Xu Zechen: Running Through Beijing

That’s where Dunhuang went wrong. On that day, he’d gone with Bao Ding to the overpass by Pacific Computer City. It was a deal he’d arranged himself and he had the document on him, a master’s diploma. The deal was supposed to take place at a quarter past nine that morning, and they arrived at ten after. They waited until nine thirty without seeing the customer, and just as they were about to leave they saw two policemen strolling in their direction. Bao Ding said, very quietly, “Careful.” Just then, the policemen broke into a run, and Bao Ding shouted, “Go!” The police were coming straight for them. Dunhuang ran after Bao Ding, passing the south gate of Peking University and heading for Haidian. As they ran, Bao Ding told Dunhuang to ditch the diploma. With no evidence, they’d just get a beating and then be released, but if they were caught red-handed there would be trouble. Dunhuang, confident they’d escape, refused, and his confidence infected Bao Ding. The police officers behind them weren’t in the least bit worrisome, they were so fat they practically had to hold their bellies as they ran. They weren’t quite able to shake them, but there was no way they’d get caught. They headed south, away from the electronics stores, hoping to get past the bridge and into Book City, where there were lots of people and lots of doors, and where they’d be harder to catch than rats.

Luck wasn’t with them, however, and as they passed Haidian Bridge they saw a police car and four officers on the street. Looking back, they found the two pigs had gained on them. Bao Ding knew it was serious, and told Dunhuang to hurry up and toss the document. Dunhuang, who’d never been caught in a police cordon before, ran with the diploma in his hand, not knowing how to get rid of it. Bao Ding snatched it from him, and he’d just tossed it when they were surrounded by the police. They’d all seen him do it, and one of them fished it out of the garbage can.

“Whose is this?” he asked.

Bao Ding glanced at Dunhuang and said, “Mine.”

The officer asked Dunhuang, “Is it really his?”

“Yes,” said Dunhuang.

Later, Dunhuang consoled himself that Bao Ding had shrugged his right shoulder twice, a signal they’d arranged for when they were negotiating with a customer. It meant: follow my lead. So, Dunhuang followed Bao Ding’s lead, right up until he finally got out of jail, three months later. That diploma meant that Bao Ding would be sent somewhere farther away, who knew for how long. When Dunhuang was released, Bao Ding’s trial hadn’t even begun.

* * *

As Dunhuang and Xiaorong passed Haidian Bridge, Dunhuang resolved to make some money and buy Bao Ding’s freedom. When you got down to it, Bao Ding had taken the fall for Dunhuang. And during their two years together in Beijing he’d taken good care of Dunhuang. Everyone in their business knew: it was better to stay out of jail, of course, but if you went in it wasn’t cause for despair. What went in had to come out. As long as you could find the right contacts, grease the right palms, your problems could be solved. It didn’t matter that Bao Ding’s trial hadn’t begun, and even if he had already been sentenced Dunhuang could still get him out with the right payoffs. But it would take money, Dunhuang thought. Money. . Dunhuang and Xiaorong lay in bed that night, covered in sweat but unwilling to move, both too lazy to get up and turn off the porn they’d put on. Eventually, they played rock-paper-scissors, and Dunhuang lost. Naked, he shut off the TV and DVD player, and as he stood with the disc stuck on his finger, about to put it back in its case, he stopped and said to Xiaorong, “I want to sell porn.”

“Are you crazy?” she said. “If they catch you there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I need money to get Bao Ding out.”

Xiaorong had been going to say that she had plenty of money, but when she heard what it was for she kept quiet. She’d saved up over the years, but she meant to use it for going back home and getting married, buying a house, and raising a child. She’d planned it for years. Kuang Shan had once nursed designs on that nest egg, but she’d batted him away, swearing that barring some disaster like her parents falling ill, no one would touch the money. Obviously, she wouldn’t volunteer it to ransom Bao Ding, and she wouldn’t be coerced, either — her mind was made up. She was also quite aware that her meager savings might not be enough. Dunhuang had once told her that you couldn’t even start a conversation without twenty or thirty thousand. Xiaorong kept quiet.

“So, I’m thinking,” Dunhuang put away the DVD and lay down on his side, holding Xiaorong. “I’ll help you sell the porn, they’re just going to waste as is. If you’re embarrassed by it. . ” Dunhuang paused, staring at Xiaorong’s ear, feeling his courage coming, “I don’t need to follow you. I’ll go off and sell them by myself.”

“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, I just want to earn enough to get Bao Ding out as soon as possible. I’m not trying to skin you.” “I didn’t mean that,” said Xiaorong, turning her back to him. “I was just wondering why men are all like that, always insisting on striking out, going it alone, always leaving the girl behind.”

“We’re not leaving you behind, we’re worried you’ll get hurt. What’s wrong with staying out of the action? Men aren’t gods, we can’t keep track of everything.”

“Whatever,” she said after a while. “Take a few other movies along and sell them at the same time. Just give me what they cost.”

Dunhuang was elated, and held her closer. What a great girl she was, so considerate of others. At last he could make his own money.

Dunhuang picked out three hundred kuai worth of DVDs. He’d worked it out — if he sold them all he’d clear five hundred in profit, even more if he could bump up the price on the porn. Instantly, he felt as refreshed as if he’d just stepped out of a bath. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and good times were right around the corner. That wasn’t how he’d felt the first time he’d split from Bao Ding to pull ID business on his own. Then he’d been panicked, reticent, out of his depth — what he was doing was illegal, after all. It was different now, though. He was an old hand, calloused, nonchalant. Anyway, selling pirated DVDs was miles closer to legality than making fake IDs. And what was most important was his return to entrepreneurship — he was basically restarting his life in Beijing. He reminded himself constantly that he was working for himself, and that filled him with confidence.

Every morning, he and Xiaorong left Furongli together, then went their separate ways. Dunhuang had a plan — he couldn’t keep selling piecemeal like they had been. Guerrilla sales would never bring in much, and it was exhausting to always be on the run. It would be better to find a set location and build up regular clientele. He’d thought it through. There were only three types of clients. One was students, who spent money without batting an eyelash — they wanted art. Next was office drones, the kind of people that flipped through newspapers while clipping their nails — they wanted entertainment. The more educated office workers even more so. Thinking people tended to feel dissatisfied with life and they watched movies for distraction. Movies were just as good as cuddling your husband or wife, and more dignified. Third were white collar workers and company managers — too busy to even take a piss, they needed relaxation more than anyone. To splay out on the sofa and enjoy a good story. Not a book — who still read books? — but a film, a feature film, a big Hollywood blockbuster. If only Spielberg made a new movie every week. .