The Interior

8

ON DAVID AND HULAN'S FIRST FULL DAY TOGETHER, SAT-urday, Investigator Lo picked them up and took them to a building not far from her home. The corner office suite was simple. The walls were painted white; the furniture was restrained; there was a phone, a copy machine, a fax, and a television set. The view presented a panorama of Beijing. Looking behind him, David could see into the courtyards of Hulan's-and his-hutong neighborhood. Stretching out in front of him were the red burnished walls of the Forbidden City. After looking at the office, they rode the elevator up four flights to see an apartment, which came fully furnished and with the same spectacular view. Miss Quo arrived and she and Hulan carried on a lively conversation in Mandarin. At the end of it, Hulan switched back to English. "Good, then everything is taken care of. Attorney Stark will be here Tuesday at nine."

On Sunday and Monday, they stayed home. While Hulan puttered around the house, David continued familiarizing himself with the Tartan-Knight paperwork and the list of prospective clients given to him by Miles Stout. On Tuesday, July 15, they both rose to the sounds of the yang ge troupe. David showered, shaved, and dressed in a lightweight suit. When he came out to the kitchen, Hulan was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of congee. David ate, then it was time for him to leave. Arrangements still hadn't been made for a driver, so Investigator Lo took David down to his new office.

At this point Hulan should have showered, dressed, and gotten on her Flying Pigeon bicycle to go to the Ministry of Public Security. She did none of these things. Instead she went back to bed, took a nap, got up just before noon, then rode her bike down to David's new office and took him out for lunch. That afternoon she went to the open-air market, bought some greens, ginger, garlic, salted black beans, and a little fresh pork, carried them home, and prepared dinner. When David returned, she asked him about his day.

In the morning he'd met with the representative of a hotel that was in a dispute with a California winery over a shipment of chardonnay. His next appointment was with an American man who came with his Chinese partner. They had a factory that manufactured women's clothing made from pigskin. For five years this venture had operated smoothly, with the products having a steady growth in the United States. Unfortunately, the tanner had become involved with some unsavory types, and now the whole enterprise faced investigation by the government. The American in particular was worried about his rights. Was there anything that David could do to help?

At a quarter to five, David and Miss Quo left the office, and Investigator Lo drove them to the Zhongnanhai compound next to the Forbidden City to meet with Governor Sun Gan, who served on the Central Committee representing Shanxi Province. As the car pushed through traffic, Miss Quo ran through David's itinerary for his trip to Knight International. On Thursday, he would have private meetings with the American managers of the factory and the Knights-father and son. On Friday, they would meet with Governor Sun and the other VIP-ers, as Miss Quo called Randall Craig and the Tartan team. On Saturday, after a ceremony at the Knight compound, they would all fly back to Beijing on the two companies' private jets for a series of banquets and meetings with top officials from Knight, Tartan, and the Chinese government. Miles Stout would also fly in to attend. The Sunday evening banquet would culminate in the signing of the closing documents.

Once at the Zhongnanhai compound, Miss Quo led the way to the small private office the governor used while in Beijing. She made the introductions, carefully translating the conversation. By the quality of the fabric and cut, David surmised that Sun's navy blue pinstripe suit had been tailored either in Hong Kong or London. Despite this surface sophistication and his age-Sun looked to be in his late sixties-his ruddy complexion and the strength of his handshake attested to a life spent largely outdoors in physical labor.

The two men sat down in overstuffed burgundy velvet chairs, while Miss Quo took a straight-back chair a little to David's left. For the next couple of minutes Miss Quo spoke in Mandarin. David recognized certain words-baba and cha-and knew that they were exchanging pleasantries about Miss Quo's father and negotiating the ever important issue of whether or not the guests would drink tea. Their chatter came to a close. Sun himself poured three cups of tea, and then he began to speak in a smooth, confident voice, pausing occasionally to let Miss Quo translate. During the next twenty minutes, as Sun spoke in glowing terms of the attributes of his home province, he never took his eyes off David. Under other circumstances David might have chafed under this scrutiny, but Sun had a warmth about him. He was down-to-earth and, if Miss Quo's translation was accurate, very direct.

"Governor Sun wishes you to know that he has encouraged many foreign businesses to come to his province," Miss Quo said as Sun came to the conclusion of his remarks. "Every year it becomes easier to reach. Shanxi has built a new expressway, making Taiyuan only five hours away from Beijing by car or bus, while a plane takes only minutes. He thinks it's important for you to know that he believes that within ten years his province will be a leader for economic investment in the interior."

"How does Governor Sun plan to accomplish his goals?"

Miss Quo dutifully translated David's question, listened as Sun replied in Mandarin, then said, "As you know, China is in a period of great change. Supreme Leader Deng Xiaoping encouraged us to move forward with economic reform."

"To get rich is glorious," David quoted.

"Precisely." Miss Quo nodded. "But there are some things that he did not want to see change. Since his death our country can now move forward on some of those programs. This is what Governor Sun is promoting here in Beijing as well as in Shanxi. Historically, he says, change can only come from the countryside. He has proposed one-person, one-vote balloting in local elections that would be open to party and non-party candidates alike. He has worked hard to abolish rice-eating finance."

At David's puzzled look, she explained, "This is a phrase used by Premier Zhu Rongji. It means he wants to cut our country's bureaucracy, which so often promotes corruption. Governor Sun greatly supports these new ideas and believes that they will eventually lead to greater freedoms for the Chinese people, increased prosperity, and a better relationship with our brothers in the West."

"That all sounds wonderful," David said. "But why has Governor Sun invited me here?"

Miss Quo didn't attempt to hide her displeasure. "You ask too forward a question."

"It doesn't matter, Miss Quo," Sun said, speaking in near-perfect English.

David had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the Chinese book. Of course this man would speak English.

"I thought it would be wise to meet you before we see each other at Knight International," Sun said. "I have nothing but the greatest respect for Mr. Knight and Mr. Craig. Henry Knight is an old friend while Mr. Craig is new. Still, I think it is good for us to become friends ourselves. In this manner the road of business is smooth."

"I agree fully," David said.

Sun offered David a saucer filled with dried watermelon seeds. "But I must admit that I have what you would probably call ulterior reasons for meeting with you today," Sun continued. "Like many of us in China who read the newspaper or watch television, I'm familiar with the good work you did for our country earlier this year. But we both know that what was in the news was not the full truth of those days. I do hope you'll forgive my immodesty when I say that I've been permitted the great privilege of sitting in on conversations with people very high in our government who are aware of the true nature of your deeds. Our nation has been honored by your work in uncovering corruption in our government as well as in your own."

David was in a country with the world's largest population, and yet he felt as though he had moved to a small town where everyone knew everyone else's business. Before he could say anything, however, Sun went on.

"I too am very concerned about corruption. As Premier Zhu has observed, the collecting of illegal fees sows seething discontent among the people. So, as you might say, you and I are on the same wavelength. I think that two people of such like minds should work together. I would be honored if you would accept me as a client."

"Are you in trouble?" David asked, the litigator in him showing through.

An awkward silence followed, and David felt Miss Quo's disapproving eyes on him. Then Sun laughed heartily and said, "Some people say that bluntness is the worst trait of Americans. In China we would never use words so freely. Well, maybe after you and I had known each other for ten thousand years and had been meeting here every day for ten thousand weeks, perhaps then you would have shown this weakness. But actually this characteristic is what I love about Americans as a people. You speak your mind. It makes you so very transparent, but I must admit it is refreshing."

The remarks were condescending, but Sun's affability took the sting out of them.

"To answer your question," Sun continued, "no, I'm not in trouble. But people have many reasons to need lawyers."

"I'm not an expert on Chinese law," David said. "You'd be better served by a Chinese law firm."

"You see, Miss Quo, there he is showing his open heart to us again," Sun said.

Miss Quo cast her eyes down modestly, pleased that her new boss had fallen into favor with such a powerful man.

"I don't need someone who is familiar with Chinese law," Sun said after a moment. "As your Miss Quo has already explained, I act on behalf of my province and my country when foreign companies come calling. I have actively sought foreign investment in Shanxi. You must understand, until very recently we didn't do much business using contracts. You don't need things like that when the government owns every business, factory, and farm. So in China we've had many problems with outsiders as we negotiate our deals. I think foreigners would be pleased to deal with someone like you who understands their ways. What I'm proposing is that you represent me both as an individual, for I have many investments of my own, and as the representative of Shanxi Province."

"It would be a conflict for me to represent you in any dealings with Tartan," David said.

"Again, that's just one deal. It's my job to bring many foreign companies to Shanxi."

"If I represent you, I'll be privy to many aspects of your business. There may be things you won't want Tartan to know and vice versa."

"Lawyers are supposed to be discreet."

"Discretion isn't the problem," David said. "Many clients simply prefer to know that there'll never be a chance that their affairs will be anything other than completely private, that work product won't somehow get misplaced or misfiled, that no one will be in the office and glance at something they shouldn't see."

"What you're saying, Attorney Stark, is making me nervous about you and Phillips, MacKenzie…"

"We are scrupulous with all work product, but accidents can happen. Not to mention…"

When David hesitated, Sun finished for him. "You're in China and you can't guarantee complete confidentiality anyway."

David turned his palms up and surrendered to that truth, then added, "In addition, what if five years from now there's a disagreement between you and Tartan?"

"There won't be," Sun said.

"But what if there were?" David persisted. "Wouldn't you want to know that your affairs had always been totally secure?"

"We're both working toward the same ends," Sun said. "There are no conflicts and there never will be."

"Still, if there were, I'd have to choose which client I'd represent. I'm afraid it would have to be Tartan."

"Because it's a bigger client than I am."

"And because my firm has represented Tartan longer."

"This is all right with me."

"Then let me call my office and Tartan to see how they feel about it. I'll get back to you as soon as I can with their answers as well as a waiver that you'll need to sign."

Governor Sun stood, signaling the end of the meeting. He shook David's hand, looked deeply into his eyes, and said, "As soon as you get your waiver, I'll send you a report of my various activities." He walked David and Miss Quo to the door. He bowed his head. "If you need anything before I see you later this week, please call my assistant Amy Gao." Then Sun turned his attention to a delegation of businessmen waiting in the foyer.

"There's something quite wonderful about listening to people's troubles, then trying to help them," David said to Hulan that night. "I made a couple of phone calls this afternoon and was able to resolve the problems with the winery. The pig thing will be a little more difficult, but Miss Quo has already drafted a couple of letters to whom she says are the right people. Hopefully we'll be able to have some meetings at the beginning of next week after the signing of the Knight deal and those pig guys can go back to their manufacturing with no more problems."

Hulan thought David still had a lot to learn about the way things worked in China.

He'd saved the news of his meeting with Governor Sun for last. Hulan absorbed the details, listening carefully for the usual Chinese nuances that David might have missed. They both laughed when he told her about the new Beijing-Taiyuan expressway. "How was I supposed to know it existed?" Hulan asked, groaning in mock horror at the needless misery she'd put herself through on those two trains, while at the same time thinking just how far removed Suchee and the others she'd met in Da Shui were from this life-changing news.

They laughed even harder when David got to the part about Sun speaking perfect English. "I should have known better," David said. "I do know better!"

"But?"

"Jet lag?" he tried. And again they laughed. Then he said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For Sun. Landing him as a client is a coup. I know I owe that to you."

"But I didn't do anything."

"He isn't a friend or some part of the Red Prince network?"

"I've never met him. I've seen him, of course. He was at Deng's funeral. He's a powerful man, David. Very important."

"So how did he…"

"As Sun said himself, your reputation precedes you. Besides, Miss Quo has impeccable connections."

David thought for a moment, then asked, "All that pro-democracy, pro-capitalism talk, isn't that dangerous?"

"A year ago, even three months ago I would have said yes. But Deng is dead. Look at who runs the country now. President Jiang Zemin is trying to recast the U.S. as China 's friend, not its enemy. As mayor of Shanghai, Zhu Rongzi brought that city back to world prominence. Now that he's premier, he hopes to do the same for the whole country. I don't know much about Sun, except that he's trying to do for his entire province what Zhu did for Shanghai. It doesn't take a mathematician to add this up. Today Sun is one of one hundred and seventy-five people on the Central Committee. People say he's vying to become one of the seventeen members of the Politburo. From there maybe he'll go onto the five-man Standing Committee. Then again, maybe he can bypass those steps entirely and go straight to the top. In ten, twenty years, he could have it all."

"You like him."

Hulan shrugged. "Again, I don't know him personally, but I like what he says. He'll be a great client for you."

"I don't know," David said. When Hulan looked at him quizzically, he continued, "I don't know much about the way things work here. I don't understand the politics. I go out on the streets and see capitalism. I come home and you tell me about communist party rule. I have trouble meshing those two ideas."

"But you don't have to. Listen to what he said: He wants your help in working with foreigners, because the rituals are different. He said it; you just didn't hear it. In a Chinese deal the negotiations are intricate: will tea be offered, will you accept it, who will sit at what part of the table, who enters the room first. Effusive compliments are exchanged but never accepted. You can never say what you want or what you'll concede. The 'final' contract is never the last version. On the eve of signing or just before a big banquet, there are always 'a few last matters to attend to.' Negotiations can go on for months, sometimes years. This is true in business and personal relationships, but it's absolutely contrary to the American way. When you tell me Sun wants you to help him cut through all that, I like him even more." "But he's a politician, Hulan."

"He's not just any politician. He's a forward thinker. If he needs help, I think you should give it to him. That's what you do best-help people who are on the side of right."

David didn't like the idea of getting involved in politics, but if Hulan thought Sun was a good guy, then what could David do but help him, because as Hulan said, this was what he did best. He tried to explain the heart of it to Hulan.

"I guess it doesn't matter to me if a client is big or not. Like today with those people who were manufacturing clothes out of pigskin. I enjoyed talking to them. It pleased me that with a couple of phone calls I could fix their problem or at least make some headway. But a politician is different. I'm not convinced about how complex his deals are. I worry about integrity. I worry about what I won't understand. I worry about what Sun's real problems are and why he wasn't forthright about them. Because he must have them or else he wouldn't come to me. Still, as a lawyer I can look at his problems and steer him in the right direction, but…" He drew the word out as he thought back. "I remember once seeing a painting of a shipwreck. There was a lighthouse and the beam reflected over the water, but that still hadn't prevented the ship from hitting the rocks. That's how I see what I do, Hulan. There's the sense that you can orient to the light in the darkness and even know the waters, but if a surprise current comes up or a fog descends, then suddenly logic and experience might not be enough to stop disaster from occurring."

On Wednesday they were awakened as usual by the yang ge troupe. This time David said he wanted to go out and see it. They dressed and a few minutes later stepped out into the alleyway. Standing at David's side, Hulan saw the dancers in a new way. How sweet they were in their colorful costumes. How dear to see these old people like Madame Zhang and Madame Ri with their smiling faces and delicate movements. Even the music that had sounded so loud and inharmonic to her ears now sounded festive and gay. And at her side was David. He was dressed casually in khakis, a button-down shirt open at the neck, and loafers. His body was loose and relaxed as he leaned lackadaisically with one shoulder against the wall of the Liu family compound. Hulan edged closer to him, and he draped his arm easily over her shoulder. She felt cautiously happy.

Still, David was a foreigner and Hulan's neighbors had been aware of his presence since the night he had arrived in the hutong. So, when Neighborhood Committee Director Zhang came knocking at the door an hour after the troupe dispersed, Hulan was ready for her. She escorted Madame Zhang out to the garden, where David was on the phone speaking to Miles Stout about Governor Sun and explaining all the conflict issues. David looked up, said into the phone, "Miles, I have to go, but if you get a waiver from Tartan, fax it to me as soon as possible. I'd like to represent Sun if we can." Then he hung up, stood, and took Madame Zhang's knobby hand in his for a light handshake.

Madame Zhang took an appreciatively noisy sip of chrysanthemum tea, then said in Chinese, "The foreigner has come again. I see he has been here for five days already." "Yes, auntie," Hulan agreed. "I suspect that he has plans to stay longer." "I hope so," Hulan said.

"You have not come to me for a marriage permit." Hulan glanced over to David, who was trying to look interested, but was totally unaware of the meaning of the conversation. "There is no plan for marriage."

"This man is the father of your baby," Madame Zhang stated. "You know that to be true."

Madame Zhang grunted. She shifted her frame in her chair to stare at David directly. She leaned forward and said to him as if in confidence, "One drop of piss can ruin the well for everyone. The people of our neighborhood would not like to see this happen. Our citizens are good people. We don't want trouble with the higher-ups."

David smiled and asked Hulan what the Neighborhood Committee director had said.

"On behalf of all our neighbors, she welcomes you to the hutong. She says that America is an inspiring country, and she looks forward to many interesting conversations with you in the future."

"Xie-xie," David said to the older woman. Then he addressed Hulan, "Please tell Madame Zhang that I'm very happy to call this place my home."

Hulan translated this as "Attorney Stark says that he is happy to visit China again, and he will do his best to obey all rules of the neighborhood and the country."

Madame Zhang snorted, then roughly cleared her throat. "Well then," she said again to David. "I expect to have a request for a marriage certificate very soon, as it is not a custom in our country for this certificate to come after the one for a baby."

Again Hulan translated: "Our Committee director says that when good things come, they come in a pair. She is gladdened that you have come and that we are together."

David reached over and took the startled older woman's hand. "I will do everything I can to make Hulan happy."

Madame Zhang pulled her scrabbly hand out of the foreigner's grasp and hastily stood. "We make allowances for you, Liu Hulan, but please remember to be careful." Then she bowed to David and hurriedly left the compound muttering to herself about the curious ways of waiguo ren.

Hulan might have been able to camouflage Madame Zhang's disapproval, but she had a far more difficult time when she and David met Vice Minister Zai later at a restaurant for dim sum. Vice Minister Zai spoke English. He was a shrewd man and a survivor of many political upheavals. Once the assortment of little dishes and miniature steamers were set on the table, he said to Hulan, "Your mother was well enough to speak with me on the phone yesterday."

These words hit Hulan deeply. She hadn't forgotten Jinli-she'd spoken to her mother's nurse every day since they'd gone to Beidaihe-but she'd selfishly guarded her happiness and her privacy with David.

"I think the sea air agrees with Mama," Hulan said. "I'm happy she's where she can enjoy the cool ocean breezes."

"She was away from you for many years…"

"I know this, uncle."

Hulan always used the honorific when she wanted to imply a closer relationship. In truth, theirs was much closer than even uncle and niece. With her own father there had always been layer upon layer of hidden meaning, but with Zai, Hulan knew that his hidden meanings-even when they preyed upon her filial duties and underlying guilt-were always in her best interests.

"Then she will be returning to Beijing soon?"

"After David and I return from the countryside."

David put down his chopsticks and smiled. "I didn't know you were coming with me."

"I asked Miss Quo to buy tickets for both of us."

"She didn't tell me," David said.

"You didn't ask."

In the excitement of the last few days, David and Hulan hadn't talked about her visit to the countryside, nor had she seen Vice Minister Zai to tell him about it. Now Hulan quickly recounted her trip and what she'd seen-the mysterious floor plans and other records Suchee had shown her, the incongruity of the death scene, the bizarre encounter she'd had in the village cafe, the official visit to the factory during which she'd seen little, and finally her decision that the only way to know what was going on there was to get inside.

"There's something strange about that place," she said. "Otherwise they would have let me see the whole facility."

"But whatever is happening there surely has nothing to do with the suicide of your daughter's friend," Zai said.

"Not to mention that Knight is important to me right now," David added. "The sale's my main reason for being in Beijing."

"I thought I was your reason for being here," Hulan said.

"You know what I mean, Hulan."

Vice Minister Zai held up his hands to silence the two of them. "There's no need to disagree, because Hulan has no reason to go out to the countryside at all." He turned to Hulan. "You have a job here in the city. I gave you a few personal days off to visit your friend, which you did. Now, although you have returned to the capital, you have not come back to work."

"David needs my help getting settled in."

"He has Miss Quo for that." Zai paused, then said, "When I was a boy, we had a saying about women. Never come out the front gate, or walk across the second gate. Do you know what that means? In a compound like your family's, women not only didn't go out into the street, but most were not expected to go into the far courtyards. But you were not born in feudal times, Hulan. You don't need to stay at home to be considered a good woman."

Hulan blushed and looked down at her plate.

"I will put this another way," Zai continued. "If you were anyone else, you would have already been reprimanded."

David looked at Hulan, confused. "What's he talking about?"

"Hulan dismissed," Zai explained, "and you expelled from the country."

"I've done nothing wrong," David said.

"Foreigners are not allowed to have affairs with Chinese citizens," Hulan said softly.

"We're not having an affair," David corrected.

Hulan shrugged. "You call it one thing. The government calls it another."

Zai spoke to Hulan in Mandarin: "I protected your father for many years, Hulan. I don't regret that. But you make a mistake if you think my actions aren't being monitored. As for you, I want to remind you of the newspapers. You have money, but that can't always protect you. Again, I refer to what happened to your father."

"Excuse me," David interrupted. "Please speak in English."

But no one translated the last exchange for him.

"I need to get into that factory," Hulan repeated, switching back to English for David's benefit.

"And what of the baby, Hulan?" Zai asked. "If you can't be concerned for yourself, shouldn't you be concerned for its safety?"

With these words the past few weeks rippled through Hulan's mind-the boring cases, the light workload, the protectiveness of Investigator Lo. Zai must have known about the pregnancy all along.

Hulan tried a different tack. "A minute ago you were chiding me for being old-fashioned. Now you're telling me I can't do something because I'm pregnant."

"These are two different things," he said. "Am I not right, David?"

As an American, David was having trouble with this conversation. It was too personal to be having with his girlfriend's boss. Besides, what Zai said went to deep questions about the roles of men and women, of fathers and mothers, to which David wasn't sure he knew the answers. But David was a lawyer and knew how to move a conversation in another direction if he had to.

"If you're so worried about corruption," David said to Hulan, "you don't need to go out to the countryside to find it. In a few days here in Beijing I've seen several instances of corruption involving foreigners: those office buildings, the fees for hooking up phones, what you told me about the salaries for translators-"

"Everything you've seen is perfectly legal," Hulan interrupted impatiently. "Foreigners have more money than the Chinese people. They should pay more."

"A hundred grand for a secretary?"

"Could your secretary in Los Angeles set you up with new clients? Could she introduce you to the most important people in the city? How do you think you got your new legal matters so quickly?"

Again Zai attempted to act as peacemaker. "What David says is true. You don't need to go to the countryside to find corruption. You can find it right here in Beijing."

"I don't like to hear you say those words," she said.

"And I don't like the idea of you, my true heart daughter, going into that place."

"Uncle, you trained me. You taught me how to look. There is something going on in that factory. I feel it."

"If there is, then leave it to the local police," Zai said.

"And what if they're involved?"

When Zai jutted his chin, dismissing the accusation, Hulan felt David's hand cover hers.

"I don't like it," David said to Zai. "You don't like it. But can we stop her? Let her come down with me. She might not even be able to get into the factory. Then this whole thing will be over."

"And if I don't agree?" Zai asked.

"She'll probably do it anyway." David turned to Hulan. "I'm telling you, nothing's going on at Knight. I've seen the records. But if you want to spend a day in the factory, if that will put your mind at ease, then fine. Do it. But then let's not hear about it ever again."

"One day in the factory. No more," Zai conceded. "And I have one other condition. Investigator Lo accompanies you to the countryside. He can act as David's driver if you choose, but I want someone nearby who can look out for you if things go bad."

"They won't," David said. "She'll be perfectly safe, because the factory is perfectly safe. At the end of the day she'll come out of there tired, and that will be the end of it."

"She needs to be back in the office on Monday," Zai insisted, continuing the negotiation. "No more days off until the baby comes."

"Agreed," David said.

The men, having reached an understanding, looked at Hulan for her approval. But in listening to them debate what she could and could not do, Hulan had the strangest sensation of her life options drifting out of her control. She weighed what David had said. She trusted his judgment, but what if he was wrong and something criminal was going on at Knight? What if he was reading this with the same eyes that told him that his own reputation had brought in his first round of clients and not Miss Quo's connections?

There were deeper issues too. She didn't like to show her emotions either in public or private. Yet when David said he'd come here for work and not for her, she'd immediately revealed her hurt. When David made the comment about corruption in Beijing, she'd reacted by criticizing the U.S. Two hours ago she'd seen happiness before her; now she felt trapped. But had these feelings come from the realities of the conversation, from her own fluctuating hormones, or from a deeper belief that she didn't deserve happiness?

Finally, if something illegal was going on at Knight and it was somehow connected to Miaoshan's suicide, then going into the factory could put her and her child in danger. Why hadn't she thought of that? Why hadn't she thought of that all the way down the line-when she'd gone out on those easy cases in Beijing, when she'd hopped the train to go out to Da Shui, when she'd traipsed through the fields to see Tsai Bing, when she'd entered that strange cafe, when she'd visited the local police, or when she'd questioned Sandy Newheart and Aaron Rodgers?

Hulan raised her eyes to meet Zai's. "One week," she said, "and I will go back to my place." Those words could have many meanings, and she wasn't sure she understood any of them.

HULAN HAD FORGOTTEN HOW EASY IT WAS TO TRAVEL with a foreigner. By paying almost double what a typical Chinese national would pay, Miss Quo picked up two round-trip airline tickets from a travel agency. David gave instructions for Investigator Lo to fly down tomorrow, rent a car, and meet him at the Shanxi Grand Hotel. Hulan packed clothes that would be appropriate for any official meetings that might come up, as well as some old work clothes she found in the back of her closet.

An hour and twenty minutes after takeoff, they arrived in Taiyuan. A half hour after that they registered in the hotel. Upon check-in David was handed several envelopes. In their room, while Hulan unpacked, David read the faxes. Most were inconsequential, but two were important. One was from Miles, saying that Tartan saw no problems with David representing Governor Sun. In fact, it might prove useful. The second was the promised waiver from Tartan. The last was from Rob Butler; no new leads had turned up in the Rising Phoenix investigation. David wrote a couple of letters himself, and on their way through the lobby he handed them to the concierge to be faxed ASAP.

They ate in the hotel dining room, where they ordered the specialties of the region-thick tounao soup, steamed pork with pickled greens, and a plate of flavorful noodles. Hulan drank tea, while David sipped fen jiu, a strong wine from vineyards located to the north of the city. After dinner Hulan packed a separate bag with simple clothes, kissed David good-bye, promised that she would be back the next night, and left. She took the local bus back out to the crossroads near Da Shui Village and walked the final few li to Suchee's home.

The following morning, as David was taking a hot shower, Hulan washed her face with cold water. While David shaved, Hulan took a pair of Suchee's blunt scissors and cut her hair until the edges were uneven. While he put on a lightweight suit, Hulan slipped on some loose gray pants that came mid-calf and a short-sleeve white blouse, both of which were soft and thin from years of wear and many washings. (As the saying went: New for three years, old for three years, mending and fixing for another three years. These clothes fit the last category.) Then, while David perused the many dishes adorning the hotel's elaborate breakfast buffet, Hulan joined Suchee for a simple breakfast of a green onion pulled fresh from the earth tucked into a bun. At about the time that David opened his laptop to check his e-mail, Hulan took one last look at herself in Suchee's hand mirror and then set out across the fields.

By seven, when Hulan arrived at the Silk Thread Cafe, the old-timers had already taken their places for the day and were sucking at cups of tea, picking their teeth with toothpicks, and smoking cigarettes. The man who'd so brazenly spoken to Hulan during her last visit called out, "Good morning! You have come to see us again. Perhaps you have reconsidered our offer!"

Hulan kept her eyes lowered. She spoke softly, humbly. "I have."

The man pulled himself out of his chair and crossed to Hulan. "Where have you been all this time?"

"I went to Beijing. People in my village say it's easy to go there and find work, but no one would hire me." Hulan's voice filled with anxiety. "They are not nice to country bumpkins like me."

"Like you? Like me, too!" The man signaled the waitress to bring tea, then said, "Sit down. I can help you."

The waitress brought the tea, poured it, and left without a word. Hulan's fingers shyly edged across the tabletop to her cup. The man said, "Take the tea. It will relax you and we can talk." As Hulan sipped, she kept her eyes focused on the greasy tabletop. The whole time she could feel the man appraising her. "Do you still have the papers I gave you?" he asked at last.

Hulan nodded and gave them back already filled out. She'd tried to answer each question as simply as possible, knowing that the closer to the truth her lies were, the easier they would be to remember.

"Liu Hulan," the man read aloud, glancing up at her. "A good, common name for women your age. There are probably some other Liu Hulans at the factory. You might enjoy meeting them. Your birthplace? Umm…" He crossed out what Hulan had written, then wrote in new characters. "We'll say Da Shui Village. It's less complicated that way. Now, what are your special skills?"

"Until my husband died, I worked in our fields. I can also cook, sew, clean, wash…"

The man shook his head impatiently. "They will teach you everything you need to know. Any illnesses?"

"No."

"Good," the man said. "Now sign here." When Hulan faltered, he said, "What is it?"

"How much will I earn?"

"Ah," he said, drawing out the syllable and assessing her again. "You are a thinking woman. Impudent but thinking."

Hulan stared at the man noncommittally.

"The contract is for three years," he said. "As I told you before, the factory will pay you five hundred yuan a month, plus room and board. You will have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. You may leave the compound during those times, but since you don't live in a neighboring village, you will be allowed to stay in the dormitory for a small fee. You won't be lonesome, because most of the women who work there are from far away."

Hulan picked up the pen and signed.

The man's solicitous attitude instantly evaporated. "The bus comes at eight o'clock. It will stop right outside the village. Please wait there." With that he scooped up her contract and walked away.

Hulan raised her eyes and saw the man hunker back down into his group. She picked up her satchel, left the village, and went to stand on the dusty patch of land that passed for Da Shui's parking lot. At quarter to eight two other women arrived. Hulan ascertained that one of them, Jingren, about eighteen, had-like Hulan's cover story-retraced her steps to this town after failing to find work in Beijing. The other, Mayli, was about fifteen. She'd come here from Sichuan Province after some labor scouts had come to her village promising work in either Guangdong Province or Shanxi Province, even though she was below legal hirable age. The salaries were the same, Mayli explained, but if she came here, she was only a six-day bus ride from her village. "And no other women came with you?"

"Oh, there were many girls from my village who got on the buses. Have you been on a bus before?" When Hulan said she hadn't, Mayli said, "Everyone has her own meals packed. This is okay on the first day, but on the second day, with the smells and the winding road, many people were getting sick. For me it was very bad. The other girls are complaining, because I am so sick. Finally the bus driver can't stand it anymore. He leaves me in another village. I am there for five days. Can you believe it? But I had signed my contract, and the bus had to come back for me. I got here last night." She gestured back toward the village. "They found me a place to sleep. They said they usually send new girls to the factory on Sunday nights, so they can get processed first thing in the morning and work a full week. But they also have a bus that comes every day to nearby villages to pick up stragglers." Mayli looked at Hulan and Jingren. "What does that mean, to be processed?"

Before either woman could answer, the bus rounded the corner. It was neither a city nor a provincial bus, for it was far older than even those that usually plied country roads. The bus stopped and the door wheezed open. The three women picked up their parcels and climbed aboard. About a dozen women were already on the bus. Most of them had spread out their possessions so that no one would sit next to them. The driver ground the gears and began to pull away even before the three newcomers had found seats. Then someone at the back of the bus shouted, "Wait! Someone's coming!" The driver stopped, threw open the door, and Tang Siang, her hair a windblown mess, hopped up the steps. "I don't wait for people," the driver said. "Next time I will keep driving."

"It won't happen again," Siang called out over her shoulder as she came down the aisle, trailing her belongings behind her. She plopped down in a seat across from Hulan. After she'd arranged her gear, she looked across the aisle at Hulan, trying to place her. "I know you." "I am the friend of Ling Suchee." "Yes, I remember now, but you look different." Hulan ignored the remark, introduced her to Mayli and Jingren, then said, "I'm surprised to see you here."

Tang Siang ran her fingers through her hair. "It will surprise everyone, I think."

"Did you run away from home?" Mayli asked. "Something like that, yes." Looking at the expectant faces, Siang said, "My father is a strong man. I can even say he is a wealthy man in our village, but he is old-fashioned. He thinks he can tell me what to do, but I don't have to do it."

"What about Tsai Bing?" Hulan asked.

When Siang didn't answer, Mayli, her voice filled with girlish excitement, asked a series of questions. "Do you have a boyfriend? Are you betrothed? Is it for love or is it arranged?"

Listening to the three young women, Hulan thought back to her own girlhood-first on the Red Soil Farm, then later as a foreign student at the boarding school in Connecticut. She remembered her own naive dreams of how her life would be and realized that those dreams weren't much different on either continent, nor had they been truly changed by time or culture.

"I am not engaged," Siang said. "Not yet anyway." "Your father doesn't approve," Mayli said sympathetically. "Men want a lot of things," Siang said, trying to sound worldly. "But that doesn't mean I have to give it to them."

Hulan wondered if Siang was talking about her father or Tsai Bing. "So, did you run away?" Mayli repeated.

Siang tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. "Last night I went to the cafe. I said I wanted a job. But those men are cowards. They said they couldn't hire me. They said they would tell my father. You want to know what I said?"

Mayli and Jingren nodded.

"I said they would have far more trouble if they didn't hire me. So they let me sign the paper. Then this morning when my father went out to walk his land, I packed my things and came running."

"Won't your father come after you?" Mayli asked.

"My father will not interfere with the foreigners' business. That is one reason I know my plan will work."

Siang had left out some crucial details, but the two other girls didn't seem to mind.

Hulan, who'd listened quietly to their prattling, trying to parse truth from fiction, now went back to a conversation that had started on the dusty street outside the village. "Mayli, when the scouts said you could go to Guangdong or come here, did they say what the difference was in the kinds of work you'd be doing?"

Mayli frowned. "Work is work. What does it matter?"

The other girls agreed. "At least it isn't the fields," Jingren said. "I saw my mother and father die in those fields. Now I'm alone. Maybe now I can earn enough money to go back to my home village and start a business."

Mayli smiled. "My dream is to open a little shop, maybe for clothes."

"I was thinking maybe I'd open a place for hair cutting," Jingren said. "What about you, Siang?"

"My future is beautiful, that I can tell you."

The bus stopped at the big gates to the Knight compound. The driver handed down a clipboard, which the guard checked before stepping back into his kiosk. The gate lifted and the bus drove inside. Now everyone on the bus was silent as they took in the new sights. For Hulan, however, nothing seemed different from when she'd visited before.

As soon as the bus stopped, everyone stood up and started to gather together their belongings until the driver called out, "Stay seated." He left the bus, disappeared into a building marked PROCESSING, and came back five minutes later with a woman dressed in a powder blue gabardine suit, white blouse, nude knee-highs, and black pumps. Her hair was cut in a bob, making her look as familiar as an auntie.

Taking a place at the front of the bus, she said, "Welcome to your new home. I am Party Secretary Leung. I am here to serve the needs of the workers. If you have problems, you come to me." The party secretary motioned to the building to her right. "Your first stop today is the Processing Center. You may now stand and follow me. Talking is not necessary."

The women on the bus did as they were told. Once inside, other uniformed women guided the new arrivals into two lines. From here Hulan and her companions went through a dizzying round of paperwork. Then they were gathered into another large room and ordered to strip down to their underwear. A nurse did a cursory inspection of all the women, inquiring about rashes, checking eyes and throats, asking about infectious diseases. But all this was perfunctory. There were no reproductive questions, and Hulan didn't volunteer any information about her pregnancy. Even naked she looked almost as thin as the others.

Next they were herded into an auditorium of sorts-a great hangar of a building where the air temperature hovered at about forty degrees centigrade. There were enough benches to seat perhaps a thousand people, but today the handful of new arrivals dotted only the first couple of rows. As soon as the last woman had taken a seat, the lights dimmed and a video about the facility began to play. Narrated by Party Secretary Leung, the video tour was far more complete than what Sandy Newheart had shown Hulan on her previous visit. The dormitories looked clean if utilitarian. This was followed by quick shots of the clinic (with the voice-over explaining that the one-child policy was strictly enforced at this facility), the cafeteria (where smiling women lined up to receive trays of steaming food), the company store (where workers could buy snacks, feminine hygiene products, and Sam amp; His Friends dolls for friends and family at deep discounts), and the assembly room (which looked no different from what Hulan had seen on her tour).

When the lights came back on, Madame Leung went to stand at a podium. Speaking rapidly, she described the routine-lights on at 6:00, breakfast at 6:30, at your station not one minute later than 7:00, fifteen-minute break at 10:00, a half-hour lunch at 1:00 P.M. At 7:00 the workers were dismissed from their stations. At 7:30 dinner was served. Lights-out occurred promptly at 10:00. "If all the workers meet their quotas," she said, "you can expect to be rewarded with the occasional xiuxi." Looking around her, Hulan saw the shock on the other women's faces. Xiuxi, late-afternoon naptime, was considered customary throughout the country. "Yes, I know it sounds harsh," Madame Leung acknowledged. "But this is an American company. These foreigners have different ideas about workdays and workers' rights. They expect you to be on time. They do not want to see you eating, spitting, or sleeping at your workplace. Again, I must emphasize, no sleeping on the factory floor, on the cafeteria benches, or anywhere on the grounds outside."

Hulan had spent her teenage and young adult years in the United States, and when she returned to China as an adult she'd been amazed at her countrymen's ability to sleep anywhere, at any time: at cosmetics counters in department stores, slumped on stools in the vegetable market, or even on the floor in the post office. Workers-usually managers-who'd been assigned individual offices were often given a cot as a perk. Even at the MPS many of Hulan's coworkers had cots in their offices.

"Most important," Madame Leung continued, "no men are allowed in the dormitory-ever. This means that all repairs and clean-up are done by us. The Party worked hard to achieve this so that the women who work here will be safe not only from the foreigners but from our own countrymen who would question our virtue."

Hulan felt the relief in the room. How many of these women had fled abusive fathers or unwanted marriages? And with the one-child policy, which had resulted in millions of abortions of female fetuses, women, for the first time in the history of the country, were a valued commodity. If what the party secretary said was true, then these women-some still teenagers-would no longer be at the mercy of bandits or other rogue groups who swept through remote villages kidnapping women to sell into marriages in distant provinces.

"Punishment for infractions is automatic and severe," Madame Leung went on. "For every missed minute of evening curfew, an extra hour of work will be added to your day. This means if you are not in your dormitory room precisely at ten, the next day you will work until eight. This means you will miss dinner."

Madame Leung held up a hand to silence the murmurs of dissatisfaction. "This is how things are done in America, so this is how things will be done at your new home," she said sternly. Her hands clasped the podium as she waited for full silence. "Let me continue. If you miss one day of work, you will lose three yuan from your salary'of two hundred yuan. If you miss three days of work in a row, you will be fired."

Again the women muttered among themselves. "I thought the salary was five hundred yuan a month," a voice called out.

Madame Leung's disapproving eyes scanned the room. "Who asks this question?" When no one answered, she said, "One day, after you complete your full training, you will be promoted. Until then all of you will be paid two hundred yuan a month." She surveyed the room, daring the women to complain. None did. "In a moment you will begin your education, but before you go I want to remind you that I am your government liaison. Please, if you have any problems, come to me. You will always find a receptive ear."

Twenty minutes later, Hulan found herself in yet another vast room, which had the capacity to seat a hundred or more at long tables. But since this was the middle of the week, the instructor explained, there would be only these few women for training. During the rest of the afternoon Hulan moved from one station to the next, getting timed on how quickly she could run fabric through a sewing machine, clip on button eyes, attach the extra gizmos to the cardboard packaging. She thought she was getting quite adept at installing the box that contained the software, until she saw that the others in her group were faster. She kept sneezing when filling the body with its polyester-fiber stuffing and saw the supervisor put a red mark next to her name for that activity. Her next chore was to punch hair into the heads of the dolls. This involved using a tool to run clumps of plastic hair through tiny pre-made holes, then tying off the strands along the interior of the skulls. At each stop the supervisor made a note of Hulan's progress on her clipboard.

Hulan then moved on to a stamping machine. Unused to working with her hands, she was slow at this job, which required quickly moving the doll's plastic face into position so that special attaching holes could be punched through. Within a minute the cutters came down and slashed through the flesh between Hulan's thumb and forefinger on her left hand. Madame Leung shut down the machine and hustled Hulan to the clinic. The nurse pulled out a needle and thread, then, without the aid of either anesthetic or disinfectant, stitched the wound closed. The nurse wrapped gauze around Hulan's hand, tied two torn strips together, told her that the injury was neither significant nor permanent, then said, "You may go back to work." Madame Leung nodded and escorted Hulan back to the training room. The bandage and the pain exacerbated Hulan's clumsiness, but she found that although she was still not as swift as the others, she could still do the work. More red marks, however, were made next to her name.

At 6:30 they were shown into the deserted cafeteria and given bowls of rice with stir-fried vegetables on top. At seven they heard a siren. Madame Leung reappeared, ushered them into an adjoining room, and told them they could rest for fifteen minutes. Just as Hulan heard the cafeteria filling with the regular workers, Madame Leung returned, opened a door to the outside, and led them through the late afternoon sunshine to the Assembly Building. Jimmy, the Australian, was not at his post in the lobby, so Madame Leung reached under the desk and pressed the button to release the lock on the door.

On the other side was the small foyer that Hulan had passed through on her tour. Madame Leung opened one of the doors that led from it, and the women followed her down a hallway, turned right, left, right again, then two lefts. In each corridor they passed more closed doors. Hulan had no idea where she was in relation to the final assembly room she'd been in before, let alone the main courtyard from which she'd come. At last they stepped into a huge room that logic said must be on the other side of the wall from the final assembly area.

The room was divided into two open areas. The first and largest held the cutting tables and sewing machines. The second area was dominated by gigantic machines, some of which measured eight feet high and twenty feet long. Madame Leung explained their various purposes: "molders" for making the plastic body parts, "flockers" to create the hair, and another machine with knife-like claws that grabbed compacted bricks of polyester fiber, drew it along a conveyor belt and shredded it into fluffy stuffing, which emerged out the other end of the machine to be packed loosely into burlap sacks. As she followed behind Madame Leung, Hulan could still feel waves of heat coming off the machines. The temperature, even this late in the day, was as hot as anything Hulan had ever felt. Fine beads of sweat broke out on Mayli's forehead, and Siang whispered, "We are standing in an oven. In an hour we will be as cooked as a piece of pottery."

"This is where you will begin work tomorrow," Madame Leung said. "You will be assigned a station and a guide. She will teach you how to work your machine. Once you have mastered the work in this room, you will be promoted to other jobs. Some of you might even make it into what the foreigners call the heart. This is a place with air conditioning. This is a special American invention that makes the air feel as cool as ice even in the hottest month. Many of you have come here with big dreams. I am here to tell you that they can come true. I can promise you this, because once I too was like you. I came from a village far away. I started in this room. I earned only two hundred yuan, but I kept working because I had my dreams."

Madame Leung paused, looked around at the newcomers, and smiled. Everyone in the room could see that the party secretary's dreams had come true by her nice suit, her nice haircut, and her nice figure that was neither too thin nor too fat. "In a moment you will go to your dormitory. If you think you will be unhappy here, this is the time to say so. You have all signed a three-year contract. Tonight-and only tonight- we are willing to let you walk away from your obligation. Tomorrow you will be fully committed, and there will be no crying, no changing your mind, no saying this isn't the way to your dreams."

For the second time that day Madame Leung inspected the group, looking for any signs of weakness. Again there were none.

"Our countrymen know hard work," Madame Leung said. "We are proud of what we can do. Through our American friends we can reap the rewards." She straightened her shoulders, then said, "Good night. Sleep well, for tomorrow you start your new life."

The dormitory rooms were hot, stuffy, and humid. Three smells hung in the air-women, overflowing (or unflushed) toilets, and scented toiletries. The women who'd accompanied Hulan thus far now separated and went looking for beds. Each room had four bunks, each with three beds apiece. Underneath the bottom beds were stashed the belongings of all the women in the room. A single bare lightbulb hung from the center of the ceiling. Most of the rooms were fully occupied, and since the other women had set out before Hulan, the few bunks that were available were quickly taken. Hulan was about to enter one room when she saw Jingren coming out.

"You don't want to go in there," Jingren said. "The only free bed belonged to a dead girl."

If the dead girl was who Hulan thought it was, then this was exactly where she wanted to be. She entered the room and asked which bed was open. One of the women pointed at a middle bunk. "But if you sleep there, a ghost spirit will visit you."

"I don't believe in ghosts," Hulan said.

A couple of the women laughed. "You say that now," a girl of about fourteen said. "Tomorrow morning you will move out like the other women who have tried to sleep here." She feigned a frightened voice and twisted her face into a humorous crinkled mask. "She was sitting on my chest all night! She was howling! She was nibbling at my ears!" Her voice shifted again. "Sleep here if you want, but tomorrow you will be gone."

Hulan threw her satchel on the bed and slid into the space. She couldn't fully extend her arm when lying down, and there certainly wasn't room to sit up. Poorly written Chinese characters had been scribbled on the wall with pen and pencil: "Protect me," "Home," "Work is reward." Had Miaoshan written these words and phrases, or were they the work of the women who had come before and after her death?

Hulan stretched out. The sheets were unwashed and they smelled.

"Excuse me," she said. "Where do I get fresh linens?"

The other women looked at her as if she were crazy.

The girl who'd spoken before said, "Same bed. Same sheets. Don't worry about it. You'll get used to it, if you can last the night." Her forehead wrinkled again and she giggled.

"I am Hulan."

"People call me Peanut," the girl said. "They call me that because I am small like a peanut." She was small, but Hulan thought it was the girl's peanut shape combined with her goofy facial expression that had earned her the nickname. "You'd better hurry. Lights go off in twenty minutes. If you want to use the bathroom, you should go now. It's down the hall on the left. You won't miss it."

Hulan followed the directions, passing room upon room of women and girls-some barely teenagers. By and large there was little conversation. Chinese people had always lived in crowded conditions. With so many generations living in a few rooms, Hulan's compatriots had learned how to be alone in a crowded space. Most of the women were already in their beds, their backs turned to the doors, trying to sleep or already asleep. Others lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling or the bunk above them. A few sat on the concrete floor talking, while others changed from their pink uniforms into extra-large T-shirts for sleeping. She passed one room where a girl no more than twelve sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor crying. She was obviously too young to be away from home, and yet Hulan had also been on her own in this very county at that age.

Peanut had been right about finding the bathroom. The smell led Hulan straight to it and she was shocked by what she saw. This was an American company, so she'd expected to find American-style facilities. Instead this was almost as bad as a public latrine. There were stalls but no doors. There were toilets but no seats, and the floor was slippery and wet. The big vats of water that lined the opposite wall told Hulan that this place had no running water. Hulan dipped a pail into the water and went to a toilet. Looking around, Hulan asked a woman where the toilet paper was stored. "In the company store," the woman responded gruffly, turning her head away. "You can buy it tomorrow before breakfast or during lunch." Without looking Hulan's way, she tore some paper off her roll and said, "Here, you can have this."

When Hulan was done, she poured the water into the back of the tank, flushed, and took the empty pail back to the water vats. She then went to the sink-a long trough with several spigots but again no running water.

"We have water for one hour in the morning and from eight to nine in the evening," the woman said.

"Is the water safe for drinking?"

"Even in my home village we boiled our drinking water, but the Americans won't let us have braziers or any other cooking utensils." Then she added dryly, "You can buy bottled water in the store tomorrow.

When Hulan got back to her room, she slipped off her shoes, lay down on the bed, and waited. At five minutes to ten she got up again. Just as she was about to leave, Peanut whispered, "You have to stay here.

Lights out in a few minutes. You can't get caught outside the room."

Hulan put a hand on her stomach. "I think the bus made me sick. I have to use the toilet again."

"Just come back as soon as you can."

Hulan threaded her way not toward the bathroom but toward the exit. A few feet before she reached it, the lights went out and the hall was pitched into utter blackness. Hulan groped her way forward, found the door handle, and pushed her way outside. The moon glowed through the thick, humid air. She edged around the side of the building, pulled out her phone, dialed the number for the Shanxi Grand Hotel, and asked for David's room.

"Hello?" His greeting sounded worried.

"I'm okay," she reassured him.

"Where are you? You said you'd be back here for dinner."

"I couldn't get away. This place… It's worse than I thought." She flexed her wounded hand and winced at the pain.

"I'll have Investigator Lo come and get you."

"No!" Hulan glanced around but still didn't see anyone. She lowered her voice. "I can't leave now. They have us locked in the compound."

"I don't like this. I know I sound like some dumb male, and I'll admit it, maybe that's part of it. But Jesus, I wish you weren't in there."

She cut him off. "Have you met the Knights yet? What are they like?"

He sighed. "They didn't show. They had bad weather in Tokyo. A typhoon, I think. Anyway, we'll have to try and cram everything in tomorrow."

"Then how did you spend your day?"

"I came back to the hotel and went for a run down along that creek they call a river. The rest of the day I was either on the phone or on the Internet. What else? Governor Sun just sent over a carton of papers, along with his signed waiver."

"So what are they?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "Financials of some sort. I'll look more closely before I meet with him." He hesitated. "But you know we shouldn't talk about them anyway. He's a client."

He was right, but Hulan wasn't so sure she liked it. Still, he had his professional ethics and she had hers, which made answering his next question much easier.

"Hulan, how do you think it will look if you're caught in there?"

"It's going to be bad if I find something."

"But you're not going to find anything."

"We've already covered this," Hulan sighed. "This place isn't what you think."

"You promised Zai and me-"

"I know."

"I'll be at the factory tomorrow at ten. I don't want to see you there."

"You won't," she said.

They exchanged good nights. Hulan punched the OFF button, put the phone back in her pocket, and went around to the entrance to the dormitory. She opened the door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the inky blackness. Suddenly a light flicked on.

"What are you doing out here?" Madame Leung asked.

Hulan looked down at the floor and didn't answer.

"You know the rules."

"I'm new, Party Secretary," Hulan said tremulously. "I got lost."

"Your name?"

"Liu Hulan, and I promise it won't happen again."

Hulan felt Madame Leung's eyes appraising her.

"Are you the one who was asking those questions today?"

"No, Party Secretary."

Looking at the ground, Hulan could see Madame Leung's foot slowly tap on the concrete floor.

"I will look the other way this one time," the party secretary said at last. "There will be no penalty."

"Thank you."

"You may go back to your room. I'll turn on all the lights so everyone will see you. If they ever see someone up and out again, they will know whom to report. Do you understand?" "Yes, Party Secretary."

Madame Leung reached up and threw a series of switches. Without looking up, Hulan scurried past the party secretary. Hurrying back to her room, she felt the eyes of hundreds of women upon her. Moments after she settled onto her bunk, the lights were turned off. Hulan held her hand in front of her face and couldn't see it. She lay there for a few minutes, listening to the breathing and occasional shifting of the other women in the room. Her thoughts were on Miaoshan. The mattress was only a few inches deep, but from within it Hulan could smell a distinctive scent that she remembered from America. It was White Shoulders perfume. No wonder the women who slept here talked of ghost spirits. The oppressively sweet odor had always reminded Hulan of death. As Hulan drifted off, she wondered how White Shoulders had found its way into a dormitory room deep in the interior of China.

By quarter to seven the next morning Hulan had already had a cold shower, had dressed in her pink smock, had stopped in the company store to buy toilet paper and bottled water at three times Beijing prices, had slurped down a breakfast of congee with pickled turnip, and had finagled a spot in line with Siang to enter the Assembly Building. At 6:50 a bell rang and the line began to move. Madame Leung and the guard Jimmy stood in the middle of the lobby. If Jimmy recognized Hulan, this would all be over. When she reached him, he stared directly at her, but she was just another woman in a pink smock with a pink bandana covering her black hair. Madame Leung put an arm out to stop the line. She handed Hulan and Siang passes, looked around, spotted Peanut, and said, "Take them to your post and teach them what to do." Peanut nodded, and Hulan thought how strange it was that this place seemed to have so much security and the workers were so much under the control of the managers, and yet actual assignments could be as haphazard as who happened to be standing nearby at the time.

"We'll be watching you today," Madame Leung said. "Remember, if you do well, you'll be promoted. We reward good work. If you cannot do the work, do not despair. There are many jobs here at Knight. We will find something for you."

The line moved forward again. Peanut showed Hulan and Siang how to wave their passes over the bar code reader. Then they entered the door. The women ahead of them automatically divided into two groups, each going down different corridors. Hulan's line snaked left and right through the halls until she felt completely disoriented. Siang must have felt the same way, because she reached out and grabbed a pinch of Hulan's smock. Peanut bounced along rapidly, once turning her head back over her shoulder to say, "Everyone feels lost in here when they start, but you'll get used to it in a few days." They entered the main workroom, the women moving briskly to their positions before the various machines. At 7:00 the machines clamored to life. Within minutes the clatter and clanking of the machines had created a deafening roar.

Fortunately, Hulan and Tang Siang had been assigned to work with Peanut, who, although young, had a cheerful disposition and a great deal of patience. Peanut explained that they had been given the easy job of punching strands of plastic hair into minuscule holes in the heads of the dolls. Hulan remembered this task from the day before and thought that she'd gotten a lucky break. She was mistaken. Yesterday she'd been seated and she hadn't yet hurt her hand. Today she stood before a conveyor that sped up as the morning progressed. What had seemed relatively easy the day before as the trainees had moved from station to station soon became impossibly difficult. As the machines continued to churn, the room's temperature rose until the only respite came in the form of the slight oven-hot breeze that came off the moving parts of the equipment. After three hours Hulan's hands burned with fatigue, her wound throbbed, her fingers were scratched, and her smock was damp with sweat.

Siang's hands, however, moved deftly, competently. After the morning break Aaron Rodgers, who circulated between this room and the final assembly area, stopped to compliment Siang on her abilities. "Thank you very much," she said in heavily accented English.

Aaron's face broke into a smile. He leaned his head toward Siang's and spoke into her ear. With the sound of the machines, Hulan couldn't hear what he said, but she could see Siang blush, return his smile, and reply, "No, I am not a city girl. I am educated here in our local school. My father says English is very important."

Aaron Rodgers agreed, massaged Siang's shoulders for a moment, then turned his attention to Hulan. Again there was absolutely no sign of recognition. Aaron looked right into her face and, keeping a proper distance, spoke Mandarin in a tone loud enough to be just barely heard over the din of the machines. "Your fingers are bleeding. We can't have that on the figures."

"I'm sorry," she responded in Mandarin.

Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of Band-Aids. "Use these. During the break, come to me. I will try to find you another job."

"I'll do better," Hulan vowed.

"We'll see," he said. "For now, just get back to-"

A woman's high-pitched screams cut him off. Instantly a quiet fell just under the continuing drone of the machines as all of the talking among the women came to an abrupt halt. Once the machines were shut down, the woman's screams seemed even louder as they reverberated through the echoing vastness of the room. Aaron took off at a trot; then the others left their posts and began crowding around the injured woman. Hulan edged into the throng, using her elbows to push her way to the front.

A woman sat on the floor before the fiber-shredding machine. Her right hand gripped her left elbow, holding that arm up and away from her body as she tried vainly to stanch the flow of blood. The flesh along her forearm was sliced open, and two of her fingers were gone. Aaron knelt beside her, pulled his shirt off, and wrapped it around the arm. Without any hesitancy he picked her up. The crowd parted to create an aisle. As he walked toward the door, the woman began to struggle. "No! No! No!" Her screams now seemed louder, more terrified than before. Instinctively the other girls stepped back even farther. A few turned their eyes away. A minute later Aaron stepped out of the room, the door shut, and the woman's screams faded. Someone near Hulan muttered, "We won't see Xiao Yang again." Then Madame Leung's voice came over a loudspeaker. "Please return to your places." The girls obeyed. Levers were pulled and buttons pushed. The machines revved back to speed, and the girls went back to their labors. Hulan held her spot just long enough to see the still bloody claws reach out, grab another fiber brick, and draw it into the machine's thrashing maw.