Third, soap operas are silly and melodramatic, and it doesn't matter if they are Japanese, Korean, Taiwanese, Chinese, American, or Mexican. As she cries and laughs over their silliness, she feels she outsmarts them.
Lulu's favorite genre is kung fu soap operas such as The Water Marshals and The Eagle-Shooting Heroes. Kung fu stories always have beautiful settings in a desert or near a lake or forest that is totally different from the concrete jungle she lives in. They are always about integrity, honor, chivalrous knights, and the sacrifices of the ancient Chinese. These are the precise qualities that modern people lack. At times, the scenes and the fights are violent, but they are aesthetically violent.
One time, as we see a duel on screen, Lulu says, "I wish to have a duel with Jenny."
"It would perhaps be more honorable than behind-the-back mischievousness," I say.
Because Lulu has rented so many videos and DVDs, Blockbuster sends her a free gift. It's Robert Kiyosaki's Rich Dad, Poor Dad series workshop. Lulu watches it for the sake of practicing her English and as a change of pace. But soon, she is captivated. In the video, Mr. Kiyosaki talks about the cash-flow quadrant and the differences between an employee and a business owner, and he explains why most employees go from job to job while others quit their jobs and go on to build business empires. According to the legendary Robert Kiyosaki, one can get rich as a business owner, but only be a member of the middle class as an excellent employee. He encourages people to find their own business models rather than relying on big corporations for financial freedom. Lulu is totally inspired and cheered up by this god-sent video.
"I'm on the right track to financial freedom by quitting my job. I should have my own business and be my own boss," she tells me. "My next step is to find the business. That is to say, what can I do?"
I look at the piles of videos and DVDs on the carpet of her living room, and have an idea,
"What about manufacturing soap operas? Isn't our life like a soap opera? The parties, the dinners, and the dates we've had."
"Sounds wonderful! But it probably would take me ten years to finish it."
"But remember what Jenny told you? The only thing China doesn't lack is people," I say to her.
"Yes, you are so right, Niuniu. If I can hire a team of writers to work with me, we can form several production lines. Networks need content to fill in their time slots. We can even go international since we can sell the rights to other countries!" She yells happily.
Lulu is a go-getter. A week later, she asks me to accompany her to meet a producer in the lobby of the Shangri-la Hotel. The producer is a good-looking, well dressed, smooth man in his forties. Lulu tosses around her ideas for the soap opera. He says he wants to hear more, and they can meet the next day.
Lulu arrives at the hotel the next day and rings him in his room. He says, "Come upstairs." Lulu gets suspicious. It's a gorgeous room and he's got wine, soft music, and cheese and crackers. After three glasses of this marvelous California mountain chablis, the man puts his hand on her thigh and his other arm around her. Lulu moves away.
"Is this also part of your job?" she asks him.
"Yes," he answers.
"Do you feel ashamed?" she asks.
"I love women. My job allows me to meet lovely women like you. It's a privilege. Why should I feel ashamed?"
"I love your honesty. Welcome to my first reality TV show!" Lulu points at the concealed camera she just set up while he was opening the wine in the kitchen. The man stares at the small red light, dumbfounded.
74 Got Kids?
Beibei's sister Baobao returns to China from the United States with her Taiwanese-born husband and American-born kids. This visit is her first trip home after living in the States for sixteen years.
During the Cultural Revolution, being the oldest kid of a heiwulei family, one of the "five black types" of counterrevolutionaries, Baobao was humiliated and discriminated against as a student. Under Deng Xiaoping's open-door policy, Baobao's grandparents were rehabilitated and offered prominent positions in the party. Baobao enjoyed privileges as a gaogan zidi, or a child of high -ranking Communist Party officials.
This roller-coaster life turned young Baobao into a cynical rebel who loathed inequality and "special treatment." While most children with connections cashed in their opportunities for nice jobs, she dreamed of finding a fairer life in the United States, the land of equal opportunity. In the mid-1980s, she received a government grant to study engineering at the University of Texas. Chinese who received this type of grant were normally required to go back after they had finished their studies to "serve the motherland." But all Chinese in the United States were granted green cards after Liu Si, the Tiananmen uprising in 1989. Baobao stayed in the United States and became a chemical engineer. She later married a civil engineer from Taiwan.
None of her family came to the States to attend the wedding because her husband was the son of a Nationalist general that her Communist grandfather had fought against during the Civil War. She settled down in San Antonio, living a middle-class life and had three kids. China slowly faded away from her quiet suburban life until eventually the closest she felt to China was in the video shop around the corner that carried Jackie Chan's DVDs. As her kids grew up, she realized that they needed more exposure to Chinese culture.
The first stop after arrival is Lijiang, Yunnan, where the kids' grandparents grew up. Baobao is amazed that Lijiang is so modernized and so traditional at the same time. The river around the town reminds her of the Riverwalk back in San Antonio. Unlike the Riverwalk, there aren't any clubs featuring jazz bands, but there are bands featuring eighty-year-old musicians playing the theme song from Titanic on their erhu. There is no Hard Rock Cafe, but you can always find bars selling margaritas under ancient roofs.
Her hometown, Beijing, is unrecognizable, not only because of the new tall buildings but also because of the looks of the people. All of a sudden, Beijing women have become fashion experts, looking both confident and beautiful. But nothing is more incredible than seeing her little sister Beibei's lifestyle. Designer clothes, a German car, beauty salon memberships, a maid, a driver, a chef, several lovers – she lives like a queen.
In a massage parlor, the two sisters are enjoying a foot massage. Beibei says, to Baobao, "My income is considered only so-so in America. It's a matter of choosing between living like a queen in the third world and living a middle-class life in the States."
"I'd choose equality and freedom over living like a queen," Baobao says, sounding very American. "What about you?"
"I've learned to enjoy privilege," Beibei admits, "but I also feel guilty about my wealth. I know part of the reason I'm able to lead a luxurious life is there are so many poor Chinese people – cheap laborers, especially those peasants who come to the big cities to da gong. For example, the kids here who are massaging us only make one-twentieth of what I earn. They work seven days a week, twelve hours a day, and sleep on the sofas we are sitting on. I feel bad for them. But at the same time, the contrast can also make you feel good about yourself. For example, it's nothing special owning a car in the United States, but here, it is quite something."
"Especially when you cruise around Beijing hutongs in your BMW 750." Baobao teases Beibei, "I guess it makes you feel like those colonials who lived in one of the old foreign concessions in Donghua Gate. I drive a Honda back in the States. Japanese cars use less gasoline.