Fat Years - Chan Koonchung [121]
“Was one of the dead students named Wei?” asked Little Xi slowly.
“Wei? No,” answered He Dongsheng.
“Are you absolutely certain?” she pressed him.
“You don’t need to doubt my memory,” said He Dongsheng, “and besides Wei is not a common surname. If there was a Wei, I would definitely remember.”
Seeing that Little Xi looked relieved, Lao Chen knew she was thinking of her son, Wei Guo. His heart went out to her.
“How did you come to have advance warning?” Lao Chen asked randomly to change the subject.
“Lao Chen, you shouldn’t underestimate our security apparatus,” said He Dongsheng. “We have eyes and ears everywhere. In general, wherever people gather, we have informants … but then, how the fuck did we miss you three?”
“Why did they want to blow up that chemical factory?” Fang Caodi suddenly asked in all seriousness.
Since he had already told them about the “Prosperity amid Crisis” and the “Ruling the Nation and Pacifying The World” plans, and the nation’s grand international strategy, what else was there that He Dongsheng could not talk about?
“Let me put it this way,” He Dongsheng said. “At China’s present stage of development, the difference between our government and those fascist elements is that we want the people to have a loving and compassionate nature, not a martial spirit. But the fascists want to promote a martial or combative spirit. The chemical manufactured in that factory makes the Chinese people happy and full of love and compassion, and for that reason the fascist elements wanted to destroy it. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He looked directly into Fang Caodi’s eyes.
“Is it the chemical factory near Happy Village in the Mount Taihang region of Hebei?” Fang Caodi asked, following a sudden intuition. “The one that has its own airport?”
“You seem very well informed,” He Dongsheng said, his eyebrows raised. “It seems that there’s been a leak in our security system.”
“What does that chemical factory make that causes the people to feel happy?” asked Fang Caodi, pressing his line of inquiry. “Professor He, you agreed that you would answer whatever question we asked.”
“There’s no harm in telling you,” said He Dongsheng, “and anyway, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. If you have never heard of MDMA, surely you have heard of Ecstasy. We manufacture ‘generation N’ of MDMA. It’s mild, nonaddictive, and has no bad side effects. After you take it, you feel really great, you feel like the world is full of love, you want to hug other people and tell them everything, but you’re clearheaded and don’t have any hallucinations, just like I am now.”
“What do you want such a big factory to make Ecstasy tablets for?” asked Fang Caodi, looking puzzled.
“It’s not making tablets,” explained He Dongsheng as though Fang Caodi should know, “there aren’t any tablets at all, and it’s not to sell Ecstasy to other countries. China is a big country, we’re not North Korea, so don’t get the wrong idea. We’re merely producing this chemical for our own use.”
“Just as in Aldous Huxley’s novel Brave New World?” interjected Lao Chen, happy to contribute a literary reference.
“I know what you’re trying to say,” said He Dongsheng a little defensively, “but we were not at all influenced by him. We have an Office of Stability Maintenance staffed by specialist scholars who conduct research on ancient and modern techniques for maintaining stability both inside and outside China. One of the scholars was working on British materials. You know that young people in Western countries like to drink and party wildly on New Year’s Eve, and when they get drunk they often cause trouble. Just look at their soccer games—the British fans are very unruly. For the last few years of the twentieth century, though, when Ecstasy became popular, New Year’s Eve violence suddenly decreased. It turned out that after those British youths took Ecstasy, they just wanted to dance around bobbing their heads, to listen