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Cries of “No” echoed through the cavern.
“They tell us to leave our land to take jobs in factories, but how can we when they’ve all been shut down for inefficiency, corruption, and pollution?”
The crowd was right with the lieutenant.
“These things are an illusion the government uses to trick and entice us. They offer us money to move to other provinces, but what will we find when we get there? When the mud sinks to the bottom, the river becomes clear.”
“They promised me three thousand yuan a head for me to take my family to Xinjiang,” a man in the audience crackled indignantly. “But when I got there I was told I’d have to drill one hundred meters to get water. I don’t have a drill, and water is abundant here. I came home and I won’t leave again.”
“They talk about the good life that awaits us somewhere else, but why should we leave when this is our ancestral home?” Tang inquired.
The voice from the alcove thrummed forth. “Forbearance does not mean tolerating evil beings that no longer have human nature or righteous thoughts.”
“The fat rats will have to pay for their sins,” Tang interpreted.
“See how they smoke their expensive cigarettes, how they drive fast cars, how they drink foreign liquor,” Xiao Da intoned. “All of these things are an abomination to those who are reverent.”
This last caused a break in the sermonizing as the adherents took up the chant of “Be reverent, be reverent, be reverent.” The lieutenant joined in, letting his strong tenor reverberate through the cave. When his voice lowered, so did those of the followers, until finally there was quiet again.
“We have all heard of the corruption that spoils the purity of our river and its people,” Tang said. “What about the local officials who have added the names of their relatives to the lists of relocatees, making their families eligible for relocation funds? What about the exaggerated reports filed by fat rats to the government about arable land that is being lost? Bashan officials have inflated the size of the town by twenty-five percent. They’ve filled their pockets with the difference between the real value of the land and the reported value of the land. These atrocities are common in all towns to be inundated. The fat rats lie and steal from the government…. and from you.”
“Why don’t we petition the central government to make amends?” a man brayed out. “Let’s demonstrate so the government will remedy the situation.”
“What is a piece of paper but a way for the government to hunt you down?” the lieutenant asked. “What is a demonstration but a way for the government to say that you’re causing civil unrest? We all know what happens to troublemakers in our country.”
“Then what can we do?” For the first time the speaker was a woman.
Xiao Da answered, “Combine docility with boldness. It is the fifth of the Nine Virtues.”
“They’ve told us that the dam will be a monument to show the world China’s importance,” Tang Wenting picked up, “but we know it is only a way for a yang guizi with a hydrofoil to get rich and steal our heritage.”
So far the sermon had been about governmental corruption, but now Tang was bringing Stuart Miller into the equation. The people here may not have known his name, but who in Bashan didn’t know by sight the person who owned the gleaming white hydrofoil tied up at the dock?
“We do not care for concrete and steel when our hearts and souls are at stake,” Tang Wenting went on. “The fat rats hurt the river people. May we not throw rectitude at them? Should we not inquire about our leaders who show a pious face to the people but in private
enjoy the rotten fruits of foreign decadence? And what about men like Stuart Miller who invade our land like so many ants—greedy, insistent, an army of nuisance that nibbles away at our pride?”
The crowd grumbled its reaction. The mood had shifted from spiritual to questioning to belligerent.
“I see tonight that we have visitors,” the lieutenant announced to the crowd. “You!” he called out, pointing to Hulan. “Tell them who you are.”
“Liu Hulan,” she answered.
“Inspector Liu Hulan of the Ministry of Public Security, who comes here to frighten us away from our beliefs,” Tang Wenting clarified for the followers.
The cave suddenly seemed far smaller, and David realized just how precarious a situation they were in.
“You bring a foreigner, I see.”
“This is David Stark,” came Hulan’s calm reply.
David felt a low, simmering hostility push in around him. He smelled human sweat and saw petulant faces staring at him.
The lieutenant tossed his head in disgust, but from within the darkness the enshrouded voice spoke tranquilly. “His name is of no concern to us. We need to know what kind of man he is. Is he reverent?”
“He’s a yang guizi,” the lieutenant said. “He’s a big-nose foreigner who has no right to be on our Chinese soil.”
“You’re wrong.” Hulan matched the even tone of the hidden voice. “Attorney Stark is a Zhongguotong, a friend to China.”
