This is such a cliché that it reminds me of many old Hong Kong gangster movies. But that’s just daily life in Shazui.
Snow Lotus is unhappy. That’s why she often comes to Big Sister Shen for help.
Like many in Shazui, Big Sister Shen also has multiple jobs. One of them is shaman.
Big Sister Shen claims to be a Manchu. Some of her ancestors were also shamans, she says, and so she has inherited some of their magical powers, enabling her to speak to spirits and to predict the future.
One time, when she was a little drunk and in a talkative mood, she described the great, empty deserts of the far north, where one’s breath turned to ice, and where her ancestors had once performed magical ceremonies while dressed in ferocious masks, dancing, twirling in the blizzard, drumming and singing, praying for spirits to take over their bodies. Even though that was a hot day, with the temperature hovering near forty degrees Celsius, everyone in the room had shivered as she told her story.
Big Sister Shen never allows me to enter the room where she performs her magic. She says that because I don’t want anything, my heart isn’t pure, and so I will harm the atmosphere for the spirits.
An endless stream of customers comes to seek her services. They all say that she has real power—one look, and she can tell everything about you. I’ve seen the people who leave her room after the magic sessions: their faces are filled with a dreamy look of satisfaction.
I’ve seen that expression many times: young women carrying their LV Speedy bags, wealthy urbanites on the hunt for beautiful women at the V Bar of the Venetian, politicians who appear on TV every night for the six-thirty Shenzhen news—all of them wear that same expression on their faces, a very Shenzhen expression.
They are like the johns who come to Shazui every day. They go to the Chinese medicine store for some extra-strength aphrodisiac and then reappear with a confident smile. But I know that the aphrodisiac contains nothing but fiber, and it has no effect except causing them to shit regular.
In this city, everyone needs some placebo.
Snow Lotus comes to Big Sister Shen again and again. Each time she leaves as if enlightened, but soon after, she returns, her face full of unhappiness. I can imagine the kind of troubles that someone like her must endure, but I can’t help wanting to know more. I have many technical ways to satisfy my curiosity, but they all require that I set foot first in Big Sister Shen’s room. I know the only way is to become a disciple.
“I need the aid of spirits,” I tell Big Sister Shen. I’m not lying.
“Come in.” Big Sister Shen has seen countless men. She can spot a liar from a mile away.
The room isn’t big, and it’s dimly lit. On the wall I can see paintings of shamanistic spirits, the chaotic brushstrokes probably the result of a drug-addled brain. Big Sister Shen sits in front of a square altar covered by a red flannel cloth. On top of the altar are a mask, a cowhide drum, a drum whip, a bronze mirror, a bronze bell, and other ritual implements. An electronic prayer machine begins to recite sutras. She puts on the mask, and through the hideous eyeholes, I can see an ancient and alien light in her eyes.
“The Great Spirit is listening,” she says. Her voice is low and rasping, full of an indisputable sense of dignity.
I can’t resist her power. There’s a story locked away in the darkest corner of my memory, but it has never ceased to torment me. Sin is like wine. The more it is hidden from sunlight, the more it ferments, growing more potent.
Suddenly I startle awake. My subconscious has been playing a trick on me. It’s not curiosity about Snow Lotus that caused me to step into this room, but the inner desire to be free of repression, to seek relief.
“I’m from outside the Fence. I was an engineer.” I try to control my breathing, to steady my voice.
I’m from outside the Fence. I was an engineer.
Back in 1983, before I was born, a barbed-wire fence 84.6 kilometers long and 2.8 meters high was built to divide Shenzhen into two parts. Inside the Fence is the 327.5 square kilometers of the Special Economic Zone; outside is a wilderness of 1,600 square kilometers. They say that the purpose of the Fence was to provide some relief for the border checkpoint between Hong Kong and Shenzhen. Before 1997, when Hong Kong was ruled by Great Britain, there used to be many waves of illegal border crossings.
The Berlin Wall never truly fell.
The Fence and its nine checkpoints separated not only people and traffic, but also different systems of law, welfare, tax benefits, infrastructure, and identity. The area outside the Fence became Shenzhen’s “mistress.” Because of its proximity to the Special Economic Zone and its vast tracts of undeveloped land, it attracted many labor-intensive, though low-value-added, industries. But every time “outside the Fence” was mentioned, a Shenzhener’s first thought was of the deserts in Hollywood westerns: a poor, backward place where the roads were always under construction, where running red lights had no consequences, where crime was rampant and the police powerless.
Yet history always surprises us with similarities. Shenzhen also had its own version of the taming of the West.
In 2014, the government’s decision to finally tear down the Fence received unprecedented opposition. Shenzheners living inside the Fence believed that they would be overwhelmed by migrants from the other side and suffer increased crime. But those living outside the Fence opposed it even more. They felt that they had been abandoned by those inside the Fence back when the Special Economic Zone grew, and now that development had run into a wall due to the scarcity of developable space, they were being exploited for their only resource: land. If unopposed, increased rent and prices would drive the low-income population out of their homes. Young people even dressed up in Native American garb and tied themselves to the Fence to prevent it from being torn down.
The factory where I worked was one of the electronics manufacturers affected by the change. Every year we relied on orders from Europe, America, and Japan for augmented reality gear components to earn foreign currency. At the same time, our margins were being squeezed by the declining value of the dollar against the yuan. If commercial rent and wages also rose, then there would be nothing left for profit. The owner announced at an all-hands meeting that everyone should be prepared for layoffs.
I was a mold engineer. I wanted to do something to make as much money as I could before I was let go. Everyone thought that way.
Our clients gave us prototypes for unreleased products so we could design the molds ahead of actual production. Following strict NDAs and security procedures, RFID chips embedded in the prototypes sent out signals at 433 MHz and communicated with dedicated receivers through a proprietary over-the-air protocol. If at any time a prototype left a designated area, an automatic alarm would sound. If the prototype weren’t returned to the designated area within three hundred seconds, the machine would activate a self-destructive mechanism. Of course, if that were to occur, the factory would lose all international credibility and be blacklisted by clients and get no more business.
Throughout the Pearl River Delta, experienced and crafty buyers solicited secret prototypes at high prices. Getting their hands on such prototypes and reverse engineering them would bring these shanzhai electronics manufacturers tens of millions in profits. These days, getting rich unethically was easier than running an honest business.
I had lined up everything: a willing buyer, a price, a way to deliver the goods, and an escape route. But I still needed one more thing, a helper, someone to divert the attention of the crowd and lure away the security guards. I couldn’t think of anyone better for the job than Chen Gan, who was also from my hometown.