Free The Ghost Shift by John Gapper

Nothing in this affair made sense.
    Yao shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t like the job.”

For the mid-autumn festival, paper lanterns were lit all over Guangdong. Mei watched them drifting at night along Fazheng Road, near the Commission’s offices. She loved the story of Chang’e, who ascended to heaven and lived in the moon after her husband was killed by a villain. Every year, Mei ate a moon cake on the night of the festival and remembered how she’d gazed into the sky as a child, trying to see the goddess.
    The festival was an excuse for Guangzhou to eat, which it did with relish. Mei was amazed at the appetites of its citizens. They happily swallowed things that revolted her even to look at. Street stalls lined the gates to Revolutionary Martyrs Park, their lamps pale in the sunlight. They were piled with sea horse, abalone, alligators, chicken’s feet, pig livers—every organ imaginable.
    “Ugh, get it away.” Mei ducked and held her nose as her friend waved the legs of an octopus in her face.
    “Coward.” Luli said. “You’ve got to learn to eat.”
    The stallholder cursed at them as Luli dropped the slimy creature on the ground. Mei paid for a bag of star fruit to placate the grouchy vendor, and they walked through the red gates, past characters in Zhou Enlai’s handwriting on a white granite pedestal, topped by red and yellow tiles. Every bush was neatly clipped, and the granite stones were scrubbed. The pair was soon engulfed in a crowd heading for the rally.
    “This had better be fun,” Luli said, sucking on a fruit.
    “You’ll learn something.”
    Luli groaned. She wasn’t dressed for school—she strode along the avenue in heels, white jeans, and red T-shirt with “Lucky 69” stitched in English on the front. The authorities had erected a wide stage in front of the memorial to the 1927 Communist uprising—a huge hand grasping a rifle that pointed to the sky—and a troupe of dancers in silk costumes filled it. Luli took Mei’s arm, leading her to an advantageous spot on the lawn, where she spread a blanket. She took a box of moon cakes from a bag and placed it by the fruit.
    “Eat, Mei. And wake me up if anything happens.” Luli put on a pair of Gucci sunglasses and lay down on the grass.
    “Thanks for coming,” said Mei.
    “I don’t know why you asked me. I’m not even a member. What about that Party boy of yours?”
    “Who?”
    “Don’t play ignorant. Yao. He’s got a nice smile. I bet he’s got a good body too. That’s what you need—a distraction.”
    Mei blushed. “Don’t be stupid.”
    Luli propped herself on one elbow and looked at Mei over her sunglasses.
    “It would do you good to have a bit of fun. It’s like you’re married to the job. Where do you bring me on your day off? A Party rally. Ooh, exciting.” She shut her eyes and lay down again.
    “I’m sorry. It’s been crazy at work.”
    “What’s going on?”
    Mei looked at Luli, half-dozing on the ground, happily oblivious. There was so much to tell her, but none of it made sense. Mei didn’t know who she was anymore—she’d never had much information, but even the precious scraps she’d gathered were suspect now. She had no family, only a fantasy. It would make no sense to Luli, who went home to her village every New Year’s holiday and sent her parents gifts from the city. All Mei had was a ghost in a pond. Even if she’d wanted to confess to Luli, how could she? Even thinking about the body made her shiver.
    “I can’t say,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
    “You’ll go far, my dear.”
    The dancers finished. A poster in the commissary had urgedeveryone to attend the rally, billing it as a cultural celebration of Guangdong. Chen Longwei, the Party secretary himself, would lead it. Mei hadn’t seen him except from afar, striding across the compound in a wedge of officials. He had charisma, even in the distance—tall and good-looking, with a ruddy face and a small, heart-shaped mouth.
    People