The Five Brothers' Dream

After Lide arrived at the political-legal office, his days actually became much more leisurely than they had been in the criminal court.
Here there was no blood rushing out from the case files to meet him, and much less of that heaviness in court when one strike of the gavel could determine life and death. More often, there were materials to write, coordination meetings to attend, documents to convey, and policies to study. It was busy when it was busy, but it did not drag a person toward darkness the way the criminal court had. Lide gradually understood that the further one walked along the path of officialdom, the more one needed not only the ability to handle cases, but also education, theory, and the kind of “political capital” that could be placed openly on the table.
And so he applied to the School of Marxism at Renmin University of China to study for a master’s degree in political economy, through correspondence courses. When others heard this, some admired him, while others laughed. “Director Ma, you are already so busy, and you still want to study?”
Lide said lightly, “If cadres do not study, sooner or later they cannot keep up with the situation.”
In truth, he knew clearly in his heart that this study was both knowledge and a step upward. Political economy sounded orthodox, and Renmin University carried weight. Written into a cadre résumé, it looked very good. During the day, he wrote documents, met leaders, and ran coordination work at the political-legal office. At night, when he returned to his lodging, he opened his textbooks and read about capital, the state, the market, distribution, and ownership. Those words were sometimes dry, yet they happened also to explain the world before his eyes.
He felt he had returned to books once more. Only this time, he was not reading for ideals, but for his future.
Lide had been in the position of director of the political-legal office for less than two years when he saw another door slowly opening in the distance.
That door was not in Ruizhou, nor within the political-legal system, but in Shenzhen.
When the news first came, it was very light, like an unintentional sentence at the dinner table. After one evening meal, Luo Yongping held his teacup and, with a smile that was not quite a smile, said, “Lide, what do you think of Shenzhen?”
Lide’s heart stirred, but he did not immediately answer. He only said, “Shenzhen is a Special Economic Zone. Its road is new, and it changes quickly. If cadres go there, their horizons will be different.”
Luo Yongping nodded. “Horizons must be opened. You have stayed in the court, and you have also been tempered for two years at the Political and Legal Affairs Committee. You have measure in handling matters, and your written materials are steady. A young cadre cannot keep circling inside one pond.”
The words sounded ordinary, yet they did not seem like casual conversation. Lide knew that truly important words in officialdom never began by turning over the hidden card. They often began by asking a question that seemed broad, watching how you answered, watching whether you had a sense of the matter in your heart, watching whether you understood what lay beyond the words.
Before long, the wind gradually became clearer.
There was a deputy director position at the Shenzhen Construction Bureau, a deputy-division-level post. What it would oversee was not ordinary construction, but certain extremely special, extremely sensitive projects requiring great tact: the construction of halls, guesthouses, convalescent villas, and vacation facilities in the Special Economic Zone for the families of central leaders. Put plainly, this was an assignment that stood at the edge of power, tending to the living spaces of power. It did not necessarily appear in documents every day, yet everywhere it carried weight outside the documents. It did not necessarily show itself in the news, yet it might be watched by many invisible eyes.
How could such a position possibly fall to Lide?
At first, Lide also found it unbelievable. He had begun in the criminal court of the Ruizhou Intermediate Court, and later had been transferred to the municipal Political and Legal Affairs Committee as director of the political-legal office. Though he had risen quickly, he was still only a full-section-level cadre within a local political-legal system. The Shenzhen Construction Bureau was an important department in the Special Economic Zone, and a deputy director was deputy-division level. In terms of system, locality, and rank, there were several doors between them. Under normal circumstances, for a young political-legal cadre from Ruizhou to move to the Shenzhen construction system as a deputy director was almost like leaping suddenly from one river into another, the water veins unconnected, the seniority unsmooth, and the reasons difficult to round out.
Yet the most subtle part of officialdom lies precisely in this: what is “almost impossible” can sometimes, strangely enough, become “under consideration.”
Behind this, it was still the Ye family’s relationship.
Within Southern Yue official circles, Luo Yongping counted as someone beneath the shade of the Ye family tree. The Ye family did not need to appear personally, nor did their words need to be spoken too plainly. A sentence passed from some provincial dinner gathering, a name mentioned beside a certain preliminary cadre list, an old leader saying, “This young man can be paid some attention”—and the matter would take on another direction. Organizational procedures, of course, still had to be followed; inspection, of course, still had to be carried out; files, of course, had to be examined; experience also had to be made logical. Yet the true direction, before the procedure even began, had often already been gently steered by someone.
Lide understood the weight of this.
It was not that he lacked self-knowledge. If relying only on himself, deputy-division level was still far away. If relying only on his résumé as director of the political-legal office, a transfer to the Shenzhen Construction Bureau would be even less smooth. But if Luo Yongping, Luo Tingting, the Ye family, Special Economic Zone construction, and the families of central leaders were linked together, then the matter was no longer merely a personal transfer. It became an arrangement of relationships and trust.
For such a position, what was most needed might not be the person who understood architecture best, but the person who understood rules, confidentiality, measure, and responsibility upward.
Halls, guesthouses, and vacation resorts seemed, on the surface, to be civil-engineering projects. In truth, everywhere they were political projects. Where the site was chosen, how large the scale, who would design it, who would build it, how the funds would move, who could know, who must not ask, what reception standard should be used, what security route should be arranged—even a tree, a small road, a reception room might involve the face and interests of different levels. A person who understood construction could make the building rise; a person who understood officialdom could ensure that the building made no sound when it should not sound, and lit up when it should be bright.
Lide was precisely such a person.
In the criminal court, he had seen life and death, and knew what words could not be spoken carelessly. In the Political and Legal Affairs Committee, he had handled coordination and knew how departments pushed and ground against one another. After two years of being tempered beside Luo Yongping, he knew to which level a report should go, to what point a document should be pressed, and how far human feeling should be left. He did not show off, and he was not frivolous. Though young, he had the appearance of maturity. More importantly, he had already drawn close to the Luo family. Although Luo Tingting had vanity and worldliness, she had also become a seal upon his official path. Many times, marriage and romance are not private small matters, but the softest and firmest thread in a cadre’s network of relationships.
Lide was moved, yet also alert.
He knew that the greater the opportunity, the greater the risk. To do work for the families of central leaders sounded glorious, but in truth what one feared most was making a mistake. If the project exceeded standards, it could provoke criticism. If reception was not handled properly, it could offend people. If money was spent unclearly, it could provide others with a handle. One dissatisfied sentence from a certain family member might weigh more than a formal document. This was no ordinary deputy director’s seat in a construction bureau. It was a piece of fat meat placed beside the fire—fragrant, hot, and burning to the hand.
One night, he and Luo Tingting ate at a restaurant in Canton. When Tingting heard of this matter, her eyes visibly brightened.
“Deputy director of the Shenzhen Construction Bureau?” she lowered her voice. “That is deputy-division level. If you really go there, your road will be completely different.”
Lide looked at her. “You only see deputy-division level. You do not see the trouble behind it.”
Tingting smiled. “If there is trouble, that only proves the position is valuable. A place with no trouble can be sat in by anyone. Haven’t you always wanted to move upward? Now that someone is building you a ladder, you think the ladder is too high?”
Lide did not speak.
Tingting continued, “Shenzhen is different. Special Economic Zone, foreign capital, Hong Kong merchants, the central authorities all watching it. If you stay in Ruizhou for several more years, you may not have such an opportunity. Besides, do you not know in your heart whose relationship stands behind this? The Ye family does not nod every day.”
Of course Lide knew.
It was precisely because he knew that he became even more silent. Favors in officialdom are not given for nothing. Every promotion, every exception, every arrangement that seems lucky must be repaid with loyalty, silence, taking sides, and usefulness. Once a person walks beneath the shade of a certain tree, he must block wind for that tree. Some cadres think they have only risen one rank, and only later discover that they have also been nailed into a larger net.
From then on, for more than a year, Lide traveled to Shenzhen more and more often.
Nominally, he was inspecting the Special Economic Zone’s comprehensive political-legal governance, studying Shenzhen experience, assisting relevant units with security coordination, and attending some cross-city meetings. In truth, he himself knew that each trip to Shenzhen was also a way of becoming familiar with the place where he might one day land. The air of Shenzhen was different from that of Ruizhou. Ruizhou was an old Lingnan city, with clans, factories, teahouses, courts, and a society of acquaintances. Shenzhen, however, was like a new machine running day and night. The roads were broad, the buildings high, the slogans bright. The land still carried the smell of mud, yet money had already come toward one’s face with sea wind.
He took a car south from Canton, passed through checkpoints, and saw construction sites one after another, rows upon rows of scaffolding, truck after truck loaded with materials. In his heart there often arose a strong feeling: this was not a city being built, but an age racing against time.
The people from the Shenzhen Construction Bureau received him with just the right attitude. Some called him “Director Ma.” Some half-jokingly said, “In the future, perhaps we will have to call you Director Ma of the bureau.” Hearing this, Lide only smiled faintly. “How can one joke about organizational matters?” The other party also smiled. “Precisely because one cannot joke about them, one must become familiar in advance.”
Such conversations, half true and half false, were the most interesting.
Once, he was taken to see a seaside plot of land. It stood by mountain and sea, the wind very strong, and from afar one could see a thin line of waterlight. The accompanying person pointed at the drawings and said that in the future this place might become a reception base. The environment had to be quiet and secluded, transportation convenient, security good. Lide stood in the wind and looked at the sea. Suddenly he thought of his years in the criminal court—the dense names in case files, bloodstains, interrogation records, and execution notices. Fate was truly strange. He had gone from a courtroom where he judged life and death, to an office coordinating political-legal affairs, and now might go on to help power build places of rest. The cold and heat of the human world had, unexpectedly, both come within his reach.
He could not help remembering what Xinde had once said: Do not hand yourself over entirely to official position, to relationships, to fear.
Yet in this wind, Lide also felt that if a person did not hand over at least a little of himself, how could he exchange it for the chance to rise? A completely clean person might not necessarily go far; a completely filthy person might not necessarily sleep peacefully either. What officialdom required was a kind of balance: in the heart, know black and white; in the hands, learn gray. In the mouth, speak principle; beneath the feet, understand the path. To those above, be loyal; to those below, have measure; and for oneself, leave one small place unwilling to be spoken through.
The more he went to Shenzhen, the closer Hong Kong became.
Once, the Shenzhen side arranged for him to cross the border to Hong Kong and meet several Hong Kong merchants. In name, it was to understand the experience of Hong Kong capital participating in Special Economic Zone supporting construction and high-end property management. The Hong Kong merchants hosted a banquet at a restaurant in Tsim Sha Tsui. Outside the window, Victoria Harbour was ablaze with lights, and the shadows of boats moved slowly over the water. Lide sat at the table and looked at himself reflected in the glass: his suit crisp, his expression steady. He no longer looked like the young presiding judge from the Ruizhou criminal court.
During the meal, a Hong Kong merchant surnamed Xu raised his glass and smiled. “Director Ma, Shenzhen is a precious piece of land. The mainland has policy, Hong Kong has capital. As long as one understands cooperation, the future is limitless.”
Another Hong Kong merchant added, “In the future, if Director Ma goes to Shenzhen, we will still have to ask for your guidance often.”
Lide raised his glass, his tone cautious and elegant. “Shenzhen is the nation’s window of reform and opening. You gentlemen have experience and vision. If I have the opportunity to serve Special Economic Zone construction, I too will merely be learning.”
Boss Xu laughed loudly. “You know how to speak! Director Ma will surely have great accomplishments in the future.”
The wineglasses touched with a crisp sound.
At that moment, the lights of Hong Kong outside the window were like a golden net spread open. Far away was the sea; nearby was wine; at the table was laughter; behind it were relationships; ahead was a position that had seemed almost impossible and was now becoming possible. Lide lifted his head and drank the wine. Its taste was sharp, and heat entered his throat. He knew that he was no longer on his original road.
The criminal court of Ruizhou, the office of the Political and Legal Affairs Committee, the Luo family living room, Shenzhen construction sites, Hong Kong restaurants—these places were like a string of steps secretly connected, sending him upward one step at a time.
Only the higher one went, the stronger the wind became.
Lide set down his glass and smiled as he listened to the Hong Kong merchants speak of land prices, projects, policies, and the future. The light of Victoria Harbour shone upon his face. His smile was exactly measured, neither overly eager nor appearing cold. It was a smile trained in officialdom.
A little wine remained in the glass, like a small, wavering piece of golden future.