The Five Brothers' Dream

Luo Tingting’s earliest contempt for the Gongbei Border Gate began with the faces behind the windows.
She held a service passport, and by rights, things were far more convenient for her than for ordinary people. Yet each time she led a tour group through the checkpoint and saw the cold faces of the border-defense and quarantine personnel, discomfort still rose in her heart. It was not because she sympathized with those being questioned, but because she felt the place was too provincial, too slow, too lacking in dignity. She wore a carefully chosen suit, carried the reception placard of the travel agency, and behind her followed foreign guests and overseas Chinese. By rights, she ought to pass through in fine style, yet she still had to stand there and wait while people flipped through documents, checked luggage, and asked questions one after another. She hated this sort of waiting most of all. It felt as if someone had pulled her down from a high place back to the ground.
She especially looked down on those who held the red private passports.
Most of them were leaving the country for the first time. Their clothes were not quite appropriate, their luggage was stuffed until it bulged, and their faces carried both excitement and nervousness. Some had brought a few extra packets of medicine. Some had packed rice cookers, canned goods, and local specialties in their suitcases. Once the people behind the windows began to inspect them, they became so anxious that sweat covered their foreheads. Tingting stood nearby, watching them stammer their explanations, and in her heart there was not only no pity, but a cold contempt.
She thought, No wonder they make things difficult for you. Each of you goes out as if fleeing famine. How do you look like people who have seen the world?
But when foreign passports were handed over, things were different.
Blue, black, wine-red passports, their covers stamped with golden letters. The attitude of the people behind the windows softened noticeably. Foreign tourists did not understand Chinese and could only smile and say “Thank you,” yet the checkpoint staff often stamped and released them quickly. Tingting watched this, and in her heart there rose an indescribable envy. She was not indignant on behalf of Chinese people; instead, she became even more firmly convinced that this world recognized passports, foreign exchange, and status. Whatever booklet you held, that was the face others used to look at you.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please follow me.”
She turned around and immediately put on her professional smile, her English crisp and polished. Foreign tourists, hearing her speak, often praised her: “Your English is very good.” Each time she heard this sentence, Tingting felt deeply pleased. She liked foreigners praising her. She liked that they did not look at her as an ordinary Chinese girl. She liked when they asked whether she had been to England, whether she liked Europe. She would deliberately soften her tone a little and say, “I love England. I think London is very elegant.”
In truth, she had never been to England.
But in her mind, there was already an England. There was fog, castles, red telephone booths, men in perfectly pressed suits, afternoon tea, beautiful streets, gentlemen, and nobility. She knew that most of these impressions came from picture albums, films, and the casual talk of foreign guests, yet she still firmly believed that England was more elevated than this place. She liked saying that “English people are more cultivated,” and also liked saying that “Macau still has a little Portuguese flavor after all, and is more comfortable than the mainland.” When others heard this, sometimes they felt uncomfortable in their hearts, but she did not care. She felt that since she had seen foreigners, understood foreign languages, and held a service passport, she naturally had the qualifications to look down upon those rustic people.
The Foreign Reception Department of the Macau China Travel Service was the place of which she was proudest.
Every day she came into contact with foreign guests, overseas Chinese, and Hong Kong and Macau visitors. She entered and left hotels, casinos, restaurants, and duty-free shops. What passed through her hands were US dollars, Hong Kong dollars, and foreign-exchange certificates; what came out of her mouth were English, Cantonese, and Mandarin. She felt she was far more advanced than those little cadres who sat in offices. Others guarded a desk every day; what she saw every day were casino lights, hotel lobbies, crystal chandeliers, the scent of foreign perfume, and tips given by guests.
Tips were what she liked most.
Foreigners had the habit of tipping, especially European and American guests. If they were satisfied, they would take out several bills. Tingting accepted them naturally. Her hand reached out, she smiled, said “Thank you very much,” and her movements were clean and efficient. She did not feel there was anything embarrassing about this; on the contrary, she felt this was an international rule, the value of service. Later, when leading overseas Chinese groups, she would also guide them quietly. Before the itinerary ended, she would smile on the bus and say, “Everyone has worked hard along the way. The driver and the local guide have also worked very hard. Abroad, there is a habit of tipping. You may simply express a little goodwill as you wish.” The words were light, but the meaning was very clear.
She learned the money-making doors of the tourism industry very quickly, and she liked them very much.
The “tea money” that Macau casinos gave to reception parties, the commissions shopping stops gave to tour guides, the kickbacks hidden in performance tickets, the price differences in hotel rooms, the fluctuations in currency exchange, the rebates from coach companies and restaurants—she saw each of them clearly, one by one. At first she pretended not to understand; later she could calculate them skillfully. This tour group had many foreign guests and decent purchasing power. That overseas Chinese group was older and liked buying tonics and jade. Japanese groups obeyed rules and gave stable tips. European and American groups did not necessarily buy things, but were willing to watch shows. Southeast Asian overseas Chinese loved to bargain, yet often bought gifts for relatives.
When she led groups to Macau casinos, she was best at reading people.
Some guests were only there to look around, and she would simply introduce the place. Some guests’ eyes lit up and their steps slowed, and she would know that this person wanted to try his luck. She would smile and say, “Just for fun. Many tourists like to experience it.” The casino reception staff standing nearby would immediately understand. Once a guest exchanged chips, what happened afterward had a connection to her. Whether they won or lost was not her concern. Her skill lay in bringing people in, making them sit down, and making them feel this was a high-class experience.
She did not feel that there was anything bad about casinos.
In her view, coming to Macau without gambling was like going to Beijing without seeing the Forbidden City, or to Guilin without seeing the mountains and waters. If someone lost several thousand US dollars and his face went pale, she would not feel too distressed. She would only think that this person lacked measure. If someone won money and happily gave her a tip, her smile would become especially sweet. She liked the feeling of banknotes being placed inside an envelope; with a light pinch, she knew its thickness. The satisfaction money gave her was more real than a sentence of love.
When leading groups into the mainland, she could see even more clearly the direction in which money flowed.
Canton’s jade, silk, and tea; Guilin’s paintings, calligraphy, and ethnic ornaments; Beijing’s cloisonné, carpets, and Tongrentang medicine; Xi’an’s replicas of the Terracotta Warriors and rubbings from the Forest of Steles—each shopping stop had its own rules. The more guests bought, the more the guide received. On the surface, Tingting spoke of culture; in her heart, she calculated accounts. She could describe a jade bracelet as the warmth and gentleness of Eastern womanhood, a box of ginseng as filial devotion to elders, cloisonné as imperial craftsmanship, and silk as the most precious gift of ancient China. Foreigners did not understand the amount of water inside these words and only found them mysterious. Overseas Chinese understood half of it, but were still willing to pay for nostalgia.
Once, an elderly American woman asked her, “Is it really worth this price?”
Tingting smiled very gently. “Madam, the value of a souvenir is not only the material, but also the memory.”
The old woman was satisfied and bought it on the spot. After seeing the guests off, the store manager quietly gave Tingting a thumbs-up. “Miss Luo, that sentence of yours is worth money.”
Tingting accepted the commission and smiled. “Culture is, of course, worth money.”
When she said this, she did not blush in the slightest.
She liked money, and also liked the sheen money brought. She liked imported perfume, handbags in Macau shops, fashions in Hong Kong magazines, foreign lipstick, and stockings. She looked down on those girls in work units who dressed plainly and spoke rustically, and looked down even more on ordinary cadres who calculated a few yuan of wages back and forth. She often said, “A woman cannot live too shabbily. If she is shabby for too long, even her spirit is gone.” But what she called spirit was often only more expensive clothes, more foreign-style hotels, thicker tips, and a more respectable man.
Lide attracted her precisely because of this.
Lide was not the gentlest man, nor the man best at pleasing women. But he was young, steady, possessed an official bearing, and had quickly been transferred from the court to serve as director of the political-legal office. More importantly, he knew how to move upward, and he was worth her father Luo Yongping’s regard. Tingting had seen too many slippery men in the tourism industry: sweet-mouthed, quick-handed, restless in heart, earning money only to gamble, drink, and seek women. Lide was different. He carried the restraint of a government cadre, and also the steadiness of ambition held down. Tingting could see that such a man would have a position in the future.
Did she love Lide?
Perhaps a little. But she loved even more what Lide represented: official career, respectability, safety, and the light beside power. She knew that Lide had once been close to Zhang Yaoyao, and she also knew that the Zhang family had once been wealthy. But once Zhang Jianqiang fell ill and Shenmoon Appliances Group no longer had its former glory, Tingting laughed coldly in her heart. She felt that Yaoyao was merely a woman still clutching an old ferry ticket after the tide had gone out. What use was beauty? Beauty could not preserve an enterprise, and tears could not buy back a future.
Once, she deliberately mentioned Yaoyao in front of Lide.
“I heard Miss Zhang has been having a very hard time lately?” Tingting’s tone was gentle, but her eyes were bright.
Lide only said, “Her father is seriously ill. There are many matters at home.”
Tingting sighed softly. “She is pitiful too. What a woman fears most is the sudden collapse of her family; there is no one she can rely on steadily.”
Lide did not answer.
Tingting knew then that the sentence had already fallen into him. She did not need to say Yaoyao was bad. It was enough to make Lide feel the two words risk. Men in officialdom fear risk most of all, especially those who have just set out on the road. She understood her father, and she understood Lide. She knew that a man who was rising would, in the end, most likely choose the person who could help him stand steady, not the person he needed to drag along.
Toward her father Luo Yongping, she was by no means entirely obedient.
She knew her father had roots in Southern Yue officialdom, had the layer of relationship with the Ye family, had connections, and had measure. Growing up in such a family, hearing and seeing it all around her, she had long understood that truly useful relationships were not loud chest-beating at the dinner table, but one sentence, one position, one name on a list at a crucial moment. On the surface, she acted spoiled; in her heart, she knew clearly what she could obtain from her father. Her choice of Lide was not only because she liked him, but also because her father approved of him, her father could support him, and Lide also knew how to receive that support.
“Dad, is Ma Lide steady?” she once asked Luo Yongping.
Luo Yongping glanced at her. “Are you asking about work, or about the man?”
Tingting smiled. “Is there a difference?”
Luo Yongping smiled too. “You learn quickly.”
Tingting sat on the sofa and lightly turned the watch on her wrist. “I lead tour groups outside and have seen a lot. Men say feeling with their mouths, but in their hearts they are all doing accounts. Better for everyone to be a little smarter.”
Luo Yongping did not criticize her. He only said slowly, “Being smart is fine. Do not reveal too much.”
Tingting nodded. “I know. If it is too visible, it loses value.”
This was her cleverness, and also her coldness.
When she led groups to Beijing, she stood beneath the red walls of the Forbidden City and spoke to foreigners of emperors, dynasties, family, and state. When she went to Xi’an, she spoke before the Terracotta Warriors of Qin Shi Huang unifying the six states. When she went to Guilin, she spoke on a boat along the Li River of mountains and waters like paintings. She spoke fluently and smiled properly, but in her heart she did not necessarily revere these places. Much of the time, she treated history as tour-guide script, culture as groundwork for selling, and mountains and waters as scenery to raise the tour fee. When guests were moved, she was responsible for smiling. When guests shopped, she was responsible for dividing the accounts. When guests praised China, she was humble on the surface, yet in her heart she thought: what you are praising is the travel itinerary; you do not truly understand this place.
What she liked most remained the things foreign guests brought.
A bottle of French perfume, a British lipstick, an Italian silk scarf, a box of Swiss chocolates—any of these could put her in a very good mood. When foreign guests gave her small gifts, she would treasure them and keep them carefully, as though these things proved she was different from ordinary Chinese women. Sometimes, in her dormitory or at home, she would take them out, arrange them, smell them, look at them, and a vain happiness would rise in her heart.
Her longing for England was not because of freedom, institutions, or cultural depth.
She longed for England because England sounded superior. London, nobility, gentlemen, English, green lawns, passports, elegant life. She imagined that one day she would marry a capable man, or use some road to go out, wear a trench coat on an English street, drink afternoon tea, and let others look at her with envy. She did not want to stand again at the Gongbei Border Gate and see people use different faces toward different passports. She wanted to become the person given priority, wanted the people behind the windows to see her document and immediately soften their attitude.
In the end, this wish was not for dignity, but for superiority.
One night, she led a tour group back from Macau to Zhuhai, just as the port was crowded. A middle-aged mainland woman had brought too much luggage and was stopped by the staff. Her face flushed red with anxiety, and she kept explaining that the things were for relatives. Tingting stood to the side, watching coldly, feeling only annoyance. A British tourist beside her asked, “What happened?”
Tingting said lightly, “She carried too much. Some people don’t understand rules.”
The British tourist nodded and asked no more.
The middle-aged woman suddenly turned back and looked at Tingting, as if she had understood the contempt in her words. In that gaze were shame, anger, and grievance. Tingting looked away. It was not that she did not know she was being harsh; she simply refused to admit it. To admit it would mean facing the fact that she too had come from this same land, that she too passed through checkpoints with Chinese documents, and that she too had once stood in the same line as those she looked down upon.
She refused.
And so she worked even harder to lean herself toward the “outside.” She spoke English, wore foreign-style clothes, sprayed perfume, accepted tips, went to Macau, spoke of England, associated with foreign guests, approached Lide, and made use of her father. She packaged all of this as experience and sophistication, but inside it there was deep greed and vanity.
Later, Lide gradually came to see this side of her as well.
She was intelligent, understood measure, knew how to take care of people, and could also support his face at crucial moments. But she often looked at people in ranks. Her eyes brightened at money. Her smile became sweeter toward foreigners. Toward ordinary compatriots, she easily became impatient. Sometimes Lide felt uncomfortable in his heart, yet he also had to admit that Tingting’s realism was not entirely opposite to his own choices in officialdom. They were both people who understood weighing. It was only that Tingting wore her desire upon her body, while Lide hid his desire in his heart.
Once, the two of them waited for a car in the lobby of a Macau hotel. An elderly overseas Chinese man slowly came over to ask directions, his Mandarin unclear. Tingting frowned slightly, her tone somewhat perfunctory. “Over there. Ask the front desk.”
The old man paused, then turned and walked away.
Lide looked at her. “You are not like this with foreign guests.”
Tingting smiled. “Foreign guests give tips, and they complain fiercely too. Besides, when working outside, time is money.”
Lide was silent.
Seeing his expression, Tingting softened again and took his arm. “Do not put on that presiding-judge face. I know your heart is kind, but this world does not operate on kindness. In the Political and Legal Affairs Committee, don’t you also have to consider weight and importance?”
This sentence struck Lide.
He did not refute it. Because he knew that what she said was not entirely wrong.
Only at that moment, he suddenly thought of Yaoyao. Yaoyao had her delicacy, her weakness, and the troubles after the decline of the Zhang family. Yet at least the tears she shed beside her father’s sickbed were real. Tingting too could shed tears, but her tears most likely knew when they ought to fall, for whom they should fall, and to what degree they should fall.
The car arrived.
Tingting changed back into her smile and called the guests to board, her English clear, her manner beautiful. She stood beside the car door and counted each person one by one, like a mature, professional, and proper tour guide. Outsiders looking at her would only feel that this young woman was capable, elegant, and had seen the world.
Only Lide knew that beneath that proper smile there was a heart fed by money, passports, foreign glamour, and power.
This heart could not be called vicious, but it was cold; it could not be called foolish, but it was thin. She could move with ease among checkpoints, casinos, tour buses, and official banquets, and she could also sort feelings, identity, money, and future prospects into separate compartments. She was not the sort of bad person who would destroy others, but the sort of clever person who would quickly walk around someone else when he fell.
And such cleverness, in that age, was very easy to win.