‘Oh, who knows? You know what film people are like, they mouth off all the time, especially in the bar after we wrap. I expect someone said that China isn’t a democracy and I nodded in agreement.’
Kai sighed. It was perfectly possible. Like all security agencies, the Guoanbu firmly believed there was no smoke without fire. Malicious people could use that to make trouble for their enemies. It was like the charge of witchcraft in the olden days: once the accusation had been levelled, it was easy to find something that looked like evidence. No one was really innocent.
However, the news that Jin was probably responsible gave Kai ammunition.
There was a knock at the door and Ting called: ‘Come in.’
The floor manager, a young man wearing a Manchester United soccer shirt, looked in and said: ‘We’re ready for you, Ting.’
Neither he nor Ting seemed conscious that she was half naked. That was what it was like in the studio, Kai found: free and easy. He thought that was charming.
The floor manager left, and Kai helped Ting get back into her dress. Then he kissed her. ‘I’ll see you back at home,’ he said.
Ting went off, and Kai walked to the administration building and went to the Communist Party office.
Every enterprise in China was shadowed by a Party group that monitored its activities, and anything to do with the media got special attention. The Party read every script and vetted every actor. Producers liked historical dramas because what happened long ago had fewer political implications today, so they were less likely to suffer interference.
Kai went to the office of Wang Bowen, the secretary of the Party branch here.
The room was dominated by a large portrait of President Chen, a man with a dark suit and carefully combed black hair, looking like the portraits of a thousand other Chinese senior executives. On the desk was another picture of Chen, this one a photo in which he was shaking hands with Wang.
Wang was an unimpressive man in his thirties with grubby shirt cuffs and a receding hairline. Shadow executives tended to be smarter about politics than business. Nevertheless, they were powerful and had to be appeased, like wrathful gods. Their wrong decisions could be disastrous. Wang was haughty with actors and technicians, Ting said.
On the other hand, Kai was powerful too. He was a princeling. Communist functionaries were often bullies, but had to be subservient to their Party superiors. Wang began by fawning. ‘Come in, Chang Kai, sit down, it’s a pleasure to see you, I hope you’re well.’
‘Very well, thank you. I dropped by to see Ting and I thought I should have a word with you while I’m here. Just between ourselves, you understand.’
‘Of course,’ Wang said, looking pleased. He was flattered that Kai wanted to confide in him.
Kai’s approach would not be to defend Ting. That would be taken as an admission of guilt. He took a different line. ‘You probably don’t concern yourself with film-set tittle-tattle, Wang Bowen,’ he began. Of course tittle-tattle was exactly what Wang concerned himself with. ‘But it might help you to know that Wen Jin is insanely jealous of Ting.’
‘I had heard something to that effect,’ said Wang, unwilling to admit to ignorance.
‘You’re very well informed. So you know that when Jin took the part of emperor in Love in the Palace he was told he would be the star of the show, but now, of course, Ting has overtaken him in popularity.’
‘Yes.’
‘I mention it because the Guoanbu’s investigation is likely to conclude that Jin’s accusations are motivated by personal rivalry, and otherwise unfounded. I thought it might help you to be forewarned.’ That was a lie. ‘Ting is fond of you.’ That was a bigger lie. ‘We don’t want this to rebound on you.’
Now Wang looked scared. ‘I was obliged to take the reports seriously,’ he protested.
‘Of course. It’s your job. We at the Guoanbu understand that. I just don’t want you to be taken by surprise. You may want to interview Jin again, and write a short addendum to your report emphasizing that animosity could be a factor.’
‘Ah. Good idea. Yes.’
‘It’s not for me to interfere, of course. But Love in the Palace is such a success, so beloved by the people, that it would be a tragedy if some kind of shadow fell over the show – unnecessarily.’
‘Oh, I agree.’
Kai stood up. ‘I mustn’t linger. As always, there’s much to be done. I’m sure it’s the same for you.’
‘It is indeed,’ said Wang, looking around the room, which bore no evidence of any work at all.
‘Goodbye, comrade,’ said Kai. ‘I’m glad we had this chat.’
*
Kai’s parents lived in a kind of villa, a spacious two-storey house on a small plot of land in a new high-density suburban development for the affluent upper-middle class. Their neighbours were leading government officials, successful businessmen, senior military officers and top managers in large enterprises. Kai’s father, Chang Jianjun, had always said he would never need a home larger than the compact three-room apartment in which Kai had been raised; but on this issue he had given in to his wife, Fan Yu – or perhaps he just used her as an excuse for changing his mind.
Kai would never want to live in such a boring neighbourhood. His apartment had everything he needed, and he did not have to bother with a garden. The city was where things happened: government and business and culture. There was nothing to do in the suburbs, and the commute was even longer.
In the car on the way there Kai said to Ting: ‘Tomorrow morning I’ll tell the security minister that the information against you came from an envious rival, and Wang will confirm that, so the investigation will be dropped.’
‘Thank you, my darling. I’m sorry you’ve had this worry.’
‘These things happen, but perhaps in future you could be more discreet about what you say, and even what you nod about.’
‘I will, I promise.’
The villa was full of the aroma of a spicy dinner. Jianjun was not home yet, so Kai and Ting sat on stools in the modern kitchen while Yu cooked. Kai’s mother was sixty-five, a small woman with a lined face and strands of silver in her black hair. They talked about the show. Yu said: ‘The emperor likes his senior wife because she simpers and sweet-talks, but she’s got a mean streak.’
Ting was used to people talking about the fictional characters as if they were real. ‘He shouldn’t trust her,’ she said. ‘She’s only interested in herself.’
Yu put out a plate of cuttlefish dumplings with paper-thin wrappers. ‘To keep you going until your father gets here,’ she said, and Kai tucked in. Ting took one to be polite, but she had to keep her waist small enough for the dresses of an eighteenth-century concubine.
Jianjun came in. He was short and muscular, like a flyweight boxer. His teeth were yellow with smoking. He kissed Yu, greeted Kai and Ting, and got out four small glasses and a bottle of baijiu, the vodka-like clear spirit that was the most popular form of booze in China. Kai would have preferred a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks, but he did not say so and his father did not ask.
Jianjun poured four drinks and passed them around. Holding up his glass, he said: ‘Welcome!’ Kai took a sip. His mother touched her lips to the glass, pretending to drink so as not to offend her husband. Ting, who liked it, emptied her glass.
Yu deferred to Jianjun almost all the time but then, once in a blue moon, she would say something sharp in a certain tone of voice, and Jianjun would be quelled. Ting found that amusing.
Jianjun topped up Ting’s glass and his own, then said: ‘Here’s to grandchildren.’
Kai’s heart sank. So this was going to be tonight’s theme. Jianjun wanted a grandchild and thought he was entitled to insist. Kai, too, wanted Ting to have a baby, but this was not the way to raise the subject. She was not going to be bullied into it by his father or anyone else. Kai resolved not to have a row about it.
Yu said: ‘Now, dear heart, let the poor children alone.’ However, she was not using the special voice, so Jianjun ignored her. ‘You must be thirty now,’ he said to Ting. ‘Don’t leave it too late!’
Ting smiled and said nothing.