Chapter 5: The Wumao Whisperer

五

When Lijian arrived at the meeting, he was shocked to see his classmate, Dou Dou. The girl was stone-faced, had worn a looser-fitting dress than usual. Next to her was the department head, Comrade Hua, a mousy, rake-thin, middle-aged man with shifty eyes and hollow cheeks. The man had skin dark as oolong tea, and a high, slanting forehead. His slab of coal-black hair was combed to the left and appeared heavily gelled.

Assessing his physiognomy, Lijian suspected Comrade Hua hailed from in or around Inner Mongolia.

Standing between Comrade Hua and Dou Dou was a well-dressed, vigorous-looking, 40ish man. He was tall, handsome, had a cinnamon glow to his skin, and was stiff jawed, flashing a crooked smile of pearly white teeth. The smiling stranger wore an impeccably pressed, spotless white collared dress shirt, and crisp black slacks that were perfectly hemmed.

Further to Lijian’s surprise, as he entered the room, everyone spoke in English, and only in English.

Comrade Hua addressed Lijian first, his voice a fit of hushed, raspy bursts, “Lijian, I am sure you are familiar with Comrade Dou Dou. She is head of the school’s Communist Youth League.”

Suddenly, it made sense to Lijian, why he’d seen the girl with the foreigner. She wasn’t a whore, after all. She was a spy, keeping tabs on the devil, protecting Mother China! Lijian felt a rush of shame surge up into his throat, like vomit, and his cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He was ashamed he’d ever questioned her, thought so poorly of her.

“This, Lijian, is Comrade Zhang. He is from the Shanghai Municipal People’s Government.”

The two shook hands and Lijian lightly bowed his head in reverence. Then Comrade Hua motioned for everyone to sit in the office’s chestnut-brown, synthetic wood chairs.

Comrade Zhang locked eyes with Lijian and spoke in an almost staccato rhythm. Hearing the Shanghaiese-inflected high and low pitches of his accent, Lijian could tell the man was a native of Shanghai.

“Comrade Lijian,” Zhang said, his hands clasped, his expression turning dour, “As everyone knows, we are in a new day and age. The age of information. Everything is online. Everyone is online. Everyone is locked to their phone. Discussion, debate, information, everything is electronic. The digital space, the internet is a new front, a new battlefield. This is not hyperbole. It is a war. A war of narratives. A war of information.”

Comrade Zhang paused, squinted his eyes, and leaned forward, closer to Lijian, close enough that Lijian could smell the scent of cigarettes on his breath.

Comrade Zhang then went on, “This, this is a war China must win.”

Lijian nodded intently. From the very minute he’d lain eyes on the man, he’d been enamored. This man was everything Lijian wished to be.

“Comrade Lijian,” Zhang continued, “we have reviewed your essay, ‘Why China is the Greatest Nation in the World,’ and we have diligently examined your classwork. You write very, very fluently in English. In many of your writings, you could be mistaken for a native speaker of this language.”

Blushing, his cheeks turning hot pink, Lijian modestly glanced down at the floor, shook his head. Looking at his worn Anta tennis shoes, he then peered over at Comrade Zhang’s sparkling wingtips, then lifted his gaze to again meet Comrade Zhang’s steely glare.