A Death in the Lucky Holiday Hotel Read Online Free
Author: Wenguang Huang Pin Ho
even requested a transfer back to Beijing or Liaoning province, claiming that his life was in danger.
Meanwhile, a “princeling”—as children of senior Communist officials are known—e-mailed me through a secure mobile channel from Beijing. He offered a similar version, but with a twist:
Wang became emotional after Bo took away his police chief’s position and locked himself up in an office on the fifteenth floor of the Municipal Public Security Bureau building, one level below the department’s ammunition warehouse. Worrying that Wang would get out of control and access the warehouse, officials there put him under surveillance. Wang was tipped off. He thought the surveillance [team] was meant to assassinate him.
Boxun and Mingjing posted the unverified stories. By then it had become clear to me that some invisible hands were out to destroy not only Wang but also, by association, the Chongqing party chief, Bo Xilai, and that the deliberate leaks or rumors could further antagonize Bo and Wang, pushing them to take extreme action against each other.
Bo Xilai had definitely seen the overseas coverage. On February 3, he emerged. At a conference on publicity and culture work, Bo remarked, “Each time something happens in our city, the hostile forces painstakingly make up stories and spread vicious rumors. Their intent is to cause chaos. This is an invisible battle, but the fight is fierce. . . . We cannot neglect our propaganda front. This is a hard job. Information itself might be soft and invisible, but its results are concrete and hard. We should provide a large amount of healthy and uplifting information to the press. We should focus on our strengths and build our steely stamina.”
Wang resurfaced on February 5. He acted very cooperatively in public, as if he were busy adapting to his new role. A TV clip showed him visiting the Chongqing municipal education department and then the Chongqing Normal University, where he looked poised and listened attentively to reports from the school authorities. When commenting on his new assignment, Wang said with apparent sincerity, “This is a new challenge for me and a great learning opportunity.” Wang and Bo had presented a seemingly unified front, suggesting that the rumors were malicious and that each man would be continuing asnormal, although Wang had been assigned new duties. The pretense lasted barely forty-eight hours.
THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
N O. 4 CONSULATE ROAD is a sprawling white cinder-block building in the southwestern city of Chengdu, reached by a tree-lined street south of the crowded city center. It is the US Consulate, where thirty or so American officials handle mostly visa applications and commercial affairs for southwestern China.
Students and residents applying for visas to study and visit the US come to the consulate from Sichuan, Guizhou, Yunnan, and Tibet. In the past, the line for visa interviews would begin forming around midnight, made up mostly of young college graduates. On a normal day, the visa line was up to two blocks long by the time the doors opened in the morning. “It looked like every young person with family connections and money wanted to go to America,” a local resident recalled.
Appointments these days are arranged online and via telephone, the line in front of the consulate is rarely more than a sizeable gaggle, and the street scene is serene. Even as China gradually emerged as an economic powerhouse, enthusiasm about studying or living in the US never waned. Many young Chinese still see the consulate as holder of the key to an exciting and free life in the home of Microsoft and Apple, Hollywood movies, and multinational investment banks. Others see it as an expression of American imperialism, especially when China and the US spar over human rights or trade issues. On the Google satellite map, beneath the address of the consulate, was a comment in Chinese: “The place looks ominous. People come here to betray
Meanwhile, a “princeling”—as children of senior Communist officials are known—e-mailed me through a secure mobile channel from Beijing. He offered a similar version, but with a twist:
Wang became emotional after Bo took away his police chief’s position and locked himself up in an office on the fifteenth floor of the Municipal Public Security Bureau building, one level below the department’s ammunition warehouse. Worrying that Wang would get out of control and access the warehouse, officials there put him under surveillance. Wang was tipped off. He thought the surveillance [team] was meant to assassinate him.
Boxun and Mingjing posted the unverified stories. By then it had become clear to me that some invisible hands were out to destroy not only Wang but also, by association, the Chongqing party chief, Bo Xilai, and that the deliberate leaks or rumors could further antagonize Bo and Wang, pushing them to take extreme action against each other.
Bo Xilai had definitely seen the overseas coverage. On February 3, he emerged. At a conference on publicity and culture work, Bo remarked, “Each time something happens in our city, the hostile forces painstakingly make up stories and spread vicious rumors. Their intent is to cause chaos. This is an invisible battle, but the fight is fierce. . . . We cannot neglect our propaganda front. This is a hard job. Information itself might be soft and invisible, but its results are concrete and hard. We should provide a large amount of healthy and uplifting information to the press. We should focus on our strengths and build our steely stamina.”
Wang resurfaced on February 5. He acted very cooperatively in public, as if he were busy adapting to his new role. A TV clip showed him visiting the Chongqing municipal education department and then the Chongqing Normal University, where he looked poised and listened attentively to reports from the school authorities. When commenting on his new assignment, Wang said with apparent sincerity, “This is a new challenge for me and a great learning opportunity.” Wang and Bo had presented a seemingly unified front, suggesting that the rumors were malicious and that each man would be continuing asnormal, although Wang had been assigned new duties. The pretense lasted barely forty-eight hours.
THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
N O. 4 CONSULATE ROAD is a sprawling white cinder-block building in the southwestern city of Chengdu, reached by a tree-lined street south of the crowded city center. It is the US Consulate, where thirty or so American officials handle mostly visa applications and commercial affairs for southwestern China.
Students and residents applying for visas to study and visit the US come to the consulate from Sichuan, Guizhou, Yunnan, and Tibet. In the past, the line for visa interviews would begin forming around midnight, made up mostly of young college graduates. On a normal day, the visa line was up to two blocks long by the time the doors opened in the morning. “It looked like every young person with family connections and money wanted to go to America,” a local resident recalled.
Appointments these days are arranged online and via telephone, the line in front of the consulate is rarely more than a sizeable gaggle, and the street scene is serene. Even as China gradually emerged as an economic powerhouse, enthusiasm about studying or living in the US never waned. Many young Chinese still see the consulate as holder of the key to an exciting and free life in the home of Microsoft and Apple, Hollywood movies, and multinational investment banks. Others see it as an expression of American imperialism, especially when China and the US spar over human rights or trade issues. On the Google satellite map, beneath the address of the consulate, was a comment in Chinese: “The place looks ominous. People come here to betray
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