Now, twelve years later, the department head was still the department head, the magazine was still the magazine. The widow, on the other hand, had become the section chief in another office after marrying Deputy Head Yan. Jing had chosen administration over literary work and had been promoted to a mid-level leadership position. After considerable effort, Zhong Weixian, who had always been an old-fashioned man with limited prospects, finally became the new editor-in-chief, after triumphing over an editorial group that had run the magazine for three years and nearly driven it into financial collapse. Zhong never did trust Li Hongwen, though he found it impossible to do without him.
Zhuang arrived at the familiar old building and greeted acquaintances before heading to the editorial office. When he opened the door, the editors were all holding underpants. They did not have time to put them away before he walked in on them.
“Ai-ya!” Li cried out at the sight of Zhuang. “An early arrival is never as good as a timely one. Here, you can have these.”
“Why are you all holding skivvies?”
A stranger came up to shake his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Zhuang. I’m Wang Henian, a novelist. What do you think of our factory’s products?”
“After a reorganization at the magazine, part-time writers began bringing in ad revenue,” Li explained. “Henian is a good novelist. His factory is a small neighborhood concern, and since he can’t afford to advertise, he gives us samples. These are anti-STD underpants. They can cure an STD if you have it and help prevent one if you don’t.”
“These are perfect for you guys. I, on the other hand, would need a pair that increases my sexual prowess,” Zhuang replied, drawing laughter from everyone.
Zhong was laughing so hard his face shrank into a walnut. He took off his glasses to wipe away tears. “Come here, Zhidie,” he said. “I’ve saved up some good cigarettes for you.”
He opened his drawer and took out a box filled with cigarettes.
More than a decade earlier, when Zhuang had first taken up smoking, he had given Zhong a large box to collect cigarettes from part-time writers who came to Zhong with their manuscripts. Zhong did not smoke and had turned down the gifts until Zhuang stopped him, saying he would smoke the cigarettes for him.
“Zhong Weixian is old-fashioned,” said Gou Dahai, an editor who had hired on after Zhuang’s departure. “Do you think Zhuang Zhidie still wants those? Now that he’s here, I’ll take over.” He dumped the contents of the box into his drawer and gave up his chair to Zhuang.
Zhuang sat down, and after some small talk began discussing the revamped magazine, a topic that involved them all. Confidence ran high over the contents, the cover design, even the ads for the first issue. The article by Zhou Min, in particular, had been promoted in posters in front of the post office as a special enticement. The editorial office had even decided to print additional copies and increase Zhou’s fee.
“You’re a popular figure,” Li Hongwen commented. “As I said before, the only thing Cao Xueqin wrote was the novel Dream of the Red Chamber, but it has provided generations of scholars with a bountiful feast. Now you, Zhuang Zhidie, have reached the level of providing for others. Zhou Min’s article is not long, barely enough for him to nibble at your toes. I wonder what I’d get if I wrote about you?”
“Nothing, at least nothing from me,” Zhuang replied.
“All right, then one day I’ll write a long piece and sign it with a woman’s name. What will you do then? Probably let me have a bite of your tongue.”
Zhuang laughed and said, “You can chew on my hemorrhoids.”
Zhou Min, who had been quietly making tea for Zhuang, walked up.
“Zhuang Laoshi, this is my first article, so please don’t be stingy with your views.”
Putting the lighthearted banter aside, Zhuang said that he had come specifically because of that article, which he found somewhat troubling. Zhong tensed up.
“What bothers you about it?”
“Everything is fine except for the part about my relationship with Miss X. It was overblown, and there could be repercussions.”
“I considered that,” Zhong said. “I asked Zhou Min where he got his material, and he said it was all based on fact.”
“It looks real, but the way it’s written, it feels different. No names are mentioned, and yet the circumstances and images of the people involved are self-evident. You know that Jing Xueyin and I were close, but we never had a romantic relationship.”
“So what?” Li interjected. “The woman in the article comes across as noble. What’s wrong if you were in love? It’s perfectly acceptable to have romantic relationships before marriage. Besides, now that you’re a celebrity, she should feel honored to have had a fling with you. I’ll bet she can’t wait for the whole world to learn about this beautiful love story.”
“Stop the nonsense, Hongwen,” Zhuang objected. “I trust her not to raise a stink, but we are, after all, in China, where we must face certain realities. She’s a wife and a mother, and a member of the leadership. No one will escape the fallout if something happens.”
“What do you suggest?” Zhong asked.
“That you immediately send someone to Jing’s house with a copy of the magazine and explain the situation to nip any potential problems in the bud.”
“I’ve already been there,” Zhou cut in. “She’s not home yet.”
“Go back as soon as she is,” Zhuang said.
“Don’t worry,” Li said. “We’ll take care of it. But not today. Stick around. Zhou can buy you lunch out of his fee, and the rest of us will get a share.”
“No problem,” Zhou replied. “My treat. I’ll buy as many pork jelly buns from Cao’s Damaishi Street shop as you can eat.”
“I see Li Hongwen hasn’t changed a bit,” Zhuang said. “He’s always looking to be treated, but never offers to treat anyone else.”
“I can’t help it. My wife holds the purse strings,” Li said. “If you don’t want Zhou Min to spend the money, then it’s on you.”
“How about a game of mahjong?” Gou Dahai said. “Winner treats.”
“What do you say?” Zhuang asked Zhong.
“Go ahead as long as you don’t play for money,” Zhong said. “But you’ll have to excuse me. I have something to attend to.”
With a smile, Zhuang shook hands with Zhong and walked him to the door. Li closed the door after Zhong left.
“How’s that for a boss?” he said. “See how clever he is with words? He has no objection to our game of mahjong, but he’ll be blameless if there’s a problem. That’s true leadership quality.”
“If he actually had that quality,” Gou said, “he wouldn’t still be an editor-in-chief, without making the grade of a section cadre.”