Chapter 1509 - The Household Registration Officer
Would she be able to clock out on time today? Lately, the Interrogation Division had been swamped; the basement's interrogation rooms were in use nearly every hour. This month she had already been loaned out several times, and the previous night another special case had broken. Still, having already worked one all-nighter, she should not be called in again tonight—ever since a naturalized police officer had dropped dead after seventy-two consecutive hours of work, shifts exceeding forty-eight hours had been banned.
Li Yongxun walked to the canteen entrance, where a self-serve beverage table was set up. Three insulated canisters sat on the table—coffee, black tea, and "Energy Tonic." She took a glass from beneath the white gauze cover and poured herself a cup of Energy Tonic. The stuff worked fast; after drinking it, drowsiness vanished at once and her head cleared—more than enough to carry her through the rest of the day.
She placed the glass in the wicker collection basket and went to the washroom beside the canteen, where she splashed water on her face. Then she studied herself in the mirror.
The young woman in the glass wore a black jacket, a black skirt, and a black round-brimmed cap with white piping. This appearance could no longer be connected to the girl who once wore ruqun and bijia. The daughter of a Brocade Guard garrison-chief was nowhere to be seen; only the pair of coiled buns atop her head retained a trace of the past. Every time Li Yongxun looked in the mirror, she felt an unreal, dreamlike sensation.
Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
Such nameless questions flickered through her mind.
Her former life, though only two or three years past, seemed to belong to another lifetime. Li Yongxun even felt she had forgotten many things.
She adjusted her cap and smoothed back a strand of hair that had slipped loose at her temple—there was no time to fix her hair properly here; that would have to wait until after her shift.
Li Yongxun returned to the Household Registration Division—a vast open office, almost a hall in itself. The room was packed with rows of "Sacred Ship Type-16 Data Desks," mass-produced by the Lingao Furniture Factory. These desks featured special racks and small drawers for inserting forms and ledgers. Work began at seven, and some fifty or sixty National Police household registration officers were already seated behind these desks, beginning the day's tasks.
Due to the personnel shortage, the division had lately been supplying "floating staff" to other departments for night shifts. Most people in the office looked sleep-deprived—faces pale, shadowed with dark circles. Smoking was prohibited indoors, so everyone, men and women alike, had a cup of scalding strong tea on their desk. To save time on brewing and serving, this was handled by rotating female interns who pushed a small cart through the room every half hour, refilling cups on request—tea or coffee, as one pleased. For anyone feeling hungry, dried sweet potatoes and sugar cubes were provided free of charge.
The Household Registration Division employed more women than any other National Police unit—two-thirds of the staff were female. So when Li Yongxun walked in, apart from a glance from the deputy director at the front desk, no one paid her any attention.
She returned quickly to her seat. The desk had been tidied; unfinished work was stacked neatly in the "pending" tray—disappointingly, she noticed the pile had grown considerably. Heavens, I want to be in the Courier Bureau, not stuck here as a paper-pusher!
By comparison, being "loaned out" was far more interesting. "Alas," Li Yongxun sighed, picking up a sharpened pencil. Ever since she had fallen into the Australians' hands in Macau and been brought to Lingao, she had spent her first few months in solitary confinement in a building she later learned was called the "Study Class."
After a single interrogation at the Study Class, months passed without anyone questioning her again. She was simply ordered to write her autobiography, over and over. She had written it no fewer than twenty times. Each version was returned with the same comment: "Too brief."
"What do you want me to write?" she once complained to Ke Yun, who had come to deliver materials. "I'm just a young girl—my experiences are limited..." She pleaded, "Please, just tell me clearly. Don't keep me dangling like this."
"You've lived in this world for fifteen years; surely you've seen plenty. Write whatever comes to mind, no matter how trivial. Domestic gossip is fine; you can write about how many dogs your family kept, or about getting spanked by your parents as a child—anything you remember, you may write." Ke Yun was unmoved by her complaints. "Only when you pass this stage will there be a next step."
So Li Yongxun had no choice but to continue writing her autobiography in the little room of the Study Class, day after day, sun and moon blurring together. Over more than half a year, to avoid being left in this inexplicable limbo, she racked her brains, eventually scrounging up even the most trivial details.
Sometimes she thought the Cropped-Hairs had no intention of reading her autobiography at all—what possible use could it be to them that her family had kept so many dogs, or that a certain Chen Dayou, a strongman in the Nanjing Brocade Guard, was a distant relative? They were merely wearing her down. But she was powerless to resist. With her life in others' hands, waiting for a verdict of life or death—or perhaps something worse than death—the days were unbearable. Li Yongxun knew all too well how wretched the fate of women who fell into the hands of state instruments of violence could be. Compared to the Ming, the Cropped-Hairs treated female prisoners quite mercifully.
Though she had not been subjected to torture or violation, even if the case were closed, her prospects were dire. According to Ming custom, even if she escaped death, her fate would be either "delivered to official matchmakers for sale" or "sent to the Directorate of Music." The former offered slim hope; whether bought as a wife or a maidservant, if she could contact her elder sister and brother-in-law in Guangdong, they might be able to ransom her. But if she ended up in the Cropped-Hairs' "Directorate of Music"... Li Yongxun could not bear to imagine.
After nearly a year of being ground down in this way, just as she was on the verge of losing her mind, Ke Yun appeared at her cell—but this time without the ever-returned autobiography.
Li Yongxun realized at once that the Australians must have made some arrangement for her. She hurried forward, put on an ingratiating expression, and gazed up with gleaming eyes. "Elder Sister, have my autobiographies been good enough? Can I be released?"
Ke Yun only said coldly, "Come with me."
Li Yongxun followed her, heart pounding, passing through iron door after iron door until she reached the long-absent vestibule. She tried to read her fate in Ke Yun's expression—but the other's face remained impassive.
The vestibule was empty, which slightly reassured her. If they were taking her to be executed, "handed over for public sale," or "sold into the Directorate of Music," there would surely be several formidable matrons present. Since no one else was here, perhaps the worst was not imminent.
Ke Yun filled out a form and handed it to the lame guard. Then the final iron door opened before her.
"Shortly you will be taken to the Resettlement Center for placement. From today, you are granted partial freedom—but you may not leave Lingao."
"Thank you, Elder Sister..." Li Yongxun exhaled in relief. Not only was her life spared, but her virtue too.
"I am Ke Yun, Probationary Assistant of the Political Security Bureau. You may address me by name. During this period, I will be responsible for supervising you. I hope you will cooperate with my work." She gave a cold smile, letting the girl understand that the consequences of non-cooperation would be severe.
Li Yongxun nodded eagerly. "I understand, I understand. I will certainly do as you say."
Though she groused inwardly, she also felt a pang of envy. She had always dreamed of being a real, legitimate Brocade Guard—a true "public servant"—of standing guard for the emperor with a spring-embroidered saber at her hip, of wielding the water-and-fire cudgel as the order "Strike with care!" rang out, of going undercover and infiltrating enemy camps to gather intelligence...
Though her imagination ran wild, in her heart she knew it was impossible. Not only was she a girl with no hope of inheriting a post, but her father, uncles, grandfather, great-grandfather—they had mostly frittered away their youth in idleness, never once doing the things she dreamed of.
Yet the young woman before her, only a few years older, was a genuine public servant, probably some sort of junior official. The air of authority about her was unmistakable...
Even if the Australians only controlled a corner of Hainan, they at least had a proper regime. Ke Yun, serving under them, held a real "official position"—far better than herself, waving around a stolen Brocade Guard badge that nobody believed.
Lost in self-pity, she heard Ke Yun say coldly, "You had best not think of escaping. Otherwise, writing autobiographies will be the least of your worries."
"Yes, yes, yes." Li Yongxun nodded repeatedly.
"And don't try to send letters or pass messages." Ke Yun smiled, pointing to a tall building in the distance, scaffolding still around it. "Know what that is?"
"Please enlighten me, Elder Sister..." Li Yongxun was the picture of meekness.
"That is Ziming Tower—yes, a branch of the one in Guangzhou. It's under construction. They're in need of lively, pretty girls just like you..."
Li Yongxun's face went pale. "Elder Sister, I wouldn't dare. I will certainly do as you say."
Ke Yun smiled—a more normal smile this time, no longer laden with unspoken threats. She led Li Yongxun onto a carriage and took her to the Resettlement Center.
The Resettlement Center was essentially an inn—run, however, by the Political Security Bureau. Its residents were all subjects slated for "monitored employment." Though deemed potentially "usable," their backgrounds were problematic, and they required a period of supervised evaluation before their rating could reach the level permitting monitored employment.