Ava arrived at Hong Kong International just after 3:30 p.m. to find Sonny standing by the Dragonair check-in counter, with her bag in one hand and an envelope in the other.
“Uncle has checked in and gone to the lounge,” he said. “Here is your ticket.”
She took the envelope. “You aren’t coming with us?”
“I’m not needed.”
Ava nodded, then went to a public washroom with her shopping bags and carry-on. She was still dressed in the Adidas training pants and black Giordano T-shirt she had worn from Curacao. She knew she’d have to change but wanted to wait until she was in the lounge, where she could shower and have some measure of privacy. She removed her laptop and some T-shirts and underwear from her carry-on and placed them in the new computer bag. She then pulled the tags off her new clothes and shoes and packed them neatly into her Shanghai Tang “Double Happiness” carry-on.
Twenty minutes later, Ava was checked in, through security, and walking into the Wing lounge. There was no sign of Uncle. She sat in one of the large Balzac chairs dotted around the lounge and opened her laptop. She punched “Wong Changxing” into the search engine and found multiple entries that described the man almost as a folk hero. Wong was the son of factory workers, had virtually no education, yet had built an enormous empire through a combination of unrelenting hard work, determination, foresight, and smarts — or so the official line went. The government held him up as an example of the unlimited possibilities and success available to every Chinese citizen. Ava wondered what Uncle would have to say about him.
She looked up and saw Uncle at the entrance of the lounge. He was standing at the sign-in desk, his head barely visible above the counter. Uncle was, she assumed, in his seventies or early eighties, but he had the skin and hair of a younger man. He was about the same height as she was and weighed maybe ten pounds more. He was dressed in his usual uniform: a black suit and crisp white shirt buttoned to the collar, with no tie.
She walked to the lounge entrance to greet him. He smiled when he saw her, and then frowned when he saw how she was dressed. “You need to change,” he said. “There is the dinner when we arrive.”
“Hello to you too,” she said, as she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “I have my change of clothes with me. I was waiting until you arrived before going to the washroom.”
“I just finished talking to Wuhan and it was on my mind,” he said. He reached for her hand. “It has been too long between visits. I am very happy to see you, as beautiful as ever.”
“Hardly,” she said. “But give me a few minutes and I’ll see if I can do better.”
“And I will find us a place to sit.”
In a private cubicle the size of the bathroom in her condo in Yorkville, one of Toronto’s ritziest neighbourhoods, Ava showered, put on a clean bra and panties, and then laid out her new clothes. It was her experience that most Chinese businessmen preferred the women they employed or did business with to dress conservatively. Ava chose the black cotton slacks and the more modest Cole Haan pumps, and offset the dark palette with her new pink Brooks Brothers shirt. It was bright but plainly cut and, buttoned close to the neck, it would look professional enough. Besides, given Uncle’s monochromatic look she felt they needed a little colour. The Shanghai Tang cufflinks completed the outfit and contrasted nicely with her shirt.
Ava applied a light touch of red lipstick and black mascara and then sprayed some Annick Goutal perfume behind her ears and on both wrists. She freed her shoulder-length glossy black hair from the rubber band, brushed it, and then pinned it up with her favourite hair piece: an ivory chignon pin. The pin had come from the pouch where she kept her jewellery; Ava also took from it a simple gold crucifix, which she slipped around her neck, and a Cartier Tank Francaise watch. The watch was the most expensive piece of jewellery she owned; she liked the way it spoke to success and professionalism.
When she strolled back into the lounge, she could feel all eyes following her. She walked slowly, her head held high, her shoulders back — a woman full of self-confidence.
Uncle sat at the back of the lounge, sipping tea. Ava took the seat next to him. He glanced at her and smiled. “I was going to have a beer, but I think it is best to save myself for dinner,” he said.
Ava could see in his eyes how pleased he was with her appearance. She loved his eyes: lively, curious, probing. Ava had learned early on that Uncle’s world was defined through his eyes and not through his words. “I was reading about Wong before you arrived,” she said, a question more than a statement.
“I met him once, about fifteen years ago, when Uncle Chang and Tommy Ordonez wanted to build a cigarette factory in Wuhan,” Uncle said. Tommy Ordonez was the richest man in the Philippines and Chang Wang was his long-time business partner and an old friend of Uncle’s. He and Ava had just finished a job for them, recovering $50 million from a gambling swindle that had taken Ava from Vancouver to San Francisco, Las Vegas, and finally London, where she had found herself confronting a prominent U.K. cabinet minister and his daughter. “There were problems getting the right location, and then more problems with building permits and licences. I went to Wuhan to straighten it out and found myself dealing with Wong. His guanxi was impressive then. It must be stronger now.”
“And what was he like?”
“For someone with his connections, he was friendly enough, and easy to do business with if you understood what his requirements were and complied with them. Of course, many people are friendly if you are doing what they want you to do. What was different about Wong was that he was not arrogant or boastful. Most of the new-rich Chinese, especially those from humble backgrounds, are vain and selfish. They have so much and everyone else has so little, and they cannot seem to help rubbing it in. Wong never took that path. He prides himself on being loyal to everyone who helped him along the way. I did hear, of course, that he is not a man to mislead, and that if you do, he never forgives and is relentless in getting revenge.”
“The government?”
“He was respectful. He obeyed the law as much as was necessary. He did not embarrass officials with his wealth and power, and he did not, as far as I know, bribe them excessively. He exchanged favours, of course, but where he was clever was that his door was open to them and their children if they chose to join one of his companies. That was the carrot, rather than an envelope filled with cash, though I am sure from time to time that was needed too. So he has never been associated with any overt corruption, and the officials who have worked with him over the years have not had to worry about getting shot.”
“Why does a man with such guanxi need us?”
“I do not know, but I am curious, and not many things make me curious these days.”
“He seems to have his fingers in many pies.”
“More than we could know.”
“Toys, plastics, garments, computer parts, cigarettes.”
“It is difficult to do anything in Wuhan without his assistance, and his assistance always comes at the cost of a piece of the business.”
“What if you refuse?”
“Then maybe your plant does not get built or it takes longer than you thought and costs more. And then you might have problems with warehousing and transportation, because he controls much of that too.”
“So Uncle Chang made him a partner in the cigarette business?”
“Of course, but as Wong explained — and he was right — making him a partner opened many doors. Chang got the land he wanted at a reduced price. Instead of waiting two years for a building permit, he had one in two weeks. The equipment he was bringing over from the Philippines cleared Customs, without a bribe, in half the scheduled time. And when the plant was running, Wong spoke to his friend the governor of Hubei, who spoke to his friend the mayor of Shanghai, and the cigarettes had an instant new market. And so on and so on. Wong is the kind of partner everyone needs in China.”
“ Guanxi,” she said.
Uncle sipped his tea. “A man in business in China is nothing without family and guanxi.”
“What kind of family does he have?”
“I was going to speak to you about that,” he said slowly. “As I told you, we will be staying at his house, so you will undoubtedly meet part of the family there, and at dinner. He works from home and entertains there as well.”
“I see.”
“And he has surrounded himself with his family.”
“How large is the family?”
“When I met him, he had a first wife with one daughter. She had been a teenage sweetheart, a factory worker. And he had just taken a second wife, the child of a business associate, a very smart woman who handled his money, and from what I have been told she still does. They have no children. I am told he took a third wife about eight years ago and they have two sons.”
“They live under one roof?”
“They do, on separate floors.”
“How difficult is that?”
“We will find out,” Uncle said, as the lounge P.A. announced that their flight was boarding.
There was a long, winding line at the gate, a smattering of businesspeople, but the majority of the passengers were tourists being herded by guides waving umbrellas with coloured flags attached to them. Ava wasn’t sure what the attraction was in Wuhan. She had been to China more times than she could count, but always for work. Her only trip to Wuhan had been a two-day blur of meetings in hotel lobbies and boardrooms as she tried, successfully, to convince a meat importer that the fact he had lodged a quality complaint about four containers of chicken feet didn’t mean he could avoid paying for them, especially when he had managed to sell them all. It had been one of her first assignments for Uncle.
Her memories of Wuhan were as blurred as the meetings had seemed. The city was surprisingly big — more than nine million people — and like all major Chinese cities it was awash in construction cranes. Her most vivid memory was the shroud of dirt and dust from the building sites that melded with bus fumes and industrial smog. Many of the people she saw on the streets wore masks, which she had thought was unnecessary until she went jogging one morning. When she got back to the hotel, her lungs were sore, and when she blew her nose, black mucus coated the tissue.
She and Uncle bypassed the boarding lines and went directly through the first-class entrance. Wuhan was in Hubei province, almost in the centre of eastern China and a two-hour flight from Hong Kong. As soon as they had settled into their seats Uncle pulled out a racing form and began studying the Sha Tin race card. Ava closed her eyes and napped.
When she woke, they were over a large body of water and starting to make their descent into Wuhan.
“Lake Dongting,” Uncle said. “When I was a boy, we would go there in the summer to swim and to watch the dragon-boat races. That is where dragon-boat racing began.”
She knew that Hubei meant “north of the lake” and that the name of the neighbouring province, Hunan, meant “south of the lake,” but she had never associated the names with an actual body of water.
Like virtually every city in China, Wuhan had a relatively new airport, and Tianhe International was one of the busiest in the country, serving the nine million people in Wuhan and the sixty million who lived in Hubei. It reflected the province’s central position in China’s economic life.
Ava and Uncle were met at the arrivals gate by a middle-aged man who was about the same size as Sonny. His large belly pushed out a blue Lacoste shirt to what Ava thought had to be its breaking point, and what little hair he had was worn long in the back and braided. Ava couldn’t help but notice the tattoos that covered both his bare arms and peeked out around his collarbones. He bowed to Uncle and nodded at her.
“This is Tam,” Uncle said to Ava.
Tam took their carry-on bags and walked them to a door that had police written on it. He opened it and led them through a cavernous office to another door that led them outside. A Mercedes-Benz sat at the curb. The driver, who looked as if he doubled as a bodyguard, rushed to open the car’s back door. He bowed so low that his chin almost hit his knees. “Don’t make such a fuss,” Uncle said as he slid into the back seat.
Ava sat in the back with Uncle. Tam was in the front, his body turned towards them so he could look at Uncle while he spoke.
“I have not been here since they built the new airport. How far are we from the city?” Uncle asked in Mandarin.
“About thirty kilometres, but Wong Changxing’s house is only twenty kilometres away.”
Ava’s Mandarin was not quite as good as her Cantonese. She understood the nuances of what she heard, but her ability to speak the language was more rudimentary.
“Did Wong’s people object when you told them you were coming to meet me?”
“Hmmm… they went on and on about how it shamed them.”
“What did you find out about his problem?”
“Nothing.”
“How can that be?” Although Uncle had asked the question gently, Ava saw that it stung Tam.
“We spoke to everyone we know, including some of his own people. No one can explain.”
Uncle shifted his attention to the countryside that flanked the superhighway. “I remember when there were no highways here,” he said to Ava. “Now Wuhan has more than Hong Kong, and dozens of railroads.”
Tam nodded in agreement, looking relieved that the topic of conversation had changed.
Uncle turned back to him. “Explain to Ava about Wong’s family situation. I am not sure I understand it completely myself.”
“He has three wives,” Tam began.
“We know the numbers. Explain the relationships, with him, among themselves,” Uncle said.
“The first wife is from Wuhan. She was a factory worker and they married when they were teenagers, before Wong started to succeed. She is a simple woman, not very bright, and he soon surpassed her. They have one child, a daughter, who now goes to university in Australia. The second wife, May Ling, is also from Wuhan. Her father was an important man in the Party and she went to university in Beijing. When Wong married her, May Ling began to work in the business. She has a reputation for being shrewd and tough. People say she has as much, if not more, to do with the business’s growth as he does.”
“So she is still involved?” Uncle asked.
“Side by side. He does nothing without May Ling.”
“I did not meet her when I was here.”
“If you had, you would have remembered her. She looks like a slightly older version of — ” Tam motioned his head in Ava’s direction.
“Then why the third wife?” Ava asked.
“May Ling couldn’t have children.”
“He had a child.”
“No son.”
“So he went looking for a brood mare?” Ava said.
“People say it was May Ling’s idea, that she found the girl working in Shanghai, had her tested, and brought her back here. Luckily she gave him sons.”
“Do you believe that? What woman — ”
“I believe,” Tam said, “that the third wife was just for children. It is May Ling whom he still lives with. She is the real wife.”
“All of them in the same house?” Ava asked.
“When he married May Ling, both wives had their own houses, but he found it impractical to run back and forth. So he built a house for the two of them, and then when the third wife came, he built a new one for all of them. The first wife lives on the second floor with her mother and father and some aunties. The third wife lives on the third floor with the two sons, her mother, a sister, and the amah. May Ling and Wong Changxing have the eighth floor.”
“A house with eight floors?” Ava said.
“It is like a castle,” Tam said.
“What’s on the other floors?”
“I’m told the ground floor has a banquet hall, a theatre, and kitchens.”
“And on the floors between the third and the eighth?”
“Offices? Rooms for visitors? I really don’t know.”
As natural as Ava found her own mother’s relationship with her father, and her father’s relationship with her and Marian, the idea of all Marcus Lee’s wives and children living in harmony under one roof seemed impossible to her.
“I wonder what they want from us,” Uncle murmured.
Dusk was settling as they drew near the city. The overhead highway lights cast a refracted glow, and it looked as if tiny fireflies were dancing in it. Ava looked more closely and saw that the light was playing on dense smog. Not even in the countryside could you get away from the industrial invasion. “Is the air always this bad?” she asked.
“It’s worse in the summer,” Tam said.
The driver turned off the highway before they reached the city limits. He drove down a two-lane road flanked on either side by factories. Ava saw the workers’ residences and shuddered at their gloominess. Four identical twelve-storey buildings with grey concrete walls, no trace of colour, and rows of tiny windows designed for peering out rather than letting in light. All that was missing for them to look like a prison was a fence topped with razor wire. Outside, in the floodlit factory courtyards, life looked more pleasant. She saw people playing volleyball and badminton, groups of women chatting, makeshift barbershops, and of course ballroom dancing. Such dancing was the most pleasant and lasting image Ava had of Chinese cities. In the mornings, couples could be found dancing to a tune being coaxed out of an old phonograph in every park and factory courtyard.
“Wong’s factories, most of them,” Tam said.
They saw the lights of Wong’s property some distance down the road. As they got closer, Ava could see that the mansion was set about a hundred metres back from the entrance, which was guarded by a tall, spiked wrought-iron fence. The car paused in front of the solid metal gate while the security cameras identified them. When it swung open, Ava gasped. She found herself looking at a replica of the gate of Tiananmen Square, the Gate of Heavenly Peace.
“It is an exact reproduction,” Tam said.
“Let’s hope the house is not a reproduction of the Forbidden City,” Uncle said. “The plumbing there is not up to par.”
Ava laughed. Tam looked as if he wasn’t sure whether Uncle was joking.
As they passed under the gate, the Wong castle loomed in front of them. It was a traditional Chinese design, constructed with red brick and a sweeping green tiled roof. There were eight floors, each with eight large picture windows across the front facade, ten metres below those on the next floor. The scale and breadth of the magnificent structure conjured up images of the Louvre.
The Mercedes stopped in front of a wide stone stairway. Ava and Uncle climbed out of the car and found themselves looking up twenty steps, towards a set of red double doors flanked by enormous stone lions. The staircase was almost as wide as it was high. They started to climb, Tam two steps behind carrying their luggage.
The doors swung open. A man and a woman appeared and walked to the top of the staircase. Ava could feel their eyes following her and Uncle. When they reached the landing, the man took a step forward.
“Welcome to my home, Uncle,” Wong Changxing said.