‘Please, sit down,’ said Zhou, smiling as he gestured Robin to the chair opposite his desk, which like the desk was made of ebony, and upholstered in red silk. Robin registered how comfortable it was as she sank into it: the chairs in the workshop were of hard plastic and wood, and the mattress of her narrow bed very firm.
Zhou was wearing a dark suit and tie and a pristine white shirt. Pearls shone discreetly in the buttonholes of his cuffs. Robin assumed he was biracial because he was well over six feet tall – the Chinese men she was used to seeing in Chinatown, near the office, were generally much shorter – and he was undeniably handsome, with his slicked-back black hair and high cheekbones. The scar running down from nose to jaw hinted at mystery and danger. She could understand why Dr Zhou attracted television viewers, even though she personally found the sleekness and slight but detectable aura of self-importance unappealing.
Zhou flipped open a folder on his desk and Robin saw several sheets of paper, with the questionnaire she’d completed on the bus lying on top.
‘So,’ said Zhou, smiling, ‘how are you finding life in the church so far?’
‘Really interesting,’ said Robin, ‘and I’m finding the meditation techniques incredible.’
‘You suffer from a little anxiety, yes?’ said Zhou, smiling at her.
‘Sometimes,’ said Robin, smiling back.
‘Low self-esteem?’
‘Occasionally,’ said Robin, with a little shrug.
‘I think you’ve recently had an emotional blow?’
Robin wasn’t sure whether he was pretending to intuit this about her, or admitting that some of the hidden sheets of paper contained the biographical details she’d confided in church members.
‘Um… yes,’ she said, with a little laugh. ‘My wedding got called off.’
‘Was that your decision?’
‘No,’ said Robin, no longer smiling. ‘His.’
‘Family disappointed?’
‘My mum’s quite… yes, they weren’t happy.’
‘I promise, you’ll live to be very glad you didn’t go through with it,’ said Zhou. ‘Much societal unhappiness stems from the unnaturalness of the married state. Have you read The Answer?’
‘Not yet,’ said Robin, ‘although one of the church members offered to lend me his copy, and Mazu was just…’
Zhou opened one of the desk drawers and took out a pristine paperback copy of Jonathan Wace’s book. The image on the front was of a bursting bubble, with two hands making the heart shape around it.
‘Here,’ said Zhou. ‘Your own copy.’
‘Thank you so much!’ said Robin, feigning delight while wondering when on earth she was supposed to have time to read, in between the lectures, the work and the temple.
‘Read the chapter on materialist possession and egomotivity,’ Zhou instructed her. ‘Now…’
He extracted a second questionnaire, this one blank, and took a lacquered fountain pen out of his pocket.
‘I’m going to assess your fitness to fast – what we call purification.’
He took down Robin’s age, asked her to step onto scales, noted down her weight, then invited her to sit down again so he could take her blood pressure.
‘A little low,’ said Zhou, looking at the figures, ‘but it’s nearly lunchtime… nothing to worry about. I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs.’
While Zhou pressed the cold head of the stethoscope to her back, Robin could feel the tiny pebble she’d tucked inside her bra sticking into her.
‘Very good,’ said Zhou, putting the stethoscope away, sitting and making a note on the questionnaire before continuing his questions on pre-existing health conditions.
‘And where did you get that scar on your forearm?’ he asked.
Robin knew at once that the eight-inch scar, which was currently covered by the long sleeves of her sweatshirt, must have been reported by one of the women in the dormitory where she undressed at night.
‘I fell through a glass door,’ she said.
‘Really?’ said Zhou, for the first time showing some disbelief.
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘It wasn’t a suicide attempt?’
‘God, no,’ said Robin, with an incredulous laugh. ‘I tripped down some stairs and put my hand right through a glass panel in a door.’
‘Ah, I see… you were having regular sex with your fiancé?’
‘I – yes,’ said Robin.
‘Were you using birth control?’
‘Yes. The pill.’
‘But you’ve come off it?’
‘Yes, the instructions said—’
‘Good,’ said Zhou, still writing. ‘Synthetic hormones are exceptionally unhealthy. You should put nothing unnatural in your body, ever. The same goes for condoms, caps… all disrupt the flow of your qi. You understand qi?’
‘In our lecture, Taio said it’s a sort of life force?’
‘The vital energy, composed of Yin and Yang,’ said Zhou, nodding. ‘You have a slight imbalance already. Don’t worry,’ he said smoothly, still writing, ‘we’ll address it. Have you ever had an STD?’
‘No,’ lied Robin.
In fact, the rapist who’d ended her university career had given her chlamydia, for which she’d been given antibiotics.
‘Do you orgasm during sex?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin. She could feel a blush rising in her face.
‘Every time?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Robin.
‘Your typology test places you in the decant Fire-Earth, which is to say, Gift-Bearer-Warrior,’ went on Zhou, looking up at her. ‘That’s a very auspicious nature.’
Robin didn’t feel particularly flattered by this assessment, not least because she’d answered as the fictional Rowena, rather than herself. She also had a feeling ‘Gift-Bearer’ might be a synonym for financial target. However, she said with enthusiasm,
‘That’s so interesting.’
‘I devised the typology test myself,’ said Zhou, with a smile. ‘We find it very accurate.’
‘What type are you?’ asked Robin.
‘Healer-Mystic,’ said Zhou, evidently pleased to be asked, as had been Robin’s intention. ‘Each quintant corresponds to one of our prophets and one of the five Chinese elements. You may have noticed that we name our groups for the elements. However,’ said Zhou seriously, now sitting back in his chair, ‘you mustn’t think I subscribe to any one rigid tradition. I favour a synthesis of the best of world medicine. Ayurvedic practices have much to recommend them, but as you’ve seen, I don’t disdain the stethoscope or blood pressure gauge. However, I have no truck with Big Pharma. A global protection racket. Not a single cure to their names.’
Rather than challenging this statement, Robin settled for looking mildly confused.
‘True healing is only possible from the spirit,’ said Zhou, placing a hand on his chest. ‘There’s ample evidence of the fact, but of course, if the whole world subscribed to the UHC healing philosophy, those companies would lose billions in revenue.
‘Are your parents still together?’ he asked, with another swift change of subject.
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘You have siblings?’
‘Yes, a sister.’
‘Do they know you’re here?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘Are they supportive? Happy for you to explore your spiritual growth?’
‘Er – they’re a bit – I think,’ said Robin, with another little laugh, ‘they think I’m doing it because I’m depressed. Because of the wedding being cancelled. My sister thinks it’s a bit weird.’