FRAGMENT 82
A Corporate Seal Made of Trillions of Cells
Fragments: A Drifting High Note | That Trace of Humble Viscosity
Time & Location: Spring 2010 · Almaty International Airport, Kazakh Restaurant, Almaty
Waiting beneath the aircraft stairs was Xu Yanan.
Her navy-blue suit was impeccably tailored.
Around her neck was a silk scarf in the same sky-blue color as the Kazakh flag.
She embraced me, yet deliberately maintained a certain distance.
It felt less like a woman's embrace and more like a general placing both hands on a soldier's shoulders—warmth combined with authority.
“Welcome, welcome, our great president.”
My title had already been explained in detail by Gao Yong.
President and Chief Executive Officer of Tengri Dream World Group Holdings Ltd.
The company had been incorporated in Singapore.
Its shareholders were entirely offshore entities, carefully concealing the presence of Chinese capital.
Gao Yong had once pointed at the name of a Cayman Islands company.
“That one belongs entirely to you.”
“It holds twenty percent of the group's shares.”
“The largest single shareholder.”
“And it comes with veto power.”
His drifting high notes pierced through the sticky middle register of his voice and scratched at the old toothbrush scar between my fingers.
It itched.
Truthfully, none of the things Gao Yong considered important held much attraction for me.
The place itself did.
That grassland.
That land had once been one of my ancestors' most terrifying sound fields.
The lives of both my father and grandfather had been engraved with three words:
Expedition.
Campaign.
Conquest.
And yet the blood of the Kiyad clan flowed through my veins.
I did not drink.
I did not ride horses.
I had no appetite for conquest.
And yet the place Gao Yong had gone to such lengths to send me to had been a battlefield throughout history.
It remained one today.
Holding my hand, Xu Yanan introduced everyone waiting at the airport.
“This is your interpreter.”
“This is your secretary.”
“The people behind them are your finance director and operations director.”
“Sister, what exactly is your position?”
I casually withdrew my hand from hers.
“Pff.”
The same brief two-hundred-millisecond laugh.
“I don't want to be led by you.”
“And I don't want to lead you.”
There was a faint stickiness in her voice.
A familiar one.
But in the next moment, every official present—Chinese and Kazakh alike—stepped forward in perfect unison and erased it.
“Special Envoy Xu, thank you for your hard work.”
“Greetings, Envoy Xu.”
“Envoy Xu.”
That trace of humble viscosity vanished instantly.
A few days later, she invited me to dinner alone.
The restaurant specialized in Kazakh cuisine.
The lighting was dim but carefully layered.
Conversations remained soft.
The horsehead fiddle drifted through the room.
It was easy to become intoxicated by the atmosphere.
Towering skewers of lamb hissed over charcoal.
Freshly baked meat pastries steamed on wooden trays.
A bowl of chili egg noodles looked irresistible.
Soon I was so full that straightening my back became difficult.
Special Envoy Xu lowered her voice as well.
She knew how sensitive my hearing was.
“Little brother, we'll give you full authority.”
“We'll provide all necessary funding, personnel, and diplomatic support.”
“Mm.”
“This isn't a pie falling from the sky.”
“It's an entire fat sheep.”
I smiled.
There was no sarcasm in the remark.
Neither surprise nor flattery.
She began describing the Tengri Dream World they envisioned.
Every detail arranged with meticulous logic.
Like noodles laid out neatly across a plate.
“Come on.”
“Let's go outside.”
She took my hand and led me from the restaurant.
The lights of the city's financial district blazed around us.
Yet we moved like two shadows among the relaxed crowds.
Passing silently between smiling faces.
Finally, she stopped in a dark corner.
There she revealed a highly classified project.
And asked for my help.
Several weeks later, Xu Yanan summoned an architect.
He spread blueprints across a table and presented every engineering detail.
Outside the room stood two security guards from a Chinese special forces unit.
Motionless.
Like wax figures.
At the top of the drawings was the name of the structure.
Bunker No. 3.
FRAGMENT 83
The Temperature of the State
Fragments: The Endless Dry Wind | A Toast to the Deepest Fear
Time & Location: Autumn 2012 · Tengri Dream World Construction Site, Bunker No. 3, Almaty Region
Construction of Bunker No. 3 was progressing rapidly.
Within two years, it would be completed.
Hidden one hundred meters beneath the future Tengri Casino, it connected directly to the Tengri International Airport that was rising from the steppe above.
I understood the purpose of the project without anyone explaining it.
All of these plans were being prepared for a single individual.
At midnight, I lay on the king-size bed of a Ritz-Carlton executive suite.
In my ears, I could almost hear casino chips rattling across green felt.
The triumphant high notes of The Radetzky March echoed from imaginary slot machines.
Yet beneath those sounds lingered something else—
the deep vibration of electric motors turning far below ground.
For now, everything remained a vision.
Outside the window, the snow-covered summit of Khan Tengri Peak in the distance.
Closer by, the Ili River flowed silently through the darkness.
The vast surface of Lake Kapchagay—twice the size of urban Beijing—lay still as embroidered silk.
And beneath my feet stretched the endless Kazakh steppe.
I stood at the construction site.
This was my camp.
Though no golden khan's tent would ever be raised here.
Under my boots spread a Go board covering dozens of square kilometers.
I could feel myself as a single stone upon it.
The endless dry wind stripped away every trace of humanity.
The hand arranging me was not Yehenara Orchid.
Not Sha Qingqing.
Not Gao Yong.
Not Xu Yanan.
It belonged to something whose temperature I could never touch.
The State.
The dry wind never stopped.
Its rustling resembled the static hiss of a radio receiving no signal.
I wanted to tear out my eardrums.
I wanted the wind to carry Sha Qingqing's voice back to me.
I wanted that voice to transform me once again into the White Crow.
A creature capable of flight.
A creature capable of escaping anywhere.
Perhaps even joining the countless people who believed the Maya prophecy and waited for the end of the world.
In my mind, Gao Yong's face transformed from counterfeit sincerity into the skull beneath it.
I hated him.
For using the blade of power to sever that source of sound.
I hated myself as well.
When I left Beijing, I had switched off the radio.
Then walked away without looking back.
I turned on the radio beside my bed.
I could not find the frequency.
Only after searching for a long time did I remember that Sha Qingqing's broadcasts existed on shortwave and medium wave bands.
I was about to throw a bottle across the room when the telephone rang.
“How are things in Kazakhstan?”
Orchid.
Click.
Another stone touched the board.
“Not bad. A little dry.”
Even as I answered, I continued searching for Sha Qingqing's voice.
“Get some rest. I miss you.”
There was a faint tremor in her voice.
“You too.”
Before I could finish speaking, she had already hung up.
The bunker was completed soon afterward.
There was no ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Only a private celebration.
The Special Envoy wore a red Suzhou-embroidered shawl.
Beside her stood senior officials from Zhongnanhai.
Several generals.
More than one hundred people attended.
Only two were women.
The second was a female officer from the Kazakh intelligence service.
She stood just behind Xu Yanan.
Close enough to almost touch her.
I stood near the back holding a wine glass.
The officer's figure was striking.
Her rank was Major.
I felt nothing.
Thought nothing.
The airtight steel structure insulated every primitive signal from the outside world.
The people gathered inside were raising their glasses to humanity's deepest fear.
Meanwhile, my own logic system had begun grinding.
Like a precision rotor running without oil.
Slowly wearing down my nerves.
Through a maze of underground passages, the guests eventually entered the casino, still undergoing final testing.
The singing of slot machines instantly flooded the air.
All traces of dignity vanished from the officials and generals.
Every eye locked onto the glowing screens.
Every heartbeat accelerated.
Russian girls in revealing clothing moved gracefully among the crowd.
Their swaying hips etched scenes of exotic temptation into the minds of men who had only moments earlier been drinking to the fear of apocalypse.
Only Xu Yanan and I knew that the casino air contained higher concentrations of oxygen and dopamine than the world outside.
Without warning, Xu Yanan's fingers brushed lightly across the curved hip of the female officer.
A flash of desire crossed her face.
The sound of skin gliding against skin added a new note to the score of longing.
