought of myself as a good writer, but I was an introvert, and not particularly attractive, and though I fell in love with Qi Xiuying the moment we began school, I never dared tell her. She was the most beautiful girl in our school back then and plenty of boys pursued her. Of course the one who pursued her most doggedly, and who had the best chance of success, was her future husband. I never gave up, though, and finally came clean to her just before we were going to graduate. When she'd heard me out she wept tears of regret, saying that I and her future husband both held important places in her heart, but because I'd waited so long she had already accepted his love, and decided to follow him to K Province. Thus my cowardice lost me her love. But the three of us remained good friends, and later I took a kind and gentle editor at the newspaper as my wife.

By then Qi Xiuying was working in the Public Security Bureau of H Town in K Province. Her husband worked in the Procuratorate. He was a hard worker and had become a department head at a very young age, but fate was unkind, and he died in a car crash while on an a.s.signment. Qi Xiuying was devastated but she was a woman of strong character. She raised her son herself without ever remarrying. She threw herself into her work, and ten years pa.s.sed in a flash. During that time my own wife also pa.s.sed away from lung cancer. Qi became a widow and I a widower.

We often talked on the phone, giving each other moral support, and even wrote letters. But because of her high official position and the fact that she was in distant K Province, I knew we'd be unlikely to come together even if we wanted to. But fate was either helping us or mocking us. I was shocked to learn that she was being transferred to Qingjiang Province to be secretary of the Provincial Disciplinary Committee. She'd hardly arrived in Qingjiang we hadn't even had a chance to meet when some of her limelight was shed on me, in a big way.

I mentioned I'm an introvert, and I've never been much of a talker. That meant I had little luck with girls in college, and fewer opportunities in work. When my wife was alive, she called me a wimp. She said I'd end up last in the line to eat s.h.i.t. The thing that really got me fuming was my housing situation. I was living in a fifty-square-metre apartment, a place that my wife had cajoled from the newspaper leaders while she was alive. Other colleagues my age, department directors or editors, had places that were one hundred and fifty or sixty square metres. We'd gone through several rounds of housing reallocation, and given my seniority I should have been upgraded long ago, but I never did get to the front of the line. My colleagues with their three-room or four-room apartments got them just as housing reform was being instated. They hardly paid a thing, and shortly thereafter, the apartments became private property. They turned around and sold them, then took out a little loan and bought themselves split-level or two-floor apartments.

I, on the other hand, was spending all my savings looking for a cure for my wife's terminal cancer. My son was of an age to marry, and we weren't going to be able to squeeze into a fifty-square-metre hovel. It weighed on me day and night. But heaven provides, and the manna started falling the moment Qi Xiuying arrived in Qingjiang Province.

Saying 'heaven' is hardly an exaggeration. To me, a regular journalist at the Qingjiang Daily, a standing Vice-Mayor of Dongzhou City is G.o.d. My coming into contact with G.o.d was indirectly thanks to Qi Xiuying, and directly thanks to Xu Zhitai, Vice-Head of Number Two Department, Combined Affairs.

Xu Zhitai and I were good friends when he was a journalist at the Qingjiang Daily. Later, he got fed up with the hard work and loneliness, and finagled a place in the Munic.i.p.al Government. Things went smoothly at first, but for some reason his luck soured and he was stuck as vice department head for ten years. We share a character flaw: we're too docile, too obliging. When we come under unfair pressure, the kind that cannot be rebelled against, we accept it, bear it and gradually come to feel that it is fair after all. For example, all the dirty business that was going on behind housing a.s.signments at my newspaper. That dirty business was too much for me, and it was so often disguised as righteousness.

The only consolation that righteousness can bring us comes through suffering, and though that suffering might be n.o.ble, n.o.bility only exists in fantasy, not in reality. Only basic human nature is real, and within human nature, all desire is reasonable. I had repressed my own desires for too long.

By the time I met Vice-Mayor Peng, my numbness had bereft me of everything but my humility.

Xu Zhitai drove me to Beautiful World that day, saying that Mayor Peng wanted to meet me. I had thought he was joking, that he just wanted to have a drink. He often took me for a drink when he was feeling down, not because he really wanted a drink, but for the chance to pour his heart out. I didn't believe him this time because he didn't say why Mayor Peng wanted to meet me. I couldn't think of any plausible reason beyond his wanting me to do a profile in my paper, and I had no plans to do a profile. Furthermore, if he wanted a profile done, he didn't have to treat me to dinner; we could have discussed it at the office.

When Xu Zhitai brought me inside, however, we were met by a smiling, capable-looking man in a suit who shook me warmly by the hand and addressed me as 'Teacher Lin'. He said that Mayor Peng had already arrived. Xu Zhitai hurried to make introductions. This was Hu Zhanfa, Mayor Peng's secretary. Only then did I realise it was real, and began to feel uneasy.

When Xu Zhitai and Hu Zhanfa bustled me into the private room, Mayor Peng stood up and shook my hand most ingratiatingly, saying, 'Teacher Lin, I've heard a lot about you! Your Heart of the Blackwater River series is a cla.s.sic in the Munic.i.p.al Government.'

Peng's flattery found its mark. That series had once won first prize in a national-level photography contest; it was my greatest pride. It really was a cla.s.sic in the city and even throughout the province, and appeared at most important munic.i.p.al venues. But the photographs themselves were far more famous than their author, and very few people knew I had taken them. I was a little embarra.s.sed by Peng's praise. There had to be a purpose behind such flattery, but I couldn't imagine what a standing vice-mayor, in charge of a provincial capital of eight million people, could possibly want from me.

After a few rounds of drinks and dishes Mayor Peng said to me in matter-of-fact tones, 'I've always wanted to hang your Heart of the Blackwater River in my office. I think being able to see our mother river every day would be a grand encouragement to a public servant like myself!'

I knew this was more flattery, that an ulterior motive lay behind it, but I enjoyed it all the same. All of a sudden I felt much calmer, and I said with modesty, 'Mayor Peng, it's an inspiration merely to know that you appreciate it. I'll be sure to ask Zhitai to help arrange something.'

At this point Xu Zhitai pulled a fat, beautifully bound booklet from his bag and handed it to me, saying, 'Lin, Mayor Peng and I were chatting and the subject of your relationship with Qi Xiuying came up. Mayor Peng has a lot of admiration for Secretary Qi and hopes you might be able to make an introduction and help him get to know her better. This book is for her. It's a compilation of Mayor Peng's thoughts and theories on reform and opening up and the development of Dongzhou Munic.i.p.ality. We also hope you'll tell Secretary Qi all about Mayor Peng. You know all about his reputation as a fighter for what's right, as well as his capability and courage. He's achieved remarkable results in everything from munic.i.p.al development to foreign trade, and he's beloved by the people of the city. But in China, anyone who tries to get anything done is sure to meet opposition. There's always a small band of naysayers sniping at you from some dark corner. Mayor Peng's achievements are self-evident, Lin, and this compilation is evidence of the theoretical underpinnings of his actions. Dongzhou needs more leaders like Mayor Peng now, leaders who dare to risk all for the welfare of the common folk. We can't yield to those petty people who do nothing but drag down anyone more capable than themselves, who see reform as a joke. Let me toast you on behalf of Mayor Peng!'

Xu Zhitai had barely finished speaking when Peng raised his gla.s.s and added warmly, 'Zhitai, I can't let you toast on my behalf! With this gla.s.s, Teacher Lin, we become friends, and friends must treat each other with sincerity. I've heard from Zhitai that you've had difficulty with your housing situation.' He turned to Hu Zhanfa. 'Zhanfa, it's your responsibility to settle these difficulties. We can't allow an experienced news worker, one who's made such great contributions to the media of Dongzhou City and Qingjiang Province, to be treated this way!'

He drained his gla.s.s.

I was moved by Vice-Mayor Peng's sincerity and enthusiasm for my cause. At the same time, however, I felt a nameless anxiety. What Mayor Peng wanted from me was actually very little, and he shouldn't be obliged to go to such lengths on my behalf. Xu Zhitai handed me the book and explained the situation, and I promised to fulfil my role. I couldn't help thinking, though, that there was no need to treat me so royally even resolving my housing difficulties merely for the sake of a few words in Qi Xiuying's ear. Could it be . . . ? But never mind. For the sake of the apartment, I would help even if Peng Guoliang were corrupt! I felt much more at peace after making this resolution. If he was corrupt, then I might be the floating spar that saved him. I had confidence in my relationship with Qi Xiuying. Besides her son, no one in the world was closer to her than I. And if he weren't corrupt, well that made things even simpler. None of the sniping would hurt him in the end. But I thought even Xu Zhitai didn't really know whether Peng Guoliang was corrupt or not. He was just using me to improve his standing with the Vice-Mayor.

One week later, I moved into a new apartment one that belonged to me. Split-level, one hundred and fifty square metres and beautifully decorated. The first thing I did was hang Heart of the Blackwater River in a conspicuous place on the living room wall. I did this because Mayor Peng liked the photograph and had hung it in his office. I was able to live in such a nice apartment because of him. You could say that a palatial home like this was the greatest reward I could have hoped for after a life of struggle. Now my dream had come true, and I owed it all to Mayor Peng. Once, I'd felt proud of Heart of the Blackwater River. Now I was moved by the 'Heart of Peng Guoliang'. No matter what, I would tell Qi Xiuying that Peng Guoliang was a great official the 'Heart of the Common Folk' and that the Provincial Disciplinary Committee had a responsibility to see him safely through!

The Puppet Master I MUST REMAIN behind the scenes. That way I can clearly see the flaws of the actors on stage. This is what nearly twenty years in government has taught me. In politics it is the hidden hand that is decisive. Some people call that person the 'black hand', but others call him the unsung hero. I'm neither a black hand nor a hero. I just know a plain truth: the bigger fish eats the smaller fish, and the biggest fish eats them all. So how does one ensure one is always the biggest fish? By lurking in the depths, in the darkness, and watching the other fish silently; by not making a move until you've grasped your opponent's weaknesses.

The secret to defeating your opponent is to attack from behind. Of course, you need to make preparations. Most important is to befuddle your enemy's senses. The means are simple: manufacture truth. Act the part of the humble servant of the people and the whole world will follow your act, believing that the truth is evident to anyone with eyes to see. They only look with their eyes, never with their hearts. How do the blind find their way? By looking with their hearts, not their eyes. All that stuff about the ma.s.ses' eyes being snow-bright is complete nonsense. The ma.s.ses' eyes may be bright, but their hearts are deaf, dumb and blind. They believe that what they see is real. They don't know that the world is absurd, and that absurdity is the true essence of reality.

Since they believe their eyes, however, we can make use of those eyes. Everyone has voyeuristic tendencies. No one believes what they see on stage. The snow-bright eyes of the ma.s.ses believe that rumour is the most reliable truth. They put trust in information that comes by back channels, and thus they are not only the consumers of rumour, but they are also its creators and perpetrators. They say that a thrice-repeated rumour becomes unstoppable. If so, then a rumour repeated thirty times, three hundred times, three thousand times, thirty thousand times or three million times becomes a matter of resounding truth. Manipulating the thoughts of the ma.s.ses is an easy thing, actually. Formulate those thoughts as rumour, spread them via back channels, and they'll be far more effective than words printed in a newspaper or broadcast on television.

Only by placing yourself behind the scenes can you see the stage clearly. Only by remaining in the darkness can you see the bright places clearly. That's politics. But my target suddenly turned his head, his gaze stabbing towards me like a cat spotting a mouse, freezing me to the spot in panic. He's a natural born actor who appears at first as nothing more than a mediocre bit player but then proves himself flexible and versatile during the play, creating a startling shower of sparks. Those sleep-swollen eyelids hang above friendly, welcoming eyes, yellow and catlike, a pair of gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s. It's those eyes that seem to see straight into hearts, that look on the common people as though they look on his own mother and father, his smiling face awash in sunlight. But to me, that smiling sunny face is a shadow, and his public servant act makes me want to vomit.

But that shadow is also a diligent worker of extraordinary dedication. He is best at putting on a show of concern for the people's welfare. He never seems to tire of it. I doubt that the blood in his veins has ever flowed sluggishly. It probably boils even as he sleeps. Since he's taken the stage, he's spoken constantly of the need to 'blast away with the force of an atom bomb all outmoded thinking or inst.i.tutional bottlenecks that obstruct development'. He boasted that 'I want nothing more than to be a boat-puller, to walk the same road as the people of Dongzhou, to think their thoughts, join in their labours, to pull the great ship of Dongzhou against wind and waves, to make steady progress forward.'

For a city mayor to compare himself to a boat-puller is sheer hypocrisy, obviously, and Liu Yihe is the worst of hypocrites.

But my biggest headache is that he seems to match his actions to his words, and with ferocious efficiency, leaving hardly a c.h.i.n.k in his armour. He seems to have indefatigable spirits, inexhaustible energy and unbending willpower; the strength to stop a train with his hand. He talks about how true administrative ability lies not in what the government controls, but in what the government doesn't control. What was the consequence of the government insisting on monopolising everything? The poor suffered, the rich profited and the bureaucrats benefited . . . Nothing needed reforming more than the government monopoly!

Backstage, I'd long since tired of his fervent words, but I'd forgotten that those who cannot curb their tongues often bring disaster on their own heads. There's no such thing as a person with no weaknesses. The wise repeat no tales, they say, but no one realises that rumours may also originate with the wise. Paging through China's history is like being caught in a magic spell where nothing is solid, truth is distorted, rumours rule and danger lurks on all sides. We take pleasure in the misfortune of others, in adding fuel to the fire. So long as we ourselves are not harmed, each of us is a past master of the poison tongue, a consummate liar.

You want reform, you want achievement, don't you my friend? Well I've prepared a spell for you, one which you won't escape unless you can advance with utmost caution, watch your back as well as your front, walk on eggsh.e.l.ls and ultimately fall on your own sword. Hearsay is a spider's web, one that stretches from horizon to horizon, and you're the fly who will not escape. Ice water is the way to deal with a hot-blooded one such as you, and my veins run with the ice of the Yellow River in February. Though it might be lava running in your veins, still I will freeze you solid.

But as it turns out, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's blood was as impervious to freezing as oil. It burned hotter and hotter. I half wondered if he'd experienced some genetic mutation in the womb. Besides his work and career and the odd moment s.n.a.t.c.hed for reading, he had no interests whatsoever. Neither women nor gambling caught his fancy, and he spent his days in his office, buried in doc.u.ments; an archetypal workaholic.

He might be hot-blooded, but that was just an act for the common people and his colleagues. His hidden designs and plans would never show themselves beneath his heavy, red eyelids, and that was the most dangerous thing about him. His controlled calm gave you an impression of great power and made you watch yourself around him. I knew quite well that no one in government dared attack him. He was impervious to all manner of attack. I had worn myself out thinking of ways to defeat him but none were practicable. I realised that my strategy was flawed, and began instead to research all the methods by which a mayor protects his position. I believed that, once I had grasped those methods, I could use them to find a way to defeat him.

The best means of defeating your opponent, of course, is to strike using another's hand. Luckily I had found one, not a black hand behind the scenes, but a hand in the open, the hand of a G.o.ddess, the claw of a cat that catches mice. That claw was as sharp as the sword wielded by the 'Jade Cat', and as terrifying as the chopper of Bao Longtu. I knew this was playing with fire, but I said it was ice water that flowed in my veins, and I do not fear fire. In fact, I like playing with fire. Who in government doesn't? We only say those who play with fire will end up burnt as a way of scaring the cowards off. Who achieved anything without playing with fire? The anti-corruption effort was also playing with fire. The people could see no hope unless the fire were roaring, but if it leaped too high, they would not only lose hope, but even feel despair. That required deft control of the flame, and I was placing my hopes in this particular hand being unable to exert such control. So long as she was chasing a corrupt official she would pour more fuel on the fire, desperate to burn him to bone ash.

The female Disciplinary Committee secretary who had been moved to Qingjiang Province was obviously determined to start some fires, and at this critical juncture the best means of self-preservation was clearly to strike while the fires raged! Since Qi Xiuying was such a master of playing with fire, I would provide some kindling for her. Not only would my rival become the centre of the conflagration, but I would make sure Qi Xiuying was sacrificed on the flames as well.

When I was in high school I'd dreamed of studying directing at the film academy, and although circ.u.mstances led me into politics, this new profession required not only acting abilities but also directing abilities. The Civil Servant's Notebook was a doc.u.mentary that I was directing, one that would draw in Qi Xiuying like a television serial and gradually spur her to action through the dastardly corruption of its main character.

After more than six months of mailing her the Notes I hadn't seen the slightest reaction. That means that I'd already hooked her; she was likely conducting secret investigations. They say that the thunder rolls in silent places. They also say that a person lives by their face, as a tree lives by its bark. If a woman like Qi Xiuying began investigating, she wouldn't rest until she'd uncovered a ma.s.sive case, making something out of nothing if she had to. Otherwise she would suffer a ma.s.sive loss of face.

I didn't always like the feeling of hiding in the shadows, however. While I am spying on other people, might someone also be spying on me? I often imagine someone suddenly clapping my shoulder from behind, which makes me come out in cold sweats. I've also developed a new tic. Every night, once I am sound asleep, I dream that I and Liu have become versions of the Monkey King, and we fight furiously with our golden staves, the battle raging all the way to the South Sea, where the Guanyin Bodhisattva becomes Qi Xiuying.

While Liu and I fight we ask her which of us is the real Monkey King. Qi Xiuying puts her palms together and smiles, saying, 'I only recognise corruption, not the Monkey King.' Liu Yihe and I have to continue fighting, all the way to the Western Heaven, where we meet the Tathagata Buddha. He turns out to be the Old Leader, and Liu Yihe and I both ask him which of us is truly the Great Sage Equalling Heaven? The expressionless Old Leader tosses each of us a book, the Philosophical Reflections on the Urine Cure. Unhurriedly, he says, 'The one who can understand this book is the Great Sage Equalling Heaven,' whereupon Liu and I sit on the ground and open our books. It praises urine as some sort of miracle cure, as though it can bring the dead back to life and bestow immortality. I can't tell if the book's claims are based in experience or idealism; all I know is that urine is the product of the body's metabolism. How can it be worshipped as though it is holy?

This book should actually be t.i.tled the Theological Reflections on the Urine Cure. We know that philosophy is divided between materialism and idealism, while theology belongs purely to idealism. Furthermore, there are many ways to ensure physical health. How could the book propound only the urine cure?

The Old Leader's point of view is a bit like the enshrinement of Confucianism over all other schools of thought. In my dream I give a disdainful laugh, and the book in my hand suddenly becomes two small turtles. Just as I am staring in surprise, Liu's book turns into an official chop. This instantly puts me into a rage, and I have just stood and pointed my finger at the Old Leader, about to accuse him of running a rigged game, when he suddenly roars, 'He's a false Monkey King! Lock him down, left and right!' The turtles in my hands suddenly become shackles around my wrists, and I wake in absolute panic.

I don't know what the dream signifies. I have pored through every book about dreams that I own, but find no answers. Remembering that the Old Leader's urine therapy could also cure convulsions, I forced myself to drink a cup one morning and, sure enough, after I started the therapy, I've never had the dream again.

Number Two Department, Junior Department-Level Researcher, Ou Beibei AT FIRST I'D thought that I could get everything I wanted by following Peng Guoliang, but so far I hadn't even made bureau-level researcher. I had brought it up with him several times but he always answered noncommittally. I knew it was a woman he wanted, not a female civil servant, and once he had me and his desires were fulfilled, there would be nothing more!

I decided to show him my true colours. The bloom might be off the rose but he couldn't rid himself of it. So I began to meet with him more frequently in private. Once, when I brought him some doc.u.ments, he shut the door behind me without a word and carried me to his desk. The sofa would have been fine, or the single bed in his retiring room which he used for his afternoon nap, but we'd done it too often in those places and the thrill was off, and Peng Guoliang liked a little variety.

Every time, I made Peng Guoliang weak and distracted with pleasure. He couldn't compare to w.a.n.g Chaoquan in terms of endowment, and Zhao Zhong wasn't even worth mentioning, but unfortunately w.a.n.g Chaoquan was as useless in his career as Zhao Zhong was in bed. If only w.a.n.g's career had been as powerful as his member, then he could have brought some glory to his woman, and I wouldn't have needed to exchange my body for it now!

For years I never understood why, despite w.a.n.g Chaoquan's power in bed, I never got pregnant. How could such a masculine man be unable to get me pregnant? If we'd had a child, I might have been a wonderful mother. But he couldn't even fulfil this dream of mine! How despotic is fate!

Since the night in the Kempinski Hotel when Zhao Zhong's sail had furled in front of me, he would shrink a bit whenever he saw me. All men's dignity relies on a little piece of meat. Otherwise how could they call themselves men? Since that time, however, Zhao Zhong had also been more devoted to me, and spent no small sums on me. d.a.m.n false monk, you really wanted to make me your nun, didn't you?

I hadn't wanted to reveal my relations with Zhao Zhong, particularly to the men in Number Two Department who all knew how much I used to hate him. I'd always curse him and call him hogshead, but now he'd become a hog prince. What could I do? All princesses love princes.

Though I kept my relations with Zhao Zhong a secret, Peng Guoliang's secretary Hu Zhanfa once saw us dining together at Datang Shifu. To be honest, I've never had a good impression of Hu Zhanfa. His eyes in particular seem made for voyeurism. Nothing that happened between me and Peng Guoliang seemed to escape those narrow eyes. He toasted Zhao Zhong and me with an unpleasant smile. We had been in a private room where he wouldn't have seen us, but Zhao Zhong had gone to the restroom and met him there. If he'd lied and said he was there with some business contacts, that would have been the end of it, but he had to boast that he was treating me to dinner, as though he were threatening Peng in front of Hu.

Hu Zhanfa of course wanted to see the situation for himself so he came in with his wine gla.s.s, and when he saw that I and Zhao Zhong were alone in a private room, he seemed to understand everything. I grew tense the moment he walked in, because he was quite clear about the relationship between Peng and me. After toasting us he uttered some pompous cliches of hospitality and left, throwing me a look as he went through the door. That gaze swept over me like an autumn chill, and I trembled inside.

Only a few days later Peng Guoliang had a meeting with some American businessmen in the foreign reception room, but he used an interpreter from the Foreign Affairs Office instead of me. Xu Zhitai was present at the meeting and was a bit confused, as Peng Guoliang never had anyone but me to interpret, and after the meeting he asked me why.

I laughed lightly, but I became wary. I knew it had something to do with Hu Zhanfa catching Zhao Zhong and me at dinner.

Sure enough, Peng Guoliang continued to pa.s.s me over as interpreter, while Liu Yihe sent a secretary to fetch me when he was meeting with foreigners. Soon, I'd practically become Liu's personal interpreter. I was hoping for an opportunity to talk to Peng Guoliang in private, but he kept making trips to Hong Kong and was otherwise too busy to see anyone, so I never found an appropriate chance.

Worst of all was that I was starting to feel morning sickness, and w.a.n.g Chaoquan noticed the first time I vomited. He didn't reveal his suspicions, however, and merely asked after me solicitously. I covered up by saying I'd eaten something bad the night before. He asked if he should take me to the hospital but I said there was no need, and he hurried off to work.

I was certain I was pregnant. Peng Guoliang had done this, and I couldn't let it go to waste. I would use my pregnancy to squeeze him. At the very least I would make department-level researcher. While he and his ugly wife were still married, there was no way I would bear his child. I wasn't that stupid. In fact, I could easily have faked being pregnant to fool him.

In the interest of certainty, however, I went to the munic.i.p.al obstetrics hospital, and discovered that I was two months gone. After I'd received the results, I was walking along and reading them when someone tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned to look, I nearly choked. w.a.n.g Chaoquan yanked the test results from my hand and scrutinised them, then threw them in my face and hissed, 'Shameless!' Then he strode off.

Director-Level Section Member of the Provincial Disciplinary Committee's Sixth Office, Shang Xiaoqiong WHILE I WAS sweeping up in the Mayor's office I happened across some real notes of Liu Yihe's. The fat black notebook was in the central drawer of his office desk, a drawer that had always been locked, but that morning was somehow unlocked. Perhaps Liu Yihe was so busy he'd forgotten. It opened with a light tug, revealing the fat black notebook.

I flipped it open and found this rhythmic and forceful line inside the cover: 'Liu Yihe, throw your whole soul into the execution of justice and the speaking of the truth!'

Thereafter, each entry consisted of thoughts or lessons regarding work: 'Since being transferred to Dongzhou I have emphasised acts over speech: doing more and saying less, doing first and then speaking, driving the development of government programmes in Dongzhou without controversy, needless dithering or ostentation. Some cadres, however, have consistently lacked vigour, trailed behind in motivation and are utterly missing the pioneering spirit. Not only are their wills weak, some simply don't have a thought in their heads. They fulfil their duties only perfunctorily, lost in bureaucracy, busy with meeting and greeting. Some simply make a show of getting work done and never accomplish anything, satisfied with being a 'mouthpiece', a 'transfer station', content to hold meetings about meetings, to write doc.u.ments about doc.u.ments. Some fight for profits and advancement, their eyes on the position above them instead of the work in front of them. The existence of these problems means that some things that might have been done are not done, some issues that might have been resolved are put off indefinitely, conflicts that might have been eased are instead exacerbated.

'I once said that I had come to Dongzhou to be a boat-puller, and no matter how complicated the environment or how pointed the conflicts, I would stand by the people every step of the way, surmounting their difficulties with them. Faced with problems of development that must be resolved, or problems of particular importance to the people, we will keep calm, not panic, not mouth empty plat.i.tudes, and resolve them earnestly. So long as we have confidence, resolve, perseverance and patience, there is no river we may not cross!'

This had to be the real Liu Yihe, writing from the heart. I was sure this was his true voice. It fitted perfectly with the man I'd observed in secret, a Liu Yihe who not only couldn't be a corrupt mayor, but who was truly a servant of the people. It was the good fortune of the people of Dongzhou to have such a great mayor.

Quite obviously, The Civil Servant's Notebook could not be the work of Liu Yihe's pen, though the handwriting was the same. I could now say with confidence that someone who had forged his handwriting was trying to set him up. Whoever it was, he or she was employed in the Munic.i.p.al Government. They couldn't be someone in the service centre, but must be in one of the combined affairs or secretarial departments.

I guessed that Peng Guoliang was the man behind the The Civil Servant's Notebook. He would benefit most if Liu Yihe was to fall. I lacked proof, of course. The reason I thought Peng Guoliang was operating remotely, behind the scenes, was that his handwriting was full of loops and flourishes and was nothing at all like Liu Yihe's. Also, someone as volatile as Peng Guoliang would never have the patience to learn to imitate someone else's handwriting. So who was actually writing the Notebook? There were only two possibilities. The first was Huang Xiaoming, who'd just been promoted to be secretary to Mayor Peng, and the other was his predecessor Hu Zhanfa, who had left the Munic.i.p.al Government to become Deputy Head of Oldbridge District.

I'd heard Rat say that Huang Xiaoming was originally transferred to Number Two Department because he'd attracted the notice of Liu Yihe, then a standing vice-mayor. That meant there was a bond of obligation between the two. If Liu Yihe hadn't been elevated to Vice-Governor of Qingjiang Province, Huang Xiaoming might have eventually become indispensable to him. Now he was secretary to Mayor Peng, but would he be capable of something so low as framing Liu Yihe? I didn't think so. Besides, he'd only been Peng's secretary for a few months and wasn't likely to be so deep in his confidence that he would be given a job like writing the The Civil Servant's Notebook. I'd seen a few theoretical essays that Huang Xiaoming had written and published in newspapers and magazines, and could tell from his style that he was someone with a n.o.ble spirit. How could someone like that do something like framing Liu Yihe?

On the other hand, most people in politics are not always free to act according to their own conscience. Could he be doing this against his will? Peng Guoliang was a ditch of filth, and it would be hard for Huang Xiaoming to remain clean in his service. Given Huang Xiaoming's educational background and sensitivity, however, he would in theory be quite capable of imitating Liu Yihe's handwriting and authoring the The Civil Servant's Notebook.