Free The Ghost Shift by John Gapper Page B

impose discipline but who wants a red envelope himself.”
    Mei stood. People near the stage were shouting angrily and booing, as if they wanted to march through the city and drag away those whom Chen had condemned. They waved banners that had come from somewhere—Hunt the Tigers, Set the People Free Again. Chen raised a clenched fist, as if standing in solidarity. The mood had turned ugly.
    Mei gazed at him, her heart racing with fright.
The Party official who takes a red envelope.
She felt the packet of banknotes hidden inside her jacket, resting near her heart.

The Wolf lived in a white-walled villa in the Party compound. As Mei approached, a full moon threw silver light on the building, making it glow like a cottage in a fairy tale. Two guards stood at the gate, and one wrote her name in a leather-bound book.
    “You found me,” said the Wolf, upon answering the door. He was in a suit, a red tie loosened around his neck, as if recently returned from a formal dinner.
    “They let me in.” Mei nodded her head in the direction of the guards, who were watching.
    “That pair arrived yesterday. The Party thinks I need protecting. Or others must be protected from me. Come in.”
    She followed him into a living room, with cream sofas set around a black lacquer table. It was more comfortable than she’d expected. She thought of Chen’s speech and wondered if this was the sanctum of a corrupt official, whose private life was richer than his public image. There was wealth here, but it looked like old money—objects he’d saved for, ornaments he’d kept for a long time. A baby grand piano sat in one corner, the score to a Schubert sonata on its stand. A Poppy tablet, still in its box, was the only hint of modernity.
    There was a set of four photographs on the piano in matching frames. They revealed the same woman, a solemn-faced beauty. She was pictured as a girl in a Mao tunic, with university friends, as a young bride, and with her husband by one of the stone
huabiao
columns at the Gate of Heavenly Peace. She looked happier in age, asher face lost its roundness and lines crept under her eyes. The man next to her was the Wolf, his hair black instead of gray.
    “My wife,” he said, walking over to pick up the bridal portrait. He examined it, then handed it to Mei.
    “She was beautiful.”
    “All of her life.”
    “When did she—” Mei stopped, embarrassed by her boldness. His wife’s death felt like common gossip, given a nasty edge by Pan.
    “The year you were born. It’s hard to imagine now.” He took the photograph back and replaced it gently on the same spot.
    “How do you know when I was born?” she asked.
    He stared at her. She thought he might lose his temper at being challenged, but instead he walked over to a sofa and sat, tapping a document on the lacquer table with one finger.
    “Your file, Mei. It’s not a mystery. Sit. Tell me why you’re here.”
    Mei steeled herself. She took out the envelope and, sitting opposite him on the sofa, put it on the table. The Wolf looked at the blue customs seal and frowned, then leaned forward and picked it up. He squeezed it between finger and thumb, feeling the notes inside, and shook his head.
    “Who is this from?”
    “Superintendent Hou of Humen Customs. He asked me to bring it to you.” She felt herself falter under the Wolf’s gaze. “He said he knows you.”
    “Was there a message?”
    “He said it was a note of appreciation.”
    “Very kind. Tell me, who instructed you to visit Superintendent Hou? It wasn’t your idea, was it?”
    She shook her head. “I was sent by Deputy Secretary Pan, the morning after I saw you in Dongguan.”
    The Wolf shook his head again. “She worked fast, didn’t she? I expected this, but not delivered by you. An old surveillance tactic—employ one suspect to trap another. I taught her well.”
    He raised the envelope to his nose and sniffed.
    “You know what’s inside, don’t you?”
    Mei looked down in shame at