by Saxon Keeley
“Well you cannot have any unless you want to be bed stricken for the rest of your visit,” Michael smugly joked.
“I dare say that it might be worth the risk.”
The shared pleasantries quickly come to an end and the two pretend that there is comfortable silence.
Cutting through one of the cups, Charles then gently rests his fork into a sizable mouthful. Guilt washes over him as their reunion has not played itself out as Charles had imagined. Unable to continue with his food, he looks up at Michael with a sincerity that takes both by surprise.
“Sorry for not coming back.”
“I told you, family is more important. You did the right thing for yourself and Li,” dismissed his old friend.
“Thank you.”
“Tell me though,” said Michael, waving his fork about. “What did you do wrong to put Alistair off science?”
Laughing to themselves, the two friends do the best they can to put their differences to one side and focus on what really matters. Exchanging stories, their voices becomes lost amongst the laughter and conversation of the restaurant.
In the centre of the marbled hall the white barked tree stands. Though dead, it refuses to decay.
Oscar Jung
Drawing up to the side of the road, Michael switches off the truck’s engine. Rusted and old, it was the best vehicle available from the rental outside the Taiyuan airport.
From the city, they have driven for three hours solidly, passing by abandoned towns and a lake created by a nuclear explosion. The Geiger counter installed in the truck has been giving them a general reading of five Sieverts since they left the outskirts of Taiyuan, occasionally it peaked as high as fourteen. Concerned about dust, both have been wearing masks since setting out on their journey to the mountains.
“Come, it isn’t far now,” Michael reassured his travelling companion.
Getting out of the truck, Oscar gazes at the mountain path ahead of them.
“You are joking?” he called out, feeling exhausted already.
“I’m afraid not, vehicles are forbidden from this point onwards,” explained Michael. “You have nothing to complain about, you’re not the one who is sixty-odd years old. Get your bag and let’s go.”
Walking the stone path, there is a sense of ancient majesty about their trek. Met by the occasional gate, Oscar is reminded of the Four Gates of the Political District back home. The mountains seem untouched by the effects of war. Green plants cover the light-coloured earth. Oscar is amazed to see nature behold such beauty.
“Are we still in Shanxi?” he asked naïvely.
“Yeah, we are still in Shanxi. This is Mianshan. We are going to Yunfeng Temple, once home to your grandfather.”
The path begins to widen and the two come across a large clearing. Deserted buses litter the area. Straight ahead of them stands a building made of glass. Oscar gawks at the structure bemused by its presence. In the centre of the clearing is a statue of a dragon. Though its vibrant colours have faded, the dragon still stands proudly guarding the temple.
Oscar and Michael press on with the final stretch of their long journey. The slope takes them to a temple hidden in a large cave in the side of the mountain. Having stood the test of time, the red buildings have been adapted to better suit the needs of the people.
Expecting a community of strugglers and intellectuals, Oscar is taken back when he sees that it populated by the kind-hearted and sick.
A middle-aged woman greets them as they wander into the courtyard. The yellow dress hangs from her thin frail frame. She smiles at the two travellers as she holds out a clay bowl filled with water.
“Good evening. You two must be thirsty.”
Shocked by her English, Oscar doesn’t quite know what to make of the situation. While he tries to calculate the risk of drinking radiated water verses the insult of not accepting the offering, Michael throws caution to the wind and takes a swig. Reluctantly Oscar accepts as she holds out the bowl towards him. Placing his lips around the edge, he is surprised at how fresh the water tastes.
“We do not get many Westerners visiting Mianshan,” she said, unintentionally insulting Oscar. “Are you English or American?”
“English,” replied Michael, quick to reassure her.
“Ah, good. Are you looking to rest the night?”
“Only if that wouldn’t put you out.”
Glancing around the commune, Oscar cannot contain his curiosity any longer.
“Where did the Chairman live?” he asked in Chinese.
“You speak our tongue,” she said surprised, though not sure of which region his accent belongs to. “You mean Zhang Guozhi?”
“I would like to see it if I may.”
She inspects the two men, sceptical of their reasons for being here. “You are from Delta Nine?”
“This is Zhang Guozhi’s grandchild,” interjected Michael. “We have been sent by Dr Charles Jung to visit Yunfeng Temple, so that he can see with his own eyes.”
She considers the young man’s request and silently complies.
Farther into the cave, they follow her up to a small building that overlooks the whole temple. It is a humble residence in comparison to where his grandfather lives now.
She pushes open the door. The smell of sour milk and excrement hits them. Oscar holds a handkerchief over his mouth as he enters. Rows of cots fill the small building and two young women tend to the needs of the children.
Attempting to step back out, Michael places a firm grip on his shoulder. The middle-aged woman closes the door to keep in the warmth.
In-between the cots, Oscar peers down at the children being cared for. Each child is disfigured. Children with abnormally shaped heads. Patches of hair missing. Underdeveloped limbs. Severely stunted cognitive development.
“Does my grandfather know about these children?”
Staring blankly back at Oscar, Michael waits for him to figure it out from himself.
“Why leave them here?”
“Do you think these children could be cared for on Delta Nine? They are left here because they would be costly dependants. Too much of a drain on the colony’s precious resources,” rationalised Michael.
Leaning over a cot Michael holds a finger out for the child to grab a hold of. Pleased by the attention, the child’s face beams at the stranger.
“On Delta Nine, it would be kinder for them to be peacefully laid to sleep. The strong and able have all been sent to colonises the Charted Systems. Nurseries like this exist all over the country. These are the true children of China.”
Neo-Shanxi
Xuan Jung
Carrying an overnight bag, Xuan leads her son up the garden path to her brother-in-law’s. Already feeling her stomach turning, she is just as anxious as Alexander.
He hides behind his mother as she rings the doorbell. Despite her best efforts, Alexander refuses to stand by her side sensibly. From the house, she can just about hear the muffled sound of Nicholas and Jessica playing.
The door opens and Weishi welcomes them with a smile. Dressed in her finest black cheongsam with a silver dragon climbing down its front, she is ready for their important dinner with the Chairman.
“Please come in. Where is Alexander?” asked Weishi.
Xuan rolls her eyes, hinting at his whereabouts.
Immediately understanding, she crouches down to Alexander’s level. “Well it is a shame that Alexander could not make it this evening. Oh, what a waste. All that food.”
Appearing next to her mother, Jessica comes to investigate. Waving to her auntie, she is suddenly distracted by her cousin apprehensively peering out from behind his mother.
“Why is Alexander hiding?” she whispered into her mother’s ear loudly.
“I am not hiding,” snapped Alexander.
“Then come and play,” said Jessica, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the house. “Come, I will race you to the garden. We have real flowers growing.”
Weishi steps to
one side to allow Xuan to into her home. Leading the way down to the family room, Weishi explains everything that she will need for the evening.
“Thank you for looking after the children at such short notice. We did not know ourselves until this afternoon. But you know their grandfather, keeps everything close to his chest. The first anyone ever hears of anything is when it is happening.
“Dinner is already laid out on the dining table. The food will stay warm for some time, so there is no rush. Sorry that we could not leave you with something home cooked, but I am sure you understand.
“Please do make yourself at home, anything that you need just ask Nicholas. I anticipate that we will be back late so do not feel as if you need to wait up for us. And again, thank you so much.”
Only having half listened, Xuan smiles back.
“One of my colleagues told me that you are performing again?”
“Not really. I just get bored,” she fumbled over her response.
“I remember the first time I saw you on stage. Salon de Ning has not been graced with a more beautiful voice since. It was as if one of the old greats had been brought back to life. I am glad that you are singing once again.”
“I am not so sure my voice is as flawless as it once was,” said Xuan embarrassed. “How are things…at the Assembly?”
“Those interested in economics are economists. I will not bore you with the trivial bickering between the SCR and the CERE,” said Weishi good naturedly, appreciating the effort. “Please do take a seat, I am just going to finish getting ready.”
Weishi wanders off down the hall and, when clear, Xuan lets out a deep sigh. Relieved to be alone, she scans the room.
Works of art depict creatures that she has only ever read about and of an evanescent alien world. Ivory and jade figures are proudly displayed in cabinets, each of them a gift to the Chairman in hope they could be better preserved on Neo-Shanxi. A sweet floral freshness fills the house.
Closing her eyes, Xuan dares to imagine what life would be like if this life belonged to her.
“Xuan?” said a male voice.
Startled, she turns to find Alistair and Weishi waiting in the hall. Alistair walks over and places a kiss on her cheek goodbye. Still confused by the strange practice, it is something each of the women have had to grow accustom to. Again, Xuan finds herself being told the same thing.
“Thank you for this evening. I promise that we will be as quick as possible. I am sure Weishi has told you, but there is the guest room down the hall if it gets late. Food is ready. If you have any questions then please ask Nicholas. Jessica will take advantage.”
“Ready?” asked Weishi.
Seeing them off, Xuan watches as they link arms and stroll down the garden path. Sadness outweighs her resentment for the couple.
Once they disappear off into the Imperial Gardens, she gently locks the door. Xuan, feeling the weight of her heavy heart, slumps to the floor, holding back her tears as best she can.
Footsteps slowly approach. Looking up she finds Nicholas standing there, with a cup of tea in.
Alistair Jung
Alistair and Weishi wander around the side of his grandfather’s home to a secluded walled garden, following the sound of laughter. Even if they could make out the conversation over the trickling water, neither of them recognise the language spoken.
The Chairman has already brought out the drinks, entertaining his two guests while they wait for his grandchild’s arrival. At the table sits a frail old man who looks as if he is permanently stuck in deep thought. The other guest is a beautiful woman wearing a white áo dài. Though they are Eastern, they are not Chinese.
“You have arrived just in time. Please come and meet our guests,” welcomed Zhang with open arms. He introduces the old man first. “This is Nguyễn Hữu Quốc, a good friend and Chairman of the Thuỷ Phủ Assembly.”
Both Alistair and Weishi extend their most hospitable greetings, to only be met with an enthusiastic grunt.
“Anh Quốc does not speak much Chinese,” explained his grandfather. “This is the Mẫu Thoải. First daughter of Anh Quốc, sister to all citizens of Thuỷ Phủ and our translator for this evening.”
“It is lovely to meet you finally. Chairman Zhang has spoken highly of you both,” she said.
Weishi takes a seat opposite the woman. “‘The’ Mẫu Thoải?”
“It is merely a title. I am usually not so concerned with political matters. Most of my work is centred around the education and welfare of our least fortunate citizens.”
“Considering my husband and his grandfather here at the table, I fear this may be the wrong dinner party for us both,” jested Weishi.
“You have yet to see Father get going.”
From the house, waiters hired for the night bring out individual bowls for each one of Zhang’s guests. Noodles swim in the broth, made from the finest ingredients grown on Thuỷ Phủ. The refreshing aroma of the herbs and the warmth of the spices is unlike anything Alistair has ever experienced before. Wasting no time, he tucks right in.
“This is beautiful,” groaned Alistair in pleasure. “It is so fresh.”
Mẫu Thoải relays the compliments to her father, then translates back.
“Thank you, he says. It is phở, a Vietnamese dish. His father was a chef in Sài Gòn. The only valuable lesson that he was ever taught by him was which flavours complimented one another. Father says he would have cooked himself tonight, but his hands are not the same as they once were.”
Inspecting Anh Quốc’s hands, they are stiff and ridden with arthritis.
“What happened to them?” asked Alistair, unable to help himself.
“Alistair,” exclaimed his wife outraged.
“There is no shame in asking,” said Mẫu Thoải. “Father was involved in the conflicts of South Asia. Once the fighting came to an end, the continent was not better for it. It was then that Father began to help rebuild what was lost. His hands are a lifetime’s work of hard honest labour. As he would argue, a small price to pay. A lesson everyone takes heed of on Thuỷ Phủ. We are fortunate to have such rich soil and it takes hard work to grow and care for our crops. But we build for better.”
“What is Thuỷ Phủ like?” asked Alistair more appropriately, hoping to win back favour with his wife.
“A precious gift bestowed upon us by your father,” Mẫu Thoải translated for Anh Quốc. “Unlike the barren land of Neo-Shanxi, we have rivers flowing, fields of grass growing, trees spreading their roots. There are no factories processing minerals extracted from the ground, shaping them into utensils or worthless goods. There are no public train lines, instead we travel by bicycle. We live a meeker life. Thriving during the wet season, surviving the dry. Without Thuỷ Phủ, Neo-Shanxi would starve. Yet, without Neo-Shanxi we would perish.”
“A true Yang to our Yin,” added the Chairman.
“Shanxi is concerned with industrial growth, we with agricultural development. But both have strong political foundations,” stated Anh Quốc.
“Two thirds of a Core,” Weishi quietly remarked, not intending for it to be translated.
“Exactly,” said Mẫu Thoải, sharing her father’s excitement. “Father and I are very interested in your thesis, a Tripartite Division of Labour. An interconnected planetary economy based on maximising a planet’s natural resources and centralising power to maintain organisation and stability. Your theory has revolutionised our trade with Zeta Nine, Beyul and Maia.”
“I cannot believe that you have read my thesis. But how have you manged such a relationship with so few planets?”
“In an underhand manner,” admitted Anh Quốc. “Zeta Nine, Beyul and Thuỷ Phủ are all bountiful planets. We serve as the Outer-Core. Maia is industrial, rich in minerals and a consistent source of water. As an Inner-Core planet, it alone is not enough to sustain all its dependents. Of course, we have tried to reach out to Epsilon Nine, but the CERE’s influence is felt much stronger there.”
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“So where does Shanxi lay in all this?” asked Alistair.
“Shanxi, together with Thuỷ Phủ are to become the Core,” explained his grandfather. “That is why we meet tonight.”
“A Core requires political autonomy,” noted Weishi.
“At least freedom from the CERE,” Mẫu Thoải translated. “We have a common hindrance. Year after year we strive to atone for our people’s past so that we can pave something new. But as we build, the CERE impose colonial policies and ridged trading embargoes. We are governed by a council who do not know what it means to live on other side of the Charted Systems. Governed by those who do not know what it means to be Vietnamese or Chinese.”
“An independence we may soon achieve. My father has gone to Earth to negotiate such demands with the CERE itself,” Alistair naïvely argued.
“How likely is it that any meaningful constitutional concession will be made? Forgive me if we do not share your optimism.”
“Any other form of declaration would be an open act of insurgency.”
“If we were to claim independence irrespective of Dr Jung’s negotiations, we would need a sizable armed force, which I am certain neither Shanxi nor Thuỷ Phủ have,” Weishi asserted.
Looking back and forth between the two visitors and his grandfather, Alistair then turns to his wife. “They do. That is why they are here.”
Weishi places down her chopsticks and spoon. Taking a large gulp of her wine, she attempts to comprehend how she feels about this sudden revelation.
Used to the political games of the Whispering Circle, Alistair finds it hard to believe the sincerity in which the three of them speak. Even the Mẫu Thoải, who came across so benevolent, is part of a conspiracy that may invoke violence against her people. Despite knowing about Sun Tzu and his underground army, there was a part of him that believed his grandfather in wanting to bring structure and discipline to the young.
“Alistair. Weishi. For the past few years, Neo-Shanxi and Thuỷ Phủ have been formalising an alliance. Acting covertly, we have organised the most distant colonies from Earth according to your Tripartite Division of Labour model. We have secured support from Zeta Nine and Beyul. Maia will soon follow our example, but rest assured that the Chinese on the colony are loyalists,” clarified Zhang. “Tonight, we have gathered to ratify our pact. As one, we shall stand against CERE control.”
