The Anointed Ones (5)
Having staked their positions, the provincial cadres relaxed into a lighter atmosphere, freely airing their thoughts. Most topics revolved around their own duties or recent anxieties and grievances tied to the political situation. Naturally, this included denunciations of America's diplomatic strategy.
"Did you hear? Even those ragtag Mongolian villagers—total pushovers—joined that damn Pacific-Rim Treaty Organization or whatever it's called. And it's been less than a month since Korea signed on. China loves peace more than any other nation, but those Yankee bastards can't seem to stir up trouble fast enough."
Panhai Shan spat out his frustration, only for Zhang Tailong to chide him.
"What are you pretending not to know? It's because our "awakened prowess surge" threatens them. They're terrified of losing the imperialist hegemony they've clung to for so long."
Hushan Liang condemned Mongolia's shamelessness. "True Mongols have been part of China for ages, yet these fools who ignore their roots forget all the grace they've received from our China and dare to antagonize their historical motherland. There's no greater impudence under heaven."
At this point, I tilted my head slightly. "Grace from China to Mongolia? Was there such a thing?"
"Of course." Hushan Liang replied without a shred of shame. "Those barbarians who still cook meat over burning horse and sheep dung—without trade with our China, how could they even scrape by?"
"Ah, that grace." I nodded vaguely, without probing his claim that true Mongols were part of China.
Genghis Khan himself is hailed as a hero of the Chinese people, after all.
Surprisingly, there was some basis for it here. The existence of China's Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region. The Mongols there believed themselves the true heirs of Mongolia, many carrying the blood of authentic Mongol nobility. To those inheriting ancient lineages, the independent nation of Mongolia was merely a Soviet puppet state. Communist invaders had rejected the rightful rulers of the great steppe, letting Oirat rabble steal the name of the mighty Mongol Ulus. To those who saw Mongol identity rooted in clans rather than mere ethnicity, it was an intolerable outrage.
Needless to say, their notion of "clan" encompassed blood-based privilege and legitimate succession. Though the golden lineage had died out, lesser collaterals still lived on in Inner Mongolia as Chinese citizens.
The amusing part was how China—ostensibly a communist state—exploited these feudal noble descendants' identity for political propaganda and the Northeast Project. But enduring contradictions was China's brand of communism, so it was hardly surprising.
"Don't worry too much." I corrected the cadres' misconceptions. "Mongolia joined as an observer, not a full member. No obligations or rights as a member state. If they truly want to join an anti-China encirclement, they'd first need to soothe Russia's backlash. An anti-China net could become an anti-Russia one anytime."
"An observer?" Hushan Liang showed faint bewilderment. "But Central Broadcasting clearly said they became a member—"
"Exaggerated reporting to inflate the crisis, of course. Gotta stir patriotic fervor, right? Unless Mongolia plans to starve itself, why jump into that mess lightly?"
"Hm..." Hushan Liang nodded in acceptance. Even Chinese didn't fully trust their media. People just believed what they wanted, truth be damned.
If China weathered this crisis, such amplified xenophobia would spell disaster for world affairs. Our conversation reaffirmed my conviction.
This imperialist regime must fall.
At minimum, crippled enough for my post-London days to be peaceful. I'd exploit them fully, then wreak havoc within my power and wash my hands clean. These three cadres would make fine tools even then, swept up in the profits I'd delivered and the inertia of guanxi, blind to what they were doing.
In our limited time, the cadres grew to enjoy chatting with me. All three asked me to drop formalities, but I declined, saying proximity demanded even greater courtesy. It might also leak outward like a sieve.
"Shame about the liquor," Zhang Tailong remarked. "Not the time to get drunk, as Deputy Director Gao said, but on a monumental day like this, it's a pity not to share a cup."
China's potent baijiu was too much even in one shot. The smell was the real issue. With fieldwork awaiting post-meeting, reeking of alcohol risked trouble—especially under Gao Xusen's notoriously harsh treatment of subordinates.
"Speaking of liquor—" Panhai Shan broached. "Does Deputy Director know of tiger bone wine?"
"..."
Was this the guy who'd brought that hideous tiger soak as a greeting gift? Testing if I grasped its value, perhaps?
I feigned nonchalance. "Yes. The medicinal brew banned from trade, right?"
In China, "illegal" herbs meant elite-only premium goods. Like the human flesh capsules Korean geriatrics smuggled for health, seized by the thousands just last year—news-covered. Dried fetal tonics wouldn't circulate legally, obviously.
Why the hell do they eat that stuff...?
Human desires for health and longevity twisted easily into madness. This Guangdong even had lunatics boiling infant soup—straight-up called "infant broth." Black markets had everything, but open online sales until recently was shocking.
"Exactly. A mystical brew that invigorates one's qi." Panhai Shan brightened. "A few years back, they officially debunked tiger bone and ivory, but no one buys it now. Western medicine lacks qi concepts, after all."
"Hm."
"Folks cured of immortal cancer after drinking it. Awakened abilities surging. Not just immortal cancer—lung, liver, stomach cancers too. Patients swear by it."
"Impressive, if true."
"Very. Especially whole forepaws—the potency peaks there. Tiger qi concentrates in the front paws."
"..."
The greeting bottle had a tiger forepaw. But Panhai Shan leaned in, signaling the real point.
"You've heard Russia's Far East is plagued by tiger attacks. That man-eater they call "Amur" in their tongue?"
"And?"
"Word from my Beijing cousin: Central Committee bigwigs eye that man-eater. Officially just border alerts, but secret massive bounties for hunters. Even elite awakened units mobilizing."
Bragging his Beijing connections, in short.
"...You think it's for medicine?"
"Why not? Forepaws from a beast that size would brew an elixir beyond measure."
Hushan Liang and Zhang Tailong chimed in.
"Even if not for elites, it'd boost strong awakened training—worth a fortune. A disaster-level awakened beast fetches top dollar as a test subject."
"Dongbei's one of our quietest spots now. Forget meds or research—fail to stop the tigers, and Party leadership wobbles."
Listening, I recalled the thesis I'd been editing in my office before they arrived. My wild berry niece's doctoral paper, as graduation loomed.
More like ghostwriting than editing.
Song Hayul, niece of Director Song Heungju, disliked such help. Profiting from unearned research irked her. Fittingly rigid for a trusted subordinate's kin.
But look at these fools raving about tiger qi and elixirs. Without my preemptive moves, the world would drown deeper in intellectual delusion. The Round Table would monopolize knowledge unchecked.
No way fake communist brass fall for superstitions... right?
My London ploy had succeeded. No tails on me, and the right dogs sniffed as expected. Nations' diplomacy suggested they'd gleaned needed intel. China, rivaling America in espionage, wouldn't lag in London.
Yet human folly and one-party rigidity worried me. Like the Soviets pushing Lysenkoism as "Marxist science," wrecking harvests—China's heads might cling to "great Chinese scientific principles" of qi and meridians.
People embraced odd faiths despite evidence; states did too.
Right on cue, the cadres swapped similar nonsense.
"Tong Ren Tang's Q3 overseas sales exploded 90-fold from last quarter. Stock soaring amid chaos."
"No surprise. Yankees can't trash our traditional Chinese medicine's superiority. We birthed qi and meridian wisdom, refined over millennia."
"Saw they ordered three years' Yinshu Zhengqi Yishengwan in Europe alone. Sold as 'spirit energy' crap. Yankees love China most but hide it. Why not just live in peace?"
I sneered inwardly. Western qi hype was 5G-spreading-COVID-level bunk. Acupoints and meridians stemmed from ancient Indian yoga—not Chinese originals. Round Table imperialists once probed it, akin to soul circuits. London mages verified Yoga Sutras' operations as valid spells, but worthless next to Golden Age wisdom, so they dropped it. Mere relics from less mana-starved eras.
I bantered suitably as time passed. Satisfied, the cadres rose.
"We'd love more talk, but must go. HQ's close, but no time left to dawdle."
Nearly an hour since arrival. Too short for a feast, lavish for wartime rations.
I nodded, standing. "Let's go. I'll see you off."