After breaking up with my boyfriend, I made a fortune and rose rapidly in my career.

"These belong to your father."

Ren Shaoting did not retract his hand; the cufflink lay in his outstretched palm, the brass gleaming dimly under the light.

Chen Ping did not reach out to take it.

He pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, placing his hands flat on the table with his fingers together.

The white light in the interrogation room cast very short shadows on the two men. A paper cup of cold water sat untouched on the table.

"Chairman Ren, the people from the Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection are waiting next door. You don't have much time."

Ren Shaoting placed the cufflinks on the table and pushed them to the middle position.

Just call me Lao Ren.

His wool coat was off, revealing a beige sweater underneath, the collar loose, revealing a thin vein above his collarbone. He was a completely different person from the one at the launch ceremony two hours earlier.

Chen Ping didn't respond to that sentence.

"You said you had something to return to me."

Ren Shaoting reached into the inside pocket of his sweater, pulled something out, and placed it on the table.

A folding fan.

The fan surface is made of silk, which has turned yellow and brittle, with several cracks along the edges. The fan ribs are made of rosewood, a dark, somber color, and two of them are broken and bound together with thin thread.

Chen Ping stared at the fan.

It's a size smaller than a regular folding fan, like a small decorative item to be placed in a study.

"Open it and take a look." Ren Shaoting leaned back, his sweater hanging loosely on his shoulders, and shrank into the back of the chair.

Chen Ping didn't move.

"What's inside?"

"You'll see when you open it."

Chen Ping reached for the folding fan, but the moment his fingertips touched the fan ribs, he felt something was off. It was too light. Rosewood shouldn't be this light.

He turned the fan handle, pressed the brass band at the end with his thumb, and gently twisted it. The brass band loosened, turning half a turn to reveal the hollowed-out cavity inside the fan handle.

Inside was a very fine roll of microfilm, wrapped in waxed paper, less than the thickness of a little finger.

"Thirty-two people." Ren Shaoting tapped the roll of film with his chin. "The registration form for all the trainees in the Gengchen Young Cadre Training Class. Who contributed how much money, who received how much profit, and who was responsible for which line. It's all on there."

Chen Ping took the film roll out of the cavity and placed it on the table without unfolding it.

"Twenty-three years have passed, and you still carry this with you?"

"If I don't carry it on my person, where else can I carry it?" Ren Shaoting's throat was dry. He finally picked up the glass of cold water and took a sip. "If I put it in a safe, someone will search it and take it. If I put it in a bank safe deposit box, someone will freeze it. Only if I keep it close to my body is it truly mine."

Chen Ping flipped the folding fan over.

There is a painting on the fan. The ink is so light that it almost disappears, but the brushstrokes can still be vaguely discerned. A few branches of winter plum blossoms emerge diagonally from the lower left corner of the fan, with the petals scattered very sparsely. At the place where the brushstrokes are placed, there is a very small red seal.

The inscription reads: "Elegant Charm".

Chen Ping's finger stopped on the seal.

Shen Yayun.

He turned the fan towards Ren Shaoting.

"This fan was painted by Shen Yayun."

It's not a question.

Ren Shaoting put down the paper cup, and a small patch of water seeped onto the table.

"In the autumn of the year Gengchen, the night before the graduation ceremony, she painted a small picture for everyone in the class. Mine was this fan."

Chen Ping closed the fan and placed it back on the table.

"What are your conditions?"

Ren Shaoting tilted his head and tapped the edge of the table twice with his right index finger.

"Medical parole".

Three words, uttered lightly.

"My liver is not good. I had a partial resection in 2008, and my annual check-ups have been at the borderline level. The Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection can obtain these medical records."

Chen Ping didn't respond.

"Here's the list, the film reel, and all the records for these thirty-two people. I'll go out to recuperate. With this list, you can take down the whole net."

Ren Shaoting leaned forward, causing the collar of his sweater to droop down a bit.

"Lie it flat, and think about it, is this a good deal or not?"

Chen Ping pushed the film roll and folding fan towards his side.

"Not worth it."

Ren Shaoting's index finger stopped.

"The value of the list lies in its completeness." Chen Pingfang spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly. "You're handing it over now because you've already decided that these people can't be protected. Since they can't be protected, the list will eventually surface through other channels. Gao Ran wrote a 104-page confession, Fang Cunyi has my father's original memo, and the logs from the Party School server have already been taken away by the Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection."

He paused for a moment.

"You're not handing over a list; you're grabbing the last bargaining chip for valuation."

Ren Shaoting pressed his back against the chair back.

The interrogation room was silent for about ten seconds. The data collection equipment embedded in the ceiling operated silently, its red indicator light glowing very faintly.

"You're just like your father," Ren Shaoting said in a low voice, without malice, more like a confirmation.

"It's different." Chen Ping put the folding fan back into his briefcase and zipped it up. "The knife he offered was stopped. I won't."

Ren Shaoting shut his mouth.

Chen Ping stood up, picked up his briefcase, walked to the door, and knocked on the iron gate three times.

The door opened a crack.

He said something before turning to leave.

"The Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection will follow the procedures regarding your medical parole. They will obtain your liver function report, but whether or not it is approved is not up to me."

The door closed behind them.

The heating pipes in the corridor hummed, and water droplets condensed on their metal casings. Chen Ping, carrying a briefcase, took seven or eight steps toward the elevator when his phone started vibrating in his pocket.

Han Zhiming's number.

He answered the call.

"Director!" Han Zhiming gasped for breath, with a jumble of voices and the static of walkie-talkies in the background. "Gu Deren just tried to forcibly leave the country at Baishan Airport, using a Singaporean passport and going through the diplomatic channel!"

Chen Ping didn't stop walking.

"Did you manage to stop them?"

"Border control stopped him, but his assistant—the one who came with him on the day of the peace talks—produced a diplomatic note claiming that Gu Deren enjoyed consular access immunity. Airport border control dared not act on their own and were waiting for instructions from their superiors."

Chen Ping pushed open the fire door of the stairwell, his leather shoes stepping onto the cement steps.

"Does Director Chu know?"

I called you first.

"Notify Director Chu immediately to have the National Security Bureau directly liaise with the Border Defense Station. Gu Deren's Singapore passport is genuine, but his Chinese citizenship has not been cancelled; there is a record in the immigration system. Dual citizenship renders diplomatic notes invalid."

Han Zhiming paused for a moment.

"Received, I'll call right away."

Chen Ping hung up the phone, switched the document bag to his other hand, and rushed down the last flight of stairs.

The underground parking garage was cold and damp, and the overhead lights flickered twice. He opened the car door and got in, but didn't start the engine immediately.

The tattered folding fan in his briefcase was digging into his forearm.

Shen Yayun's painting of winter plum blossoms, Ren Shaoting's collection of names, and the cufflinks left by her father.

Three things, twenty-three years, all tangled up inside the hollowed-out cavity of this fan rib.

The phone lit up again. It was a message from Han Zhiming, containing only one line.

"Director Chu has taken over the case. Gu Deren has been taken to the airport police station. His assistant attempted to destroy the aluminum alloy briefcase but was apprehended on the spot. The briefcase has been seized."

Chen Ping placed his phone face down on the passenger seat and turned the key.

The engine revved twice before starting, and the exhaust pipe spewed out a cloud of white smoke in the garage.

He shifted into reverse, placed one hand on the steering wheel, and reached into his briefcase with the other, his fingertips touching the miniature plastic roll wrapped in wax paper.

Thirty-two names.

He didn't take it out.

As the car drove out of the underground parking garage ramp, the winter afternoon sunlight at four o'clock was already yellowish, slanting across the windshield.

My phone vibrated again.

This time it wasn't Han Zhiming, nor was it Director Chu.

Number location: Beijing.

Fang Cunyi.

He answered the call.

Two words came through the receiver, urgent.

"The combination lock box~"