The Reporter
She found him at the back-alley restaurant on Friday evening.
He had gone alone — Lao Wei was at a meeting elsewhere — and was halfway through a bowl of noodles when a young woman in a leather jacket sat down across from him without being invited.
"Deputy Section Chief Lin Zhaoxu."
He set down his chopsticks.
"Yes."
"Wen Qiao. *Qingyuan Daily.* I'd like to ask you about the April twenty-fifth meeting."
She was — perhaps twenty-five. Sharp-faced. Short hair. The leather jacket was — expensive, but she wore it like she'd had it for years. A small voice recorder sat on the table between them, not yet running.
He said: "I don't speak to journalists."
"Most cadres at your rank don't. The ones who do — eventually — are the ones who have something to say."
"I have nothing to say."
"You took notes at a meeting that produced a procedural compromise affecting two villages. The compromise has — already — been described to me by three other sources. I'm not asking you to confirm it. I'm asking you whether the Mayor's office is going to — actually — implement the parallel chapter on the southern matter, or whether the parallel chapter is — paper."
Lin picked up his chopsticks.
"Wen Qiao. I don't know you. I have no reason to speak to you. I have professional reasons not to. I'd ask you to leave."
She didn't move.
She said: "My grandfather was from Beishan."
He stopped.
She watched him.
"He died in nineteen ninety-seven. My mother was born there. We have — relatives — still living in the village. Two hundred and eighty-nine people, average age fifty-eight. I assume you know the figures."
He said, after a moment: "How did you know I know them."
"Because the formal record of the April twenty-fifth meeting circulated to twelve senior cadres on Monday. One of those twelve is — friendly to my paper. The record contains, in the section attributed to Vice-Governor Bai, the population figure for Maotai. The record does not contain the population figure for Beishan. But — the record's note-taker, in a small footnote on page nineteen, observes that the western reconciliation chapter's protective framework also extends to *certain unspecified affected populations within the seventh reservation zone.*
"That footnote was — added by you. The note-taker. The note-taker is a Deputy Section Chief named Lin Zhaoxu. The footnote is — unusual. It exceeds what the standard summary form requires. A note-taker who adds an unusual footnote is a note-taker who — wanted the seventh zone's affected populations to be — in the formal record. He wanted them to be — preserved.
"I'm here, Deputy Section Chief Lin, because I want to know whether the man who wrote that footnote is — also — willing to make sure the parallel chapter actually does its work."
Lin looked at her for a long moment.
He said: "Turn off the recorder."
"It's not on."
"Show me."
She turned the recorder over. The light was off. She handed it to him.
He set it on the table between them.
He said: "I am not — your source. I will not — be your source. I will not — speak to you on or off the record about any meeting. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"That said —"
He paused.
"If, in the next several months, you observe — through your own reporting, through your own sources, through whatever channels you have — that the parallel chapter is being constructed in a way that does not adequately protect the affected populations, you may — leave a note for me at this restaurant, addressed to no one, containing only the date and time. I will come to that date and time. I will sit at this table. You may, if you wish, sit at a different table. We will not — speak. But I will see what you are working on, and I will — by my own channels — make sure that any inadequacy you have identified is — addressed."
She watched him.
"That's — not how journalists work."
"I'm not asking you to work like a journalist. I'm asking you to leave a note when something is wrong."
She considered.
She said: "Why."
"Because Beishan is — also — my village. Not by blood. By — what I have decided to carry."
She — for one full second — did not respond.
Then she said: "Lin Zhaoxu."
"Yes."
"I will — leave a note when something is wrong. Not before."
"Good."
She stood. She picked up her recorder.
At the door of the restaurant she stopped.
"One more thing. Section Member Liang Hao has been pulling files on you. He's also been — asking questions about you in places he shouldn't be. My paper has — heard the questions. We're not running them. But others may. Watch yourself."
She left.
#
Lin paid for his noodles. He walked home through the cool May evening.
He thought: *Three days into the new office. Already I have a journalist who knows about Beishan and a colleague who is pulling files. Sun was right about Liang. Wen Qiao is — different. I do not yet know what she is.*
He thought: *I will tell Lao Wei tomorrow.*
He went home.
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