Chapter 70 LILI

at thought of Chairman Mao and his peasant state as he wandered around

Shamian Island admiring its handsome late 19th century colonial buildings.

He wondered why they had survived, was it some kind of latent admiration

for the men who come so far to build their trading empire, bringing with them the

best of their way of life. It was evident that Mao was a man of the people, but the

British, and to a lesser degree European merchant class, were aped not only by the

Chinese nouveau riche, but also by the ruling classes in general.

The Chinese, of all classes, wore Burberry, Dunhill, Vuiton, Cartier and all the

rest; those who had money bought the real thing whilst the less monied classes

bought fakes. Those with obvious fakes were ridiculed and called shanzai, and

those that tried to be fashionable without the accepted accoutrements were called

tubie, or wingless cockroaches.

Located on the historical Shamian Island, overlooking the famed Pearl River, the

White Swan Hotel, despite its thirty or more stories, remained an oasis of

tranquillity from the hustle and bustle of this busy city. The Atrium lobby was an

indoor microcosm of the famed landscapes of Southern China. Cascades of waters

flowed down a spectacular rockery above which stood a richly adorned Chinese

pavilion amongst a profusion of luxuriant vegetation and flowering plants.

As Lili had told him the restaurant was just a short walk from the White Swan.

On arrival they were greeted by a smartly uniformed doorman, complete with top

hat and tailcoat, on the steps that led up to the entrance of what had once been the

mansion of a rich taipan. The lobby opened onto a richly decorated ground floor

dining room, to one side of which a broad staircase led to a balcony and more

tables. The decor was a discrete mixture of Chinese and Art Deco styles setting off

the elegant tables, laid-out with the crystal glasses and fine silver ware glittering

under the lighting.

They were greeted by a smiling and deferential hostess, elegantly dressed in a

traditional Chinese cheongsam, as were the rest of the female personnel. She

accompanied them to a lift, which they took to the rooftop club two floors above.

There they stepped out into a richly panelled lobby furnished with the same

discrete luxury and decorated with fresh flowers. The smiling receptionist

immediately recognised Lili and politely greeted her in Cantonese, leaving her to

give Pat a guided tour of the establishment. To the left side was another restaurant

P

and to the right a nightclub and bar with a small dance floor and discrete booths;

for the moment few people present to listen to the soft music.

They returned to the restaurant, the focal point of which was an enormous

aquarium that covered one entire wall; the home to a number of sharks, rays and

barracuda, silently gliding back and forth. A bemused Pat wondered if they were

eyeing-up the prosperous, fashionably, dressed clientele for their next meal, or

whether they were part of the menu.

The tour over, the hostess led them out to a rooftop terrace overlooking the tree

lined avenue and the lights of the island with the Pearl River beyond. They were

shown to a table and once seated Lili ordered drinks and started by telling Pat the

story of Shamian.

The island had been an important port for Guangzhou’s foreign trade from the

Song to the Qing dynasties, and where England and France had been granted

trading concessions in the late 18th century. It was a reminder of the colonial

period, with its quiet pedestrian avenues flanked by trees and lined by historical

buildings, most of which been built in the late 18th and the 19th centuries and had

recently been restored to their former splendour.

Shamian was separated from the city of Canton by a canal crossed by two

bridges, which in the past had been closed at ten each evening. The English bridge

guarded by Sikhs, and the French bridge by Annamites.

Later the rich foreign owners of trading companies from England, France, the US,

Holland, Germany, Portugal, Italy and Japan built their elegant mansions along the

waterfront. After the Communist take-over in 1949, these housed government

offices or became apartment houses with the churches transformed into factories.

As Lili told the story their meal arrived with what seemed to Pat like an endless

number of plates including Peking Duck, a favourite with foreigners, which he had

already enjoyed in Hong Kong. Though he was delighted with everything he saw

and even more pleased to be sitting at a table with this very attractive and clearly

very refined Chinese girl, he was still surprised confused by the unexpected

encounter with Lili and why she had rolled out the red carpet.

‘It seems like people have a lot of money here.’

‘Yes, people here have got money to spend, and Chinese like to be seen spending

it.’

‘This place, I mean the island, is very European. How did it survive the

Revolution?’

‘Basically because we love all things European. That’s why you see all these

English towns and villages being built across China, complete half-timbered mock￾Tudor homes, cobbled lanes and Georgian terraces,’ she said laughing. ‘Personally

I don’t like them, too kitsch for me.’

‘Have you been to England?’

‘Yes, I went to the LSE.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes, I spent a year there.’

‘Did you like it?’

‘Well it was all very confusing to start with, I was very young.’

Kennedy laughed. ‘You’re not exactly old.’

‘Well it was eight years ago. Anyway I was glad to come back home.’

‘Where does your family live, I mean your parents?’

‘Here in Guangzhou, in the city centre.’

‘What do they do?’

‘Well my father’s on the Provincial Committee.’

‘Committee?’

‘That’s the provincial government?’

‘So he’s a politician.’

‘In a way I suppose,’ she reluctantly replied. ‘Of course he’s a member of the

CPC.’

‘CP…’

‘That’s the Party.’

‘The party? Asked Kennedy vaguely wondering if it was related to the Tea Party

or something like that.’

‘The Chinese Communist Party.’

Kennedy started, he was taken aback; here he was sitting with at Lili, the

daughter of an apparently important Chinese Communist. Given his ingrained Irish

Catholic background it had a strange effect on him, even after all the years that

separated him from his Christian Brother education at the Ardscoil Rís Jesuit

school in Limerick, and in spite of the fact he hadn’t seen the inside of a church,

not to mind confessing, for decades; at least since his wife had thanked God after

his acquittal for fraud a decade earlier.

Lili took his surprised look for his ignorance of the workings of the CPC and

proceeded to enlighten him.

‘There’s the CPC Central Committee in Beijing and at a local level, the CPC

Provincial Committee with a governor.’

‘I see,’ said Pat, hoping she would change the subject.

‘My father is with the Guangdong Province Department of Finance.’

That didn’t mean very much to Pat, as far as his knowledge of Chinese

administrative structures was concerned she could have been talking of Martians.

The next day, Sunday, Lili picked him up at midday. It was the first day of the

Moon Festival, a public holiday, and the Pearl River esplanade was thronged with

holidaymakers and sightseers, many carrying small paper Chinese flags that they

waved happily as they posed for photographs.

‘The Chinese Moon Festival, or the Mid-autumn Festival, is for us like your

Christmas, it’s one of our most important annual holidays. According to tradition

families get together and watch the full moon, eat moon cakes, and sing moon

poems.’

Christmas, that made sense to Pat, he understood the festive mood.

‘It’s also a romantic one festival,’ said Lili coyly.

‘Oh.’

‘They say it’s a moment when lovers eat moon cakes together watching the

moon.’

Pat thought of more interesting things to do rather than eat moon cakes.

‘Now we are going home.’

‘Home?’

‘Yes, I’d like you to meet my father.’

Kennedy was surprised, but curious to see her Communist father. In his mind’s

eye, he recalled black and white pictures of Mao and peasants.

Lili had other plans.

After their meeting she had Googled INI and checked Pat out. It seemed strange

that a person of such obvious importance was travelling around alone, like a

tourist, a better class backpacker. She had already reconciled herself to the idea she

would never really understand Westerners, but that aside she was not about to let

him slip through her fingers.

He was not like many Western top level bankers surrounded by a pack of

interpreters and lackeys. The Wu Family were survivors from the old times and the

family business could use a contact like Pat Kennedy. Lili’s ancestors had traded

English opium in the 19h century; they had survived the tumultuous events of the

20th century: the arrival of Mao, the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution

and many other tribulations.

As her father climbed the ladder to the Provincial Central Committee, he had

discretely continued the family’s textile business with the help of their relations in

Hong Kong. Then, during the period in which China opened up to the West, the

business had expanded, and under Deng Xiao Ping they had branched out into

electronics and real-estate.

Pat looked around the living room as Mr Wu prepared tea. The room was

impressively large, with elaborately carved rosewood furniture, the walls decorated

with Chinese paintings, porcelain vases stood on cabinets and lacquered chests.

Wu was treating him to what was obviously a practiced ritual, spooning tea into an

exquisite tea pot, pouring boiling water into it, filling fine tea cups then pouring the

tea back into the pot, a process that he repeated several times.

‘How do you like China Mr Kennedy?’

‘Very interesting,’ replied Pat. What else could he say; he had seen so little of the

vast country and up to now had understood very little.

‘China has undergone a lot of changes and today we are discovering

consumerism,’ he said. ‘Before we were very poor, and now, suddenly we have

discovered we can have anything we want, with a little money.’

‘Young people are buying everything, fashions, the latest mobile phones,

tablets…. I’m older now, I prefer traditional things, porcelain, paintings,

calligraphy. In China today people buy anything, but mostly to impress others, they

don’t have any taste. The wealthy are even buying their own copies.’

‘Copies?’

‘Yes, copies of English villages with English churches, Versailles, Tower Bridge

and the Eiffel Tower,’ he replied laughing. ‘And the less rich want to be

photographed standing in front of them, wedding pictures, holiday souvenirs.’

On his visit to Macau, Kennedy had seen the Las Vegas style copies of Venice for

himself, and the stories of mock English villages built in China were familiar.

‘The middle class is pointing the way forward in China. A huge consumer

market. Today they can’t travel to Paris or Venice, but they will buy souvenirs in

places like Suzhou.

‘Suzhou?

‘Yes, it’s our own version of Venice, the Venice of China, its old city is a very a

popular tourist destination, canals, pagodas, gardens and small streets full of

restaurants and souvenir shops.

‘In a way people like old things, here at least in the centre of our cities everything

is new, that’s why we like picturesque old things. Our New China is everywhere,

before in the 20th century it was America, and before that England.’

Kennedy had heard that before and the idea of being a has-been gnawed at his

pride.

‘I suppose that’s why our universities are so popular with Chinese,’ he said

forcing a laugh.

‘Quite so, universities in Britain and America are the best. That’s why we send

our children there. We still have a lot to learn.’

In China, there were schools where only English was spoken and uniforms were

worn, to prepare Chinese students for Western university education. Wealthy

families, business people and government officials, paid up to ten thousand pounds

a year for their child to receive an English education without them ever having to

leave China.

‘You see ours is a highly competitive system and those who want to succeed have

to use all the means at their disposal. If they want to get a good job they have to get

into a grade-one university. It has a lot to do with our one-child policy. When

there’s only one child in the family and if he or she is not successful, then it’s a

failure for the whole family.’

Kennedy was beginning to understand Lili’s urgency.

There are advantages with our Gaokao system, but unfortunately creativity is not

part of it. That’s why our young people want to go to the US, or the UK, for a

broader type of education, you know one that prepares them for leadership,

teamwork, and one that stimulates creativity.’

Pat listened carefully, he was getting a first-hand insight to Chinese society, at

least of those at the top.

‘You see Mister Pat,’ said Wu offering Kennedy a Cognac, ‘today our society is

focused on one object: money and getting rich.’

The Chinese people, on average, were much wealthier than they had been in the

recent past. However, traditional values had suffered, thanks to three generations of

years of expedient socialism, followed by its one child policy, which had

transformed it into a selfish individualistic culture.

For many social status was now defined by ostentatious displays of wealth.

Apartments, cars, fashions, gadgets and even family pets. Of course all of these

had to be new and easily recognisable thus their penchant for well-known foreign

brand name.

Once a family acquired the minimum external signs of wealth, an apartment was

the next must followed by a safe investment, which invariably meant more

property, something that increased in value and would cover medical bills,

children’s schooling and retirement. Stock markets, more often than not are rigged,

were for gamblers. Banks offered poor returns, and putting money into dollars was

excluded, as the Chinese yuan was strictly non-convertible. It was a system where

only the wealthy and privileged classes could transfer their wealth overseas. As a

result the middle classes invested wildly in property, with their savings stoking

what was potentially the greatest property bubble in history, which when it bursts,

as it inevitably would, the explosion would be felt across the entire planet.

Pat Kennedy, who was in many ways a solitary person, in spite of his affability

and his easy contact, devoured knowledge: history, geopolitics languages, science

and the biographies of those who had left a lasting impression on the destiny of

man.

Old Wu’s story, in spite of its complexity, filled him with curiosity and alerted his

sharp sense of observation, it reminded him of the questions Paul Gauguin had

asked when inscribing one his famous painting with the words:

d’Où Venons Nous

Que Sommes Nous

Où Allons nous.

It also recalled the history of China’s endeavour related on the Qingming Scroll, a

copy of which he had seen at the home of John Francis, portraying scenes of life in

the city of Kaifeng, the capital of China in 11th century during the Song Dynasty,

then the world’s largest city. Mineral bituminous coal was used, on an industrial

scale for the very first time, for the smelting of iron in Kaifeng. More than one

hundred thousand tons a year of iron was produced in furnaces fired by coal, mined

from the extensive deposits in the surrounding region. The Chinese had been

pushed to this expedient after the massive deforestation of the region for their

industrial and domestic needs.

He heeded the older man’s words and decided he would learn as much as he

could of China and its history from the Wu family.

As he listened, his head started to turn slightly, the effect of the Cognac, and

could do nothing to prevent Old Wu refilling their glasses again. Watching Wu, Pat

was struck by what he now saw as an obviously important man, emanating wealth

and power. His meeting with Wu was fortuitous, like so many of the contacts he

had made during his life. One of the strange gifts he enjoyed.

‘Tell me Mr Kennedy, what are your projects China?

‘Well our bank has a property fund and we are looking for investors.’

‘Investors in the fund or in property?’

‘Both. London has become one of the world’s most important places to invest in

prime property.’

‘Like Hong Kong?’

‘Not exactly. In the UK the government doesn’t regulate land and things like that.

It’s entirely private, market determined.’

‘I see. It seems that many of my countrymen are buying property in London, but I

suppose it has always been a preferred place for Hong Kong people.’

‘That’s right, but for the moment there is not too many. That’s why I’m here to

meet people interested in investing.’

‘Very interesting Mr Kennedy. You should meet Lili’s elder brother in Hong

Kong.’

‘I’d like that, but I don’t want to seem like I’m intruding on your family.’

The Hong Kong Wu’s were listed as one of the world’s super rich families and

the SAR was where they managed the family’s complex and secretive business.

‘Don’t worry there’s no hurry. You know we Chinese have a long history, five

thousand years, so we have learnt what patience is. By the way, I hope Lili is

showing you around Canton,’ he said turning towards Lili and speaking in rapid

Cantonese.

‘You have seen the streets of Guangdong Mr Pat, but have you seen our

Museum?’

‘No,’ said Kennedy carefully.

‘Then Lili will show it to you, it’s a lesson to anyone in humility, what our

ancestors knew two thousand years ago. It’s different to our modern skylines filled

with tower cranes, and modern architectural projects. It’s our equivalent to Xi’an

and the Terracotta army, or perhaps the Forbidden City. You won’t find it full of

crowds, but it’s our own secret,’ he said with a small laugh.