Sluts for Chongqing
His head hurt badly, his throat was burning, his body was shaking. Liang was exhausted. He had caught pain before leaving. With the cold of the night in these wagons, he could not get well. He had had a fever again the day before. He should have rested and stayed in bed for a few days. But that was impossible. Cao, his boss, had imposed this mission on him, replacing another employee who could not leave. All of them were getting sick. Two of Liang's colleagues had recently died. At this rate, how could he keep going?
A COUNTRY OF BARBARIANS
Liang was on board one of the trains of the "New Silk Road". The train Liang was taking originally ran from Duisburg, Germany, to Chongqing, Sichuan. Today, the direct line went as far as Spain and Italy. Liang and his fellow passengers, all of whom were ugly, occupied the only passenger car on the kilometer-long freight train.
They all knew each other, members of a new corporation, born with globalism. They were all "ants", conveyors of goods and people to and from China. The world economy, then the decline of states, the disintegration of societies, civil wars, had made national postal services disappear, made the routes dangerous and uncertain without eliminating the need to import from Asia. To transport industrial parts, drugs, "compromising" objects, electronic components, valuables, girls, all sorts of shipments that one did not want to lose on the way, one employed these coolies, always Chinese, who were thrown on the roads, all over the world, paid three times nothing, and who were responsible for their lives, their discretion and their ability to deliver the parcel to the intended recipients.
The Chinese triads, relayed by their mafia partners all over the world, ensured the discretion of the customs or police authorities, when they existed. These mafia employers provided, sometimes, an armed escort and, always, spies and henchmen to monitor, and punish, those who did not fulfill their mission properly.
For the sub-proletarians, the wretched of the cities and the countryside like Liang, this job was a godsend, less painful than the jobs in the mines or in the warehouse, always preferable to the famine that beset all the people left behind in the glowing China. It was not adventure that tempted Liang and his fellow workers, who, as good sons of eternal China, hated anything that was not Chinese, but survival. There were thousands of bastards waiting to take Liang's place, and he had no choice. Even dying, he would have gone.
The original Silk Road had been a network of paths used by camel caravans long before the Christian era. It was along this route that the first larvae of the Bombyx mulberry, the famous silkworm, had reached the West. With people like Liang, it was a different type of "larvae" that took the path...
At the end of the 21st century, the reign of oil had come to an end. The era of mass air transport was dead, the new aircraft used technologies that were far too expensive for mass transportation. Air freight excluded anything illegal. Trains and ships had been a convenient solution. Not only were the major routes of antiquity being resumed, but they were going further. World trade had restored Chongqing, a dusty, dirty city nestled in the folds of the Yangtze River, to its former strategic role. Chongqing had become one of the largest cities in the world, its towering skyscrapers conquering the sky. Liang and all the wretched people who swarmed in its bowels were proud of an achievement they had not enjoyed at all.
A LIMITED LIFE
Liang looked indifferently at the station platform. He couldn't even pronounce the name of the station, of the city. He had no idea where it was located. In his stupid eyes, there was never anything to see in these foreign cities. All he could see were old, torn-up posters, signs written in the languages of barbarians. He spat in contempt. There was no place like China.
Liang didn't understand any of the languages of the countries he traveled through, despite the fact that he had been traveling there regularly for years. None of these countries interested him. To him, the non-Hans were ugly, their lives were meaningless. Everything in these barbarian countries was stench, boredom and mediocrity.
On every trip, like all the morons around him, he never got out of the car. He didn't even go down to the platform to smoke a cigarette. He preferred to smoke, burp, fart inside, among his own people. He would not talk to anyone except the Chinese in his car. If a stranger asked him for information, he would smile, make a frantic gesture of denial, turn his back and walk away, insulting the intruder in his beard.
Was Liang a racist and xenophobe? Yes, he was an uncultured Chinese.
He had knowingly lied on the job, claiming to understand some English. He only understood a few numbers maybe, didn't speak a word of English. Anyway, the recruitment agency didn't care. They paid these poor guys so little that they couldn't be very picky.
All that was required of Liang was that he not steal the goods, whatever they were. The value of the goods was always twice as much as the cost of transporting them, including the courier. The volume of transactions was so enormous that Cao and the other Liang bosses could afford to live in the sumptuous residences of the Nan'an district. Liang and his fellow bosses were content to gaze from afar at the proud palace buildings overlooking the Jialing and Yangtze rivers. This admiration was not free of a dull and resentful envy. The beggars always hoped that the Yangtze River would sweep away these proud and contemptuous rich people. But almost every year, from the thirty-fifth floor of the Himalaya residence on Nanbin Road, Cao watched the waters flood the slums of the working class.
Once, Liang had the opportunity to deliver a package directly to Cao's home at the Himalaya Residence on Nanbin Road. Cao had to warn Liang to let him approach his residence after passing a checkpoint.
Liang had entered the lobby of the residence. Cao had asked the reception downstairs to keep the beggar waiting.
Liang entered the lobby in awe. Petrified, he looked at the dark wood panels and the caramel-colored marble walls. The chandelier, especially, which shone with a thousand colored glasses, had literally hypnotized him. He had watched, fascinated, the hundreds of luminous leaves that stretched to the ceiling, more than seven meters away.
The hall was empty, there was not a sound. The air was thick with the smell of encaustic mixed with a subtle, woody odor. Liang prayed that no one would pass by, that he wouldn't have to hide, or worse, suffer the astonished and reproving gaze of a resident of the building. A woman, beautiful and haughty, had already come to tell him to wait a few moments. She had hardly touched his person with her eyes. He was nothing.
The receptionist's pin-up girl went back to her office at once. Liang watched, as if in a dream, as the tall, racy figure, the impeccable bun, the endless legs, walked away. For a second he breathed in the smell of a delicate perfume that was fading. Everything was high class here, even the employees looked like Miss China.
He hadn't dared to sit on the high chairs that looked like thrones in the middle of the lobby. He hadn't even dared to put his feet on the light-colored carpet. He had stayed right up against the wall, trying to make himself small in this palatial setting. He had thought of hiding behind the decorative shrubs at the back. But they concealed, on either side of a panel, the access to the elevators.
He had waited for several minutes until a maid came down, greeted him soberly, took the package he was bringing, and disappeared without a word. He left as quickly as possible, recording the information as he went: there were "spas", a "swimming pool", a "club", a "fitness center", all exotic terms that he didn't really identify, but which had overtones of absolute luxury.
That day, Liang realized how far away Cao was from his reality, and vice versa.
A SELF-AWARE ADVENTURER
For Liang, the difficulty of the job was not sitting for days on end in these hellish trains and cheating boredom by chatting with others. There was always a cheerful atmosphere in the Chinese car. There was the indescribable disorder that these frustrated men, most of them congenital morons, had imposed. The ambient smell, close to that of wild animals, came from the lack of hygiene, from decomposing food forgotten or thrown under the seats, from spit... Many were playing games, others were chatting; most were sleeping or looking at the herds of camels, and at the few low houses that relieved the boredom of the desolate steppe landscape open to all winds. The Yu'Xin'Ou crossed the deserts of western China, crossed the mountain ranges of Kazakhstan before descending to the plains of Europe.
If Liang had been willing to admit it, he would have admitted that he enjoyed getting out of the smog of Chongqing and up into the crystal clear air of the steppes. He could also have admitted that those auroras and sunsets, which every day set the horizon ablaze with a fairy tale of pinks, mauves and purples, were fabulous. But Liang was only a brute, not a poet.
Liang liked to complain about his "miserable life". He never missed an opportunity to complain about his salary. This was as much to discourage envy from those around him as it was a cultural reflex, acquired since his childhood in a miserable village in Guizhou, on the border of Yunnan.
The truth was that, for an uneducated jerk, a small thug without stature, he had been very lucky. He also complained about his loneliness, even though he met all his friends every day and spent hours chatting. It is true that, as a louse as he was, the whores of the pits of Chongqing remained his main conquests.
But he had more or less enough to eat, and he was freer than most of the poor bums who had been slaving away for centuries in China's workshops or toiling away on construction sites. Liang was not so much to be pitied, not to mention the small deals that his job allowed him to do to improve his living conditions...
It was almost 10 p.m., Liang was going to have to spend the night in this station, in a country he would never know more than that, even if he had to cross it to his last hamlet to deliver a parcel. He had, as usual, no intention of getting off the train.
He would only feel better on the way back, when the train passed through the "Dzungarian Gate," the wide, low valley that opened up the snow-covered mountains of Kazakhstan to China. Liang was definitely not there to do tourism in the West. He didn't know what tourism was, and he didn't want to know anyway.
It was 8°C, and the cold would make him lose his health. He had to wait for the next morning's departure. The agency never paid the hotel. They were just rats! Employees like Liang were expendable. Liang and his companions worked more than ten hours a day, often seven days a week, without pay.
Liang's official salary was barely 2,000 yuan a month. It was, of course, a mediocre salary. But Liang had accepted these conditions with gratitude, for he was aware that he was a limited guy, that he came from a miserable hamlet in the mountains of Guizhou, and that he couldn't stretch his luck too far. There, in the country, the salaries of even the executives rarely exceeded 2500 yuan. The poor were still starving. Also, there were incessant revolts in these lost mountains. The army of the Qujing potentate, the nearest authority, would regularly come and massacre a village or two on the border of its territory to impose calm for a while. They would display tortured corpses on the crossroads and public squares. Everything would calm down. And then it started again.
A GUY FROM GUIZHOU
Liang did not have many memories of his family. His father had died shortly after his birth. He had been told that he was a scoundrel. His mother, at least, had no good memories of him. She told Liang and his sisters that they were the offspring of their damned father. She had died quickly, too. Liang was barely a teenager. He had not cried, feeling no pain and no one was interested in his attitude. He had learned to survive, to take care of himself.
His sisters had been sold to families. Two had gone straight to the brothel in Liupanshui. This was less hypocritical, since it was often the same as being a servant in the service of a master.
Liang, alone, had stayed with an uncle who had dismissed him after a year. From then on, Liang hung out with the young thugs of the area, surviving on robbery, without any ties.
He had made it to his teens unscathed, without knowing how. When the civil war broke out, after the great plague and the breakup of the Chinese Communist Party, Liang joined a gang of thieves in his village. The business was to loot, rape, and abuse poor people like him. The local army would fight and capture the gangs of thieves to publicly torture them and try to scare the rural poor. But poverty, lack of education and hunger created endless criminal vocations.
Liang's criminal period had ended one night when the military surrounded the house where the gang had taken refuge. All were executed after being horribly tortured. Only Liang had been spared. The officer who conducted the execution was even supposed to pay him a small sum of money for his services, because Liang had denounced his own comrades. Instead, the officer kept the reward money, marched Liang out of the barracks, kicked his butt, and yelled at the people, "This piece of shit robbed you, looted you, raped your women. He even denounced your children! Do what you want with him! Get out of my sight, asshole!"
Liang was not eighteen years old. He had taken advantage of the crowd's stupor to run at full speed and leave the country. After this episode, it was out of the question for him to stay around. For the hoodlums, he was a traitor; for the military, he was a gallows horse; for the people, he was a scoundrel and the bastard who had denounced their children. He was responsible for their death. Even his family would not want to hear about him. In fact, stories like his were so common that everyone had forgotten about the child who was abandoned in the turmoil the very next day.
PLAGUE, WARS AND CATACLYSMS
Liang felt compelled to flee the region, at least to Chongqing. There he mingled with the tens of millions of anonymous, suffering and uprooted inhabitants of the Sichuan capital. After the "great plague", half of the population of Chongqing had died, but they had been quickly replaced by the influx of these miserable people who had come from the countryside devastated during the civil war. Since the communist system had disappeared and freedom of movement had been restored in the anarchy of the civil war, China had been in great disarray.
Only the large manufacturing and technology companies had survived, saving the country's unity in appearance. Taking over from the communist government, the big capitalists had financed armies and trade structures such as trains, airports, ports. They had thus privatized the country, maintaining only the roads and infrastructure necessary for their activities. The areas reserved for the ultra-rich were also maintained and developed. For the rest, the population was left to fend for itself. And they were doing it badly. Everything was abandoned, vaguely cobbled together. This could have been charming.
All this disorder was the result of the collapse of the communist government, which had once been able to plan and organize a tremendous financial and technological success for the country. The last leaders had not been of the same calibre as their predecessors. They had been nothing but parasites without ideals, clinging like leeches to the dynamism of a country that no longer owed them anything. Once deprived of the ruling apparatus, China had immediately returned to its sins: insurgencies, warlords, anarchy, greed.
The civil wars had already claimed many victims, but that had not been the only problem. There had been the "great plague". This terrible epidemic had wiped out half the world's population and left the other half frail and shaky. Liang, like most of his compatriots, was in poor health. He had a constant cold and terrible coughing fits, not to mention regular bouts of fever.
Was this "great plague", as it had been called, one bacteriological attack too many, one of those umpteenth mutant viruses, manufactured to wipe out the world's population? No one knew. For Liang, it was an American trick. Someone had to be responsible, and it couldn't have been Chinese.
Why had the entire population of the world been affected, often more severely than the Chinese population? Liang did not ask himself such questions: China was being blamed because everyone was jealous of its greatness, its courage and its superiority in civilization.
In any case, the Yankees had not taken it to heaven. Their country had been razed to the ground at the same time by the "Big One", the great earthquake that everyone had been waiting for, shivering, for decades. It was said that the catastrophe was caused by the explosions they themselves had caused in the ground to recover their oil. The devastated North American continent had, for the most part, sunk into decline. The surviving Americans seemed to be wandering their half-sunken continent, looking for their lost greatness.
For the great plague, no one among those who had survived was fully recovered. And everyone expected a new round of viruses to return to devastate the population. But, strangely enough, since the world's population had stabilized at less than a billion, all that seemed to be a thing of the past. The only good news was that the previously overpopulated Earth seemed to be in better ecological shape. Forests were growing back and wildlife was re-emerging where humans had been eradicated. China, somewhat relieved of the burden of its population, was doing well.
" HOME "
The problem for survivors of natural disasters was that they now found themselves in countries without resources, without organization, condemned to live as parasites on board a global economy run without them, by artificial intelligence.
Liang had been working around the clock, barely surviving in Chongqing. When he had the opportunity to become a courier for the Triads, he had tried his luck with the energy of desperation. At first, he was given very little work. He had waited, not complaining, biding his time. He had to pay an usher, a guy who gave him the opportunity to work. Then, after a year and a half, when he was about to give up, he was called more regularly.
Now Liang lived in Chongqing for a short time each year, but he called it home. When he came back, he slept in a dormitory where he had his habits, frequented a restaurant, always the same one. He locked himself up in "his territory" and did not move. He spent the rest of his life on trains and ships around the world, never in China.
He hardly ever met people from his childhood region. When he did meet them, he made up stories, names, and couldn't remember the details.
No one knew that his name was not Liang at birth. Liang was the name he had given himself in Chongqing. He had made a new life for himself there, a history. His face had changed since he was a teenager, a few hair implants and a dye job had completed his physical transformation. For everyone, including the city authorities, for Cao and the whores at the local brothel, he was Liang, the courier. And deep down, he wasn't unhappy about it.
So Liang had lost his parents before the great plague. Perhaps a sister had survived there, in Guizhou. Liang had vaguely heard of her. He didn't care.
Inland China was crippled. There were certainly not many of his family and neighbors left in the country. But, at the same time, the whole world had been affected. Comparatively, China was still the most populous country. India, which had once outnumbered China, had been almost eradicated by the germ wars.
The training of Chinese health professionals, their organization and their know-how had allowed the country to survive. The Communist Party, of course, no longer existed. But the big regional companies had taken over; not at all by patriotism, but to perpetuate their commercial hold on the planet. The Chinese bosses were now officially in charge, without any counter-power. The salaries were ridiculous. Liang had managed to get the job. He got by with a few side deals. The salary Cao paid was meager, but the side jobs paid a little. Liang always had a few coins to buy coffee or medicine. People came to him, entrusted him with a letter, a parcel or asked him to bring things back. He felt important among people who were like him.
A RISKY JOB
In any case, Liang had no choice. He could either spend his life traveling around the world and risk getting caught, going to jail or dying in the many twists and turns of this adventure, or he could go back to starving or being slaughtered in his mountains.
Liang was a courier. It was not possible to lose or have stolen what was entrusted to him.
All the countries through which the Yu'Xin'Ou, the train from Chongqing, passed were corrupt. From Duisburg, Germany, through Poland, Belarus, Russia, Kazakhstan to Chongqing, everyone was paid to keep quiet. Customs officers, police officers, all were bribed to turn a blind eye to the traffic and to help themselves. From time to time, it was arranged to make a seizure. Smugglers like Liang were then locked up for a few days, months or years. Guilty parties were needed, even if the "ants" did not know, most of the time, what they were carrying.
GIRLS TO BE MARRIED
This time, Liang was supposed to take in two "marriageable girls," two Chinese women from the diaspora in Europe who were officially promised to rich sons of families in mainland China. In truth, the two girls would go to the brothels of Chongqing, like the others. In general, neither they nor their parents knew what would happen.
The first girl would arrive early the next morning, the other would arrive a little later. Liang did not like this kind of "merchandise". He didn't care what happened to them, but these girls were, at times, unbearable divas; they talked down to him or demanded impossible things. But above all, they were often too beautiful, too desirable. Liang suffered from this. Poor and crude, he could not hope to touch these rich dolls. The ordeal was almost unbearable. He was forced to spend a week, sometimes more, next to them, smelling their smell, hearing their snores without being able to catch them and fuck them to death. He had to get up and jerk off like an idiot in the bathroom to keep up.
These girls, on their side, didn't even look at him, or with contempt. Most of the time, they hardly spoke to him and did not hide the disgust they felt for him. He was nothing but a dirty beggar who undermined their illusions of wealth. These girls thought they were on their way to the top of the world's high society and they found themselves in a cattle car, chaperoned by a half-witted slob.
What puzzled Liang was that these girls, supposedly destined for wealthy families, would agree to travel with him in these coolie wagons. If the company had been consistent, they should have traveled in the First Class carriage that left every week with the rich. But then, they were not yet married. Maybe the rich families didn't want to invest until they saw the goods...
Liang knew that these girls were not destined to be married. They and their families didn't always know it, some of them must have suspected it...
This was not Liang's problem. Apart from what affected him personally, nothing was his problem.
A HIGH-RISK MISSION
These girls could bring big trouble. They were to be delivered like packages, even though they were human, with all the hazards and temptations that entailed. Liang and his companions were "dissuaded" from getting too close to these girls by the fate of those who crossed the red line. Most ended up skinned or burned alive, their bones broken. Their last hours were filmed so that everyone could appreciate the beauty of the spectacle and better understand the price of the crime. Liang really didn't want to add torment to his already many bad experiences of life on earth.
The worst part was that the poor guys who were getting whacked hadn't necessarily done what they were accused of. A few might have stolen a kiss or left their hands lying around, but most of them had simply displeased the girls. All they had to do was complain to condemn the guy outright. With the Triads, there were no lawyers to defend themselves. So Liang tried to stay aloof, avoiding conversation, and was happy not to attract the attention of his "merchandise.
Women were a very rare commodity in China. Before the great plague, this was already the case, with the killing of daughters at birth, then genetic selection. But after the Great Plague, it had become even worse: Chinese women had succumbed even more than men to the plague. The choice had been made to save the male heirs first. It was for this reason that the rich families were really bringing in Chinese women from abroad at a high price. There was a lack of women, a lack of food, a lack of love in China.
Liang swore again at the agency, at Cao, at this city of foreigners where it was cold, at this uncomfortable train where he was losing the last days of his miserable life, before collapsing from sleep.
A WAGON OF BULLIES
A few hours later, he woke up with the familiar taste of his bad breath, the cold that pierced him, and all the stale, pissy, dirty, corrupted air that a train car full of poor people unable to afford a hotel can generate. He looked at his phone: two o'clock in the morning. In an hour, he would have to welcome the first female.
He tried to get some more sleep, but the cold of the unheated car was unforgiving. He looked around. No one was sleeping. Some were heating up some tea to warm up, many were smoking. Everyone looked like sick, tired guys, destined not to live long.
It was a wagon of Chinese couriers. All of them were in the same line of work as he was, all of them were poor fellows and had no desire to leave the Chinese atmosphere of the wagon to discover or learn anything about this barbaric world.
Liang looked at the faces around him. He knew most of them. They were the faces of morons like himself, sick, vicious, hypocritical, dirty thieves. Liang, in his lucid moments, understood the disgust of these girls who had to be around pigs like him. But this kind of consideration could not reach him for long. He sniffed and let out a spit. He scratched his pants and stood up before taking a leak.
JIANMEI
As he walked to the bathroom car, he saw two women waiting in front of the train, two Chinese women, one of whom looked older. The younger one was a real pageant beauty.
Could it be that...? He put his head through the window and called out to them: "Aren't you Miss Jianmei? The young woman remained unresponsive, staring. The old crone who accompanied him answered "yes" curtly and roughly pushed his younger daughter forward. The young woman seemed drugged, incapable of any willpower and at the same time deeply hostile to her surroundings. Often, these marriageable girls were drugged by madams. Once, one of these girls had almost vomited on him.
Liang was upset. He really had to pee. This unpleasant young beauty and the old skin prevented him from relieving himself quickly. They were early, those bitches.
He sighed as he left the car and came closer. To his great relief, the old woman was not leaving with them. She barely said two words and left without a backward glance at the young woman or him. Liang had not had a very loving mother, but he doubted that this old whore was the kid's mother.
Liang was used to this kind of scene. He roughly led the girl by the arm to the chair in front of him. She did not resist, indifferent to her surroundings.
Liang observed her, then, at his ease. She was beautiful, for sure, as were most of the girls he'd had to escort. But this one must have been particularly expensive, she seemed perfect in her features, in her form. He was sure, this one was a big pig. He was used to it. She had the assurance of those who know their price. He would have fucked her well, this bitch. He quickly chased away his libidinous thoughts. There was nothing good about being interested in this girl, there was only trouble, very painful trouble.
Moreover, this time, Cao, the boss, had called him especially to give him this mission. He had particularly insisted, almost threatening, on this Jianmei girl. She must have been worth a lot of money, that whore. Liang waited for the girl to settle down, sink into her chair and sleep before getting up. He asked a neighbor he knew, a courier like himself, to keep a close eye on her while he went to take a leak.
He returned quickly. He didn't know how reliable his colleague was. Sometimes, some people were vicious, poking fun at their colleagues' troubles, even arranging for them to get into trouble. Liang had seen everything in this business, he was suspicious.
But the girl had not moved. She was not asleep, but staring at the wall, stubbornly looking away from everything around her. Liang did not insist. He sat down in his place beside her and tried to close his eyes. Several hours passed in complete mutual indifference. The girl never turned to him. He did the same, which suited him perfectly. Unfortunately, there were still ten days to go before he could deliver this bitch to Chongqing.
LOVING PARENTS
The second girl arrived in the afternoon, as planned. She had come accompanied by her parents, two good old men who greeted Liang and Jianmei kindly, who ignored them. The father even exchanged a few words and gave some recommendations to Liang. He slipped a bill into his hand before leaving.
Liang played along. He acted as a courier for girls to be married, despite the improbabilities. The kindness of these people, their naivety, embarrassed him a little. But then again, if they were stupid enough... All that, again, was not his problem.
Liang had not had a childhood, his parents had been poor, rough people. They weren't even peasants, just poor people, busy begging for their daily survival. They had both died young.
So Liang had not known what love was, nor the affection of parents who had the time and luxury to love. For him, life was a ruthless struggle, with no rules and no morals. If he had to be an accomplice of pimps to survive, he had no problem with that. The second girl might have been more sympathetic, but she was just a whore. Maybe one day he could be a client and fuck her. But he doubted it, these two girls were above the lot that failed in the sordid brothel he frequented. They were tall, had healthy teeth, heavy breasts, harmonious features. They had been well fed, they had had access to regular medical care. They were sublime.
It was interesting to see that in this wagon of Cro-magnon men, in this milieu of perverts, potential rapists, sexual frustrators, no one, absolutely no one looked at these girls. All these sub-humans lowered their eyes, moved aside, ignored with all their might these queens of beauty. Liang was not mistaken; he knew that these girls would be nurturing erotic dreams for years to come and would be responsible for an astronomical amount of sperm being released into the shithouse of this very car. Liang had already delivered several girls. It was one of his specialties. Many envied him for being able to sit next to these luxury whores, to touch them, breathe in their smells, hear their snores.
But few would have been willing to take the responsibility; all had in mind the faces distorted by pain of the tortured, the couriers judged guilty of having failed in their mission. Convoying a whore was quite a problem.
The hour of departure arrived. The second girl's parents waved on the platform until the train disappeared from their sight. Liang almost laughed. How stupid they were!
ZHOU
The second girl's name was Zhou. She was a little less perfect than Jianmei. She was worth less, probably, even though she was, objectively, a fighter. But, not haughty, she immediately greeted Miss Jianmei and Liang with good humor, determined to have a good trip.
When Jianmei did not speak, she did not insist and turned to Liang. She immediately began to tell the story of her life, her childhood in Marseille where her parents had settled. She spoke of their restaurant that had gone bankrupt, of the illness that had struck the city and the country, of her French friends. She was satisfied with her fate, thought that China opened the arms of fortune to her. She showed the photo of her fiancé. The picture of the "suitor" was one of the usual ones. Liang had seen it on other young women before. He did not say anything.
These stories of "engagement" were nonsense, everyone in Chongqing knew that. Liang despised the familiarity of this Zhou. These western Chinese women had lost all restraint. He was even more embarrassed by Miss Jianmei's hostility. She seemed more aware of what awaited her. But she said nothing, even openly turning away from the conversation. At one point, however, it seemed to Liang that Jianmei greeted Zhou's hopes for a better life with a mocking sneer. He didn't seem to care. This girl was unpleasant, hostile. She was up to something, and he was suspicious of her.
He let Zhou come and go in the car as he pleased, while he kept a close eye on Jianmei, systematically accompanying her on every trip to the bathroom or elsewhere. His instinct and experience told him that she was going to be trouble.
The latrines were being turned into a pigsty by this population of uncultured males. Jianmei complained loudly, hurling salty insults at the pigs traveling in the car. No one seemed to pay any attention to the slut's insults. No one responded.
Zhou, on the other hand, was amused. "Back home, the French say the Chinese are dirty. I think it's true.
Liang felt offended. But the young woman had said this with great spontaneity and he could agree that his fellow travelers were not always passionate about hygiene. He replied, however, that from what he could see, Western train stations were not immaculate. "It's true," Zhou replied, "the stations, and Marseille in particular, are not clean. But, on the whole, the European cities, the northern ones, are better kept. Now, of course, they have no one to clean..."
HYGIENE PROBLEM
Liang knew in his heart that this was also a problem in China. People were still spitting everywhere, sanitation facilities were poor, and now there was a lack of able-bodied labor to clean up. The shopkeepers, the neighbors on a street, sometimes they would try to clean the street, the sidewalk. But, on the whole, everyone was living in the middle of garbage and litter. This increased the number of infections, diseases and deaths.
The only advantage of the demographic void left by the great plague was that housing was freed up. There was more space in Chinese cities than there had ever been in history. Empty apartments could be found, although the Chinese still preferred to crowd into certain smelly neighborhoods, bustling with shops and street stalls. It was cultural. The neighborhood Liang had designated as "home" was one of those, crowded, bustling. Viruses and bacteria took their toll, but one died in the illusion of being surrounded. Further out, Liang could have lived in these buildings in the middle of the fields. But he would have been bored and would have risked being found dead only after several days.
As for hygiene, Liang never bathed and very rarely showered. He discreetly sniffed his clothes and had to admit that they smelled like a man who hadn't washed for weeks. He promised himself that he would go and wash up a bit at the next station.
Zhou was a chatterbox, talking without stopping. Liang was tired. He lingered to look once at Zhou's body, mouth and delicate nostrils when she was sleeping. But then he remembered the execution scenes filmed by Cao and his accomplices. Zhou was not aware of the effect she was having on Liang. These Chinese girls, who lived in Europe, had acquired bad habits. In the West, men and women were more promiscuous than in China. Women were equal to men. It was all white man's bullshit, where did it get them? Zhou spat on the floor. Westerners were definitely worthless. They didn't know how to get respect from the Negroes, from their women, from anyone, you decadent bastards!
Liang had gone to the toilet. In the middle of the puddles of piss, he had taken a long look at his face in a cracked and dusty mirror. He was past forty. He had rotten teeth, his skinny face was eaten by beard, his skin was ruined by pox and his hair was greasy... How could he hope to please a woman like Zhou?
It wasn't just a matter of age. He remembered his face twenty years ago, when he was Zhou's age. He was already scarred by misery, congenital stupidity, lack of care and the harshness of mountain life. Liang had nothing to like, so why was Zhou talking to him like that? She was making him suffer, imagining dangerous and painful things.
He returned to Zhou, however, without letting his thoughts show. He avoided the stares of the other Chinese in the car who were watching him ironically. It was not proper to talk and laugh like that with a foreign girl. More worryingly, there might be Triad men in the car. But what the hell, Liang was not doing anything wrong. It was not strictly forbidden to talk to this girl.
THE END OF A FRIENDSHIP
Zhou, and even Liang in appearance, had come to forget about Jianmei's presence. She returned their indifference as best she could. But after the Berlin stop, the young woman had suddenly changed her attitude. She had gradually exchanged a few kind words with Zhou, agreed to look at Liang. The relationship between Liang and Jianmei gradually became more relaxed. Jianmei still didn't speak to Liang, which was appropriate, but he was watching the exchanges between the two women and this eased the atmosphere.
Jianmei confided in Zhou. She told him that her mother-in-law had exiled her to China to get rid of her. Zhou tried to comfort her by telling her that she was going to get married to a nice man, that it was a good opportunity. Jianmei laughed scornfully at this.
Ignoring Liang, she said, "But don't you understand? We are not going to marry a rich young man, we are going to the brothels!..."
Liang could not do anything. Jianmei continued for several minutes, adding up the arguments. Zhou listened without saying anything. She became livid. After a while, she turned to Liang, looking for a denial. He looked down, embarrassed. He was unable to say a word. He would have lied if he hadn't been in front of Jianmei, but her smirk paralyzed him.
Jianmei said, "You didn't know? Didn't you see the kind of people who negotiated with you? Why do you think we're being made to travel in this shitty car with these idiots? Do you think it's to join a handsome prince who will shower us with gold and diamonds?"
Zhou did not take his eyes off Liang. He looked down, very embarrassed. He promised himself to ask Cao not to put him alone with two girls in the future. Zhou's gaze on Liang became cold, and an angry tear ran down her face. She said, "My mother had a hunch. But my father was convinced that it was better for me. If they find out I'm going to a brothel, they will die of grief! It will finish them off."
There was silence. From now on, Zhou no longer looked at Liang, she only spoke to Jianmei. It even seemed to Liang that the two women were speaking in hushed tones in those European languages he didn't understand. The situation was getting more complicated.
When the train arrived in Moscow, there was a one-hour stop. Liang paid close attention. He did not want the two girls to try to steal his company, even though he had kept both of their passports with him. Without papers and money, he knew, they could not go far.
FLEEING TO MOSCOW
At the station, Jianmei suddenly got up to go to the bathroom. He immediately went with him, suspicious. He asked his colleague to keep an eye on Zhou, but she decided to get up to go to the bathroom as well. Liang didn't have the courage to tell her to stay put. Zhou was the first to enter the bathroom. Jianmei waited in front of it, looking out the window. There was no one in the hallway except for a young man further back who was looking the other way. Just as Zhou stepped out to make room for Jianmei, Liang received a terrible blow to the head. He collapsed to the ground. Unconscious, he vaguely registered the sound of hurried footsteps, murmurs, the touch of a hand searching him.
He recovered his senses only a few minutes later. No one had noticed the assault, or had simply stepped over the guy who was drinking his rice wine, or had become unwell. No one cared about a man who fell to the ground in China anymore. Besides, this part of the car was deserted by the passengers, because of the stench of the toilets. The usual smokers went to the other side or down to the platform.
It took Liang a few minutes before he could get up. His head was pounding, he was stunned. He was not in good shape to take such an assault. He noticed that the passports of the two women were no longer in his pockets.
He finally got up and staggered back to the compartment. The others were still there, half asleep, generally indifferent to him. He hesitated: would he alert the couriers he knew about the disappearance of the young women? No one would help him, everyone had their own philosophy: to each his own. Besides, many would be amused by his troubles with the girls. "Ah, he was being pretty with his whores, let him be on his own now!"
Deep down, Liang understood that the girls were trying to run away. They were destined for prostitution, somewhere in a dance hall in Shanghai, Beijing or Chongqing. The guy who had knocked him out was a handsome young man, probably Jianmei's boyfriend. It's sure that she preferred to be loved by this apollon than by lecherous rich guys.
But, on the other hand, Liang was in great danger if they did not return. He had a vision of the fate of those who displeased the Triads.
He immediately called Cao: "The two girls ran away. A guy hit me from behind, they got their passports back... Cao interrupted him: "You idiot, how come nobody noticed?
- They were in the bathroom.
- And where were you?!
- Out front, in the hallway. The guy attacked me from behind!
Cao had uttered a string of curses. "Alert guys, there must be Lu Bin. Do you know him?"
- The... The boxer?
- Yeah, tell him to help you, you incompetent. You'd better find them...
LU BIN
Cao was already hanging up, curtly. The tone of his voice left no doubt. Liang was going to be in big trouble if the two girls were not found. He was suspected of having accepted money for them to escape. In any case, any wrongdoing should be punished with blood. This was the method, to set an example.
At this thought, Liang was petrified, unable to breathe. This blow was much more important than the one he had just received in the back of the head. What would happen to him if he didn't find the girls?
Liang looked around. There were all the familiar faces he'd passed over the years, all the poor fellows he'd seen over the years. None of them were really friends, even if some were nice. None of them would try to defend him if he got torn to pieces. Each had learned to save his own skin. In their place, under such circumstances, Liang would not budge. He had seen more than one colleague slaughtered next to him, without him moving.
With his stomach churning and his head on fire, he staggered towards the armed guards' compartment. Lu Bin might be around.
Liang felt like throwing up. The guards were officially there to protect the convoy, especially in the desolate steppes. They carried assault rifles to deter attacks on the train.
Liang had been attacked several times since he had been on the route. Always, during these attacks, there were deaths among the passengers of the cars.
These guards and the triad henchmen usually got along well, they were the same kind of violent, thumping, killers. The guards' compartment was closed. They were not there!
!
Liang ran back to the car from which he had come, and went to look on the platform. He spotted the guards a little further away. Lu Bin was with them, laughing. The man was really scary. This madman, a former boxing or MMA champion, was known for his extreme violence, he could break a man's, a child's or a woman's jaw, for a small thing. He was a natural psychopath and the anabolic drugs he took to maintain his wrestling physique added to the problem.
Liang knew that these armed men were traveling on the train to guard not only the merchandise, but the couriers as well. These men, dressed in uniforms or in civilian clothes, were under the direct control of the Chinese mafias.
Lu Bin would receive a phone call from Cao at any moment. When this guy took over, it would be complicated for Liang if he didn't warn him first. Liang was going to get hit, he knew it.
Liang suddenly panicked. Without thinking, he got off the train and ran away from Lu Bin. But once he was outside, he stopped after a few meters. He was already out of breath, his head was throbbing, he was about to vomit. He was dizzy. He couldn't even run long enough. What was he going to do? Alone in Moscow, a city he didn't know, without money, without friends, not understanding languages. He wouldn't get far.
He looked at the platform, feeling dizzy. He could only live in China, in his district of Chongqing. In these barbarian countries, he could never survive.
He dragged himself piteously to Lu Bin, feeling very sorry for himself. As soon as he got close to him, he began to stir, to attract attention, trying to be surrounded. When he reached Lu Bin, he called out to him: "Lu Bin, Cao told me to tell you, help me! I was attacked by a young person, he left with the two girls I was accompanying! Hurry, they may not be far away!"
Lu Bin had seen Liang running out in the other direction. He did not move, watching Liang silently. Liang did not know where to stand in front of this man who was watching him like a rattlesnake, ready to strike. At that moment, Liang knew that Lu Bin was deciding whether to kill him or not. Lu Bin finally decided to approach him. Liang retreated into himself and waited for the blow.
Lu Bin slowly approached Liang until he almost touched him. He turned in front of him, looking at him, breathing in the smell of fear and falseness that usually came from these assholes. He seemed to read Liang's every thought. He enjoyed the fear he felt in this being, the look of terror in his eyes.
When Liang received a tremendous slap, which sent him to the feet of his colleagues, who were all around, he was almost reassured. Lu Bin might not kill him right away.
Lu Bin grabbed him by the collar, "Where are they?
- I don't know, they ran away. I fainted.
Liang felt Lu Bin's grip tighten around his throat. Lu Bin said slowly, "Where are they?
-I, I... I don't know! I swear! They ran out!
- The guy who hit you, is he the kid who went up to Berlin?"
- Yes, I think... Yes, it's...
Liang could not breathe, he could not speak. His voice was gone in one breath. Lu Bin was there to watch every movement in the car... He angrily let go of Liang, who almost passed out and fell like a bundle. At that moment, a phone rang. Cao was calling Lu Bin. Liang could not hear Cao's voice. He just heard Lu Bin answering respectfully, following orders.
CONTINUATION
Already Lu Bin called three other men and ran away. Liang was on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. No one was looking at him. Everyone was looking at Lu Bin and his men who were running along the platform towards the exit of the station.
Liang was sweating. He saw that Lu Bin was running away and calling someone on the phone.
Liang stood up trembling. He tried to follow Lu Bin and his men. Suddenly, he vomited on the platform. The passengers moved away. Liang felt better. He went on his way.
Lu Bin's men were no longer there. They had quickly moved towards the exit. Several other men in civilian clothes passed Liang and ran in all directions. There was an army of Cao's henchmen on this train!
Soon Liang realized that these were not Chinese. They were local allies, Mongolians of some sort, perhaps. The Triads had logistical and military relays all along the road.
Soon they all disappeared in all directions. Liang was unable to catch up with them. He sat down on a chair at the station.
He tried to think. The young man who had hit him must have been Jianmei's accomplice. These two had a plan, from the start. Jianmei had changed his attitude after the Berlin stop. That must have been when the young man had come aboard. She must have gotten her hopes up when she saw him.
Liang tried to remember this young man, whom he had not really paid attention to, except that he did not have the usual earth-damned profile of the Chinese on this train car. He remembered that the young man was tall, rather well built, athletic. He was Jianmei's boyfriend, he looked like a guy who could get a girl of that caliber. With Jianmei, they would probably try to run away, according to a plan already decided.
For Zhou, it was more complicated. The young woman had not planned anything. She had no money, she was in a city she didn't know, she had no bearings and no accomplices. She had every chance of being caught. Liang was confident.
Liang walked into the main hall of the Moscow railway station. He did not see Lu Bin and his men. Suddenly, he realized the majesty of the place. He looked around in amazement. The pale green color of the walls, the rounded vault of the ceiling and the chandeliers made the Moscow station look like a castle. Quickly, he detached himself from it to look at the rows of seats. He absolutely had to find them.
END OF HOPE
Suddenly he saw her. Zhou was trying to hide behind a family of Russians. Liang watched him quietly. He hid behind some people without taking his eyes off her and called Cao on the phone: "Cao, I found Miss Zhou. I should be able to call Lu Bin to help me pick her up."
- Can't you look for her yourself?
- Well, if she makes a fuss and doesn't want to follow me...
- It's all right, wait, I'll tell her to send you some people. You stay put. I think they found the other one. Where are you?
Liang gave his location. Cao had already hung up. The tone of his voice had returned to its usual, almost friendly, tone. Liang was a little reassured. Perhaps the matter would be settled. Cao would finally understand that Liang was not an accomplice. For years, Liang had always done the work he was asked to do without giving any trouble.
Soon Lu Bin called Liang: "Where are you?"
Liang gave his position again. "Wait, we are coming." A few seconds later, Lu Bin walked past him with some men, including several Russians in uniforms. Cao and his friends had accomplices in every country, of course.
Liang watched them close in and surround Zhou. She tried to stand up, but Cao's men had come between her and the crowd. The Russian family hurried away. It was hard to see what they were doing to Zhou.
When they started walking again, Liang could barely see Zhou, hidden behind all those men. She was now barely standing, the men were supporting her as they carried her away quickly. Around them, the Russian crowd had not reacted. No one had interfered.
Drugged," Liang sneered, "they drugged her, that brat.
PITIFUL TO THE END
Liang had stayed at a distance, following the group and Zhou from afar. When the girl was taken aboard the train, he approached Lu Bin. Lu Bin greeted him with a tap on the shoulder. It hurt, but at least it meant that Liang would live. Liang, who was a punk to the end, said, "Did you catch the other one?
Lu Bin had walked away, winking knowingly, without even deigning to answer this grub. This could be interpreted as an affirmative answer, something like, "What do you think? I'm Lu Bin, no one escapes me..."
Liang voiced several insults inside his head, once Lu Bin was far enough away not to hear them. He was relieved, maybe he hadn't lost his place. He immediately called Cao: "Cao, it's Liang. The two women have been recovered!"
- Yes, Liang, you were hot. Be careful next time.
- Thank God Lu Bin was there!
Cao had already hung up. Liang stood there for a while, looking at the people at the station without seeing them. He was going to live! Then he hurried back to the train to celebrate his "victory" with the other messengers. No one seemed to notice his presence.
So he made the return trip alone. Jianmei and Zhou did not appear. One of the couriers in the car told him that the young man, Jianmei's lover, had been tortured and killed, and that the video of his confession and torture was already online. Liang did not want to watch the video. He could not hate this young prince for loving and wanting to save his princess.
Liang tried not to think about Zhou, the sweet Zhou, who had to be drugged, shackled and locked in some trunk in Lu Bin's carriage until the end of the journey to Chongqing. This girl was the prettiest creature who deigned to speak kindly to him on this planet. But she, like all these girls was nothing.
All of them, girls, couriers, even henchmen, were nothing in this formidable organization. The big bosses, people far above Cao, were running the show. They didn't waste time on human or material details. They controlled the masses, in China as elsewhere, with columns of numbers.
Life was cruel. Perhaps Liang had kept his job as a courier this time, although he doubted he would be paid for it. In any case, he had earned the right to survive a little longer.
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