“It’s an immoral and irresponsible life to begin with!” Song Cheng said, anger entering his voice.
“But doesn’t everyone live like that? Who doesn’t have some sort of secret? If you want to be happy these days, sometimes, you have to bend a little. How many people can be shining spotless saints like you? If the digital mirror makes everyone into perfect people who can’t take a step out of line, then—then what’s even fucking left?”
The Senior Official laughed, and even Lu and Chen, who’d been grim-faced all this time, cracked a smile. The Senior Official patted Bai Bing on the shoulder. “Young man, your argument might not be particularly high-minded, but you’ve thought far deeper than our scholar over here.” He turned toward Song Cheng as he spoke. “There’s no way we can extricate ourselves now, so you can put aside your hatred and thirst for vengeance toward us. As one so well-learned on the subject of social philosophy, surely you’re not so shallow-minded as to think that history is made from virtue and justice?”
The Senior Official’s words were a potent tranquilizer for Song Cheng. He recovered from the fever of victory. “My duty is to punish the evil, protect the virtuous, and uphold justice,” he said after a moment of hesitation, his tone much calmer.
The Senior Official nodded, satisfied. “You didn’t give a straight answer. Very good, it shows that you’re not quite that narrow-minded yet.”
Here, the Senior Official suddenly shuddered all over, as if someone had dumped cold water over him. He broke out of his daze. The weakness was gone; whatever vitality had deserted him earlier seemed to have returned. He stood, gravely buttoned his collar, and meticulously smoothed the wrinkles from his clothes. Then he said with utmost solemnity to Lu Wenming and Chen Xufeng, “Comrades, from now on, everything can be seen in the digital mirror. Please take care with your behavior and image.”
Lu Wenming stood, his expression heavy. He attended to his appearance as the Senior Official had, then gave a long sigh. “Yes, from now on, Heaven watches from above.”
Chen Xufeng stood unmoving with his head hanging.
The Senior Official looked at everyone in turn. “Very well, I’ll be leaving now. I have a busy day at work tomorrow.” He turned toward Bai Bing. “Young man, come to my office tomorrow at six in the evening. Bring the superstring computer.” Then he turned toward Chen and Lu. “As for you two, do your best. Xufeng, keep your chin up. We may have committed sins beyond pardon, but we don’t need to feel so ashamed. Compared to them,” he pointed to Song Cheng and Bai Bing, “what we’ve done really doesn’t amount to much.”
He opened the door and left with his head held high.
BIRTHDAY
The next day really was a busy day for the Senior Official.
As soon as he entered the office, he summoned key officials in charge of industry, agriculture, finance, environmental protection, and more, one by one, to debrief them on their next orders of business. Though each meeting was short, the Senior Official drew on his ample experience to zero in on important aspects of the work and problems requiring attention. With his well-honed conversational skills, too, each official left thinking that this was only another typical work debriefing. They noticed nothing unusual.
At ten thirty in the morning, after sending away the last official, the Senior Official settled down to document his views on the province’s economic development, and problems he foresaw with large- and medium-scale province-owned enterprises. The compilation wasn’t long, less than two thousand characters, but it distilled decades of reflection and work experience. Anyone familiar with the Senior Official’s philosophies would be astonished reading this document—it differed considerably from his previous views. In his long years at the apex of power, this was the first time he expressed views unadulterated by personal considerations, solely coming from concern for the Party and the country’s best interests.
It was past noon by the time the Senior Official finished writing. He didn’t eat, only drank a cup of tea, and continued work.
The first indication of the age of the mirror occurred then. The Senior Official was informed that Chen Xufeng had shot himself in his office; meanwhile, Lu Wenming seemed to be in a trance, compulsively reaching for his collar button and straightening his clothes, as if someone could be snapping a picture of him at any instant. The Senior Official met the two pieces of news with only a smile.
The age of the mirror had not yet arrived, but the darkness was already breaking.
The Senior Official ordered the Anti-Corruption Bureau to immediately assemble a task force; with the cooperation of the police and the related Departments of Finance and Commerce, they were to immediately seize all records and accounts belonging to his son’s Daxi Trade and Commerce Group and his daughter-in-law’s Beiyuan Corporation, and contain the legal entities according to the law. He took care of his other relatives’ and cronies’ various financial bodies in the same manner.
At four thirty, the Senior Official began to draft a list of names. He knew that, upon the arrival of the age of the mirror, thousands of officials at or above the county rank throughout the province would be sacked. The immediate concern was to seek suitable successors for key roles within each organization, and the list, meant for the provincial and central leadership, presented his suggestions. In reality, this list had existed in his mind long before the appearance of the digital mirror. These were the people he’d planned to eliminate, supplant, and retaliate against.
It was already five thirty, time to leave work. He felt a gratification he had never experienced before: he had spent at least today as a human being.
Song Cheng entered the office, and the Senior Official handed him a thick stack of documents. “This is the evidence you obtained on me. You should report to the Central Commission as soon as possible. I wrote a confession last night complete with supporting evidence and added them here. Aside from looking through and checking the results of your investigations, I also supplemented some material to fill in the gaps.”
Song Cheng accepted the documents, nodding solemnly. He didn’t say anything.
“In a moment, Bai Bing will arrive with the superstring computer. You should tell him that you’re about to inform your superiors of the digital mirror software. The central officials, after considering the matter from all directions, will use it conservatively to begin with. He should therefore make sure the software doesn’t leak to the public beforehand. That would pose serious dangers and adverse effects. Therefore, you will have him delete all the backup copies, whether online or elsewhere, that he made to protect himself. As for the initialization parameters, if he told them to anyone else, have him make a list of names. He trusts you. He’ll do as you say. You must make sure all the backups are gone.”
“We already plan to,” said Song Cheng.
“Then,” the Senior Official looked Song Cheng in the eye, “kill him, and destroy his superstring computer. At this point, you can hardly think I’m plotting for my own sake.”
Once Song Cheng recovered from his surprise, he shook his head, smiling.
The Senior Official smiled, too. “Very well, I’ve said everything I have to say. Whatever happens next has nothing to do with me. The mirror has recorded these words of mine; perhaps one day, in the distant future, someone will listen.”