Xiao Bai - French Concession

“Someone wanted to kill him, but we rescued him,” Ch’in explained, motioning to Hsueh. “But where have you been all this time? Ku said the police got you. Really, I was afraid you’d been killed.” He tugged at Lin’s shirtsleeves as if he were his younger brother.

Lin was quiet for a long time.

“Where is Ku Fu-kuang?” he asked abruptly.

“They’ve taken a boat to Mud Crossing. You don’t know what—” Here Ch’in cut himself off, glancing at Hsueh, before realizing that Hsueh already knew all this. “You don’t know what we’ve been up to. Ku is planning a huge operation. We bought some powerful new guns. Ku and the rest of the cell are on boats at Wu-sung-k’ou doing target practice right now. Leng went missing this morning, and Ku says she may have been killed,” Ch’in said all in one breath. His listener looked grave. “When is the operation?” Lin asked. But then he, too, glanced at Hsueh, and steered Ch’in into the living room.

They spoke in low voices. Hsueh couldn’t make out a word. Lin suddenly cried: “That can’t be true! That can’t be true!” His voice grew increasingly passionate.

They lowered their voices again. Someone got up and started pacing around. Hsueh suddenly wondered: if he and Therese had arranged to meet at the Astor, why would she go to his rooms first thing in the morning? And why did she bring her bodyguards and guns to the Astor? Why did she say nothing when she got there but point her gun directly at them?

Thinking made his head hurt. Hsueh detected the choking smell of smoke and the clang of a spatula — they must be cooking dinner in an iron wok down in the courtyard. He couldn’t hear what was happening in the next room. The Victrola needle was lifted, and a peal of operatic laughter stopped midlaugh, as though the singer had suddenly been stifled. A child was crying. Someone said something mean in a sweet voice.

Hsueh was dead tired, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But just then, Ch’in came in to say that dinner was ready. Despite his lack of appetite, he found himself being helped out of bed. There was a dining table in the living room, and at the table sat Lin.

JULY 13, YEAR 20 OF THE REPUBLIC.

11:15 A.M.

When she put the phone down, Leng didn’t know what to do next. She had been waiting all morning for a chance to sneak out, and she did so as soon as Ku left, telling the others that she wanted to go for a walk in the gardens.

She stood by the flower beds, gazing at a white camellia that had bloomed too late and was shriveling up in the July sun. She thought she saw a shadow at an upstairs window, and froze, terrified. She was stalling.

The guard was stationed at the gate on West Avenue Joffre, at the other end of the path, so there was no one by the door. The only words she could make out on the bronze plate next to it were 1230 GRESHAM APARTMENTS. She walked casually along the concrete edge of the flower bed, as if she were following a butterfly. She could feel someone looking at her. Standing at the window, you could see the whole garden without even craning your neck.

But soon she was standing inside Kovsk, a Russian-owned luxury women’s fashion store just outside the apartment building. She felt guilty about stalling, but also about what she was going to do, which was a form of betrayal. Then again, not doing anything would also be a betrayal. The previous afternoon, she had been there while Ku was giving Park his orders. Park was to drive to T’ung-jen Pier, where Hsueh would be waiting at the ticket office.

“The day after tomorrow, we strike,” Ku said. “No margin for error. Once we get hold of the grenade launchers, Hsueh mustn’t be allowed to leave, as a security measure.”

He didn’t try to hide this from Leng. She should understand that it was a necessary precaution.

“What about this White Russian woman? She knows a lot,” Park pointed out.

“We’ll have to kidnap her too.”

“There just aren’t enough of us. It takes two men to watch one prisoner. We’d have to assign three comrades to watch the two of them, and even that would be a stretch.”

Ku was thinking. He struck a match, lit his cigarette, and glanced at Leng.

“Hsueh is important to our cell, so we have to protect him. We must treat him as one of our own. But as for that White Russian woman, she knows too much. Even after the operation is over, it’ll still be too much.”

She couldn’t hide the fact that she understood what he was hinting at. Her eyes grew wide.

When a comrade is in danger and the question of whether it is worth attempting a rescue arises, the revolutionary should put aside his own private affection for this comrade, and consider only what would be best for the revolutionary cause. He should carefully weigh the usefulness of this comrade to the revolutionary cause against the revolutionary forces that would be expended in rescuing him. . When the question arises as to which individuals are to be executed, and in what order, neither the crimes of those individuals nor even the anger of the revolutionary masses should be taken into account, but only the usefulness of the executions to the revolutionary cause. Those who are most dangerous to the cause are always to be executed first. .

The words she had learned by heart came to mind, like intertitles appearing in black in a silent film. There was a ringing in her ears, and she heard their words distantly, as if she were underwater.

“We’ll have to execute her then?” That was Park.

Women can be divided into three categories: first, the frivolous, empty-headed, slow-witted kind, who can be used like the third and fourth category of men. Second, those who are passionate, loyal, and capable, but who do not belong to our cause because they have not achieved a truly pragmatic, rigorous level of revolutionary dedication; these can be used like the fifth category of men. Third and final, those who belong wholly to our cause, who can be completely trusted, who fully accept the revolutionary program. These should be treated as priceless treasures, for we cannot operate without their help.

The lines appeared in her mind, one after another. This was the group’s manifesto, which Ku himself had written, an oath that all new members of People’s Strength had to learn by heart.

“We won’t be able to find her,” Park said.

“Give this check to Hsueh. It’s an enormous sum of money, and he will want her to have it as soon as possible.” Leng’s ears were ringing again. “Wherever he goes, you must insist on taking him by car. He must be watched from tonight onward, at all times, until the operation is over.”

It wasn’t like her to speak up at a time like this, but she found herself saying: “If you kill her in front of Hsueh, you’ll give him such a fright. She is his friend, his former. . lover.” She paused.

“You’ll terrify him,” she said softly. “He’s always been willing to help us. How will you ever get him to accept her death?”

“But what more could he want? Sure, he’ll be frightened, but what is he going to do about it? He’s already working for us and he can’t stop now. He’ll have you, and he’ll have all this money. We’ll explain things to him — in fact, maybe you could explain things to him. Maybe you are a good enough reason for him,” Ku said, speaking impassively, as though the thoughts weren’t his own.

That night, Ku didn’t leave the apartment. He sat there smoking, deep in thought. She went in to bring him some tea, wanting to talk him out of the idea, but when she saw him sitting motionless in the shadows of the desk lamp, she said nothing. Park had already left to execute Ku’s orders. The wheels were in motion and no one could stop them now.