FRAGMENT 92
Coarse Breathing
Fragments: A Heart Beating with Force | Authentic Beijing Hutong Slang | The Sound of Breathing in Sleep
Time & Location: Winter 2018 · President's Office, Tengri Dream World, Conrad Residences, Almaty Region
Orchid made a face at me through a WeChat video call.
“I'm leaving the Kansai Ki-in.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I'm coming to find you.”
A faint trace of stickiness had returned to her voice, something I had not heard in years.
“Good. Good. Very good.”
The words came out sounding as if they had been edited by a machine.
Inside, however, the stone had already begun to crack.
On the afternoon before Orchid's arrival, Nurlan came to visit.
The former boxing champion.
The same presidential steward who had once tried to set me up.
The heavyset man lounged in the armchair to my left, restraining his habitual arrogance.
His powerful heart drove a rough, laboring breath.
Behind the dense beard, thick lips twitched slightly.
“Mr. Bai, on behalf of the President and his family, I wish you good health.”
He inclined his head.
During the two-hour meeting, his purpose became increasingly obvious.
After Xu Yanan's departure, they understood that I was now the highest-ranking figure within Tengri Dream World.
No state backing.
No military status.
An opportunity.
They wanted influence over the company's operations.
Nurlan attacked directly.
One additional board seat.
One observer seat.
Trusted representatives placed inside the three casinos.
Deeper involvement in management and finance under the banner of corporate authorization.
Then he withdrew his punch and revealed a row of immaculate artificial teeth.
“Mr. Bai, the President is prepared to approve a special budget.”
“You would have complete authority over it.”
The bribery required no disguise.
Neither did the coercion.
Among the elite of this country, such methods had become commonplace.
Nurlan had brought two interpreters with him.
One for Chinese.
One for English.
Every sentence was translated twice.
I stood up from the sofa and moved to my desk.
Picking up my phone, I spoke rapidly into the receiver in the most authentic Beijing hutong slang I could summon.
The Chinese interpreter stared in shock.
Under Nurlan's knife-like gaze, he visibly trembled.
No one answered on the other end.
Then I switched back to standard Mandarin and spoke carefully, one word at a time.
“Unfortunately, Brother Nurlan, I am deeply grateful to President Nazarbayev, whose greatness exceeds even Khan Tengri Peak.”
“His concern for me is as profound as the waters of the Ili River.”
“But please understand. I must report this matter back home before offering any response.”
“The snow atop Nursultan Peak can testify to the purity of our sincerity.”
Nurlan pointed toward the distant mountains.
The script had clearly been rehearsed countless times.
His heartbeat, however, betrayed instability.
When he rose to leave, a trace of menace followed him out the door.
Then Orchid arrived.
She came running out of the airport arrivals hall, bouncing with excitement.
Throwing her arms around me.
Her hair carried the scent of cherry blossoms.
It brushed against my shoulder.
For a moment, I wanted to kiss her.
Then a strange clarity intervened.
My head tilted backward.
She walked ahead of me.
The graceful movement of her body drew my eyes.
Yet I felt no physical response at all.
Instead, I found myself admiring her the way one admires elegant code.
A beautiful arrangement of zeros and ones dancing across invisible lines.
“What a sprite,” I said aloud.
“What did you say?”
She stopped and slipped her arm through mine.
A coding sprite.
A code spirit.
Past midnight, I settled Lan Hui into a nearby suite before returning to my own apartment.
Her breathing in sleep was slow and even.
Occasionally it would flutter.
She spoke in dreams.
Not about me.
Nothing physical.
Only Go.
“This move... isn't right.”
The clean, refined breeze of her presence lingered briefly.
Then another frequency approached.
A low rust-colored vibration.
Drawing steadily nearer.
FRAGMENT 93
A Voice Like Khoomei
Fragments: A Frequency Older, Harder, Closer to Stone | A Japanese Tune from the Bathroom
Time & Location: Winter 2018 · Conrad Hotel, Almaty Region | HOMEWOOD Suites BY Hilton, Reading, Pennsylvania
For three consecutive days, Nurlan called.
“How's it looking?”
“Wait a little longer.”
Nothing more.
Then the calls stopped.
That evening, Assem knocked on my door.
Orchid was with me.
“Mr. Bai, my father says you need to leave immediately.”
Orchid sat motionless, watching a live broadcast of a match between Korean and Japanese Go professionals.
I booked airline tickets without hesitation.
Outside the window, the sound of screeching brakes suddenly cut through the air.
Soon afterward came the sound of hurried but controlled footsteps in the corridor.
A light knock landed on the door.
I pushed Orchid into the kitchen.
Then opened it.
Several large men stood outside.
Some white.
Some Black.
All carrying compact submachine guns.
One wore camouflage fatigues.
“Prince Anka requests that Mr. Bai leave with us immediately.”
Prince Anka.
My father's uncle.
The last prince of the Mongol Golden Lineage.
He had escaped persecution in Mongolia.
Evaded pursuit by the KGB.
Spent decades in the United States.
Eventually becoming one of the world's most successful hunters of wealth.
A Black officer-looking man initiated a video call.
My great-uncle appeared on the screen.
His face was grim.
When he spoke, his voice carried the resonance of khoomei.
“My child.”
“My eagle.”
“Go with them.”
“Immediately.”
I called Orchid out from the kitchen.
Together we boarded an SUV waiting beside a Gulfstream G650 whose engines were already roaring.
Before entering, I glanced once more toward the dark lake.
A small flock of crows landed nearby.
They called softly.
I took Orchid's hand.
We climbed aboard.
“This is amazing!”
“The plane is huge!”
Her eyes widened as she looked around the cabin.
We landed at Philadelphia International Airport.
My great-uncle first shook Orchid's hand.
Then he embraced me lightly.
“Come.”
“Let's go.”
I sat beside him in the car and studied his face.
His silver hair was combed with military precision.
Dense gray eyebrows cast shadows over his eyes.
His nose resembled my own.
The corners of his mouth curved downward.
The hard beard along his chin was perfectly maintained.
He radiated a frequency older than mine.
Harder than mine.
Closer to stone.
During the hour-long drive, he hardly spoke.
Occasionally he looked at me.
There was affection in his gaze.
Orchid rode in the vehicle behind us.
The rhythm of her heartbeat rose and fell with the wheels crossing the pavement.
It carried its own melody.
The song of youth.
The convoy eventually stopped before an aging Homewood Suites by Hilton.
My map identified the location as Reading, Pennsylvania.
“My children, get some rest.”
“I'll come back tomorrow morning.”
“We'll have breakfast together.”
A dark jade ring gleamed on the old prince's finger.
Along its surface ran faint lines of gold-inlaid Mongolian script.
The suite was enormous.
The moment we entered, a subtle Arabian fragrance drifted through the air.
The place had clearly undergone special renovations.
Luxury appeared everywhere, yet so naturally that nothing seemed excessive.
In the bedroom stood an enormous bed covered with flower petals.
Several Louis Vuitton suitcases waited inside the wardrobe.
Opening them revealed men's and women's clothing, cosmetics, elegant razors and trimmers, even complete manicure kits.
The bathroom amenities were arranged with meticulous care.
Everything belonged to the sort of brands found only in the world's most exclusive hotels.
Orchid unpacked the luggage piece by piece.
Folding clothing.
Hanging garments.
Arranging cosmetics.
“I'll take a shower first.”
She began undressing without the slightest self-consciousness.
I turned away and left the room.
Outside in the courtyard, I smoked.
Two shadowy figures remained nearby, keeping their distance.
Their hands rested on the holsters at their waists as they quietly surveyed the surroundings.
Moonlight spilled across the treetops.
Pure silver.
Against the darkness, it made every trace of living green seem more beautiful.
After several cigarettes, I returned to the suite.
Orchid was still in the bathroom.
Softly humming a Japanese tune.
FRAGMENT 94
Needles of Sound
Fragments: A Completely Natural Song | Needles of Hearing Piercing Through Everything
Time & Location: Winter 2018 · Homewood Suites, Reading, PA.
The world became quiet.
She lay beside me in a silk nightgown.
I was naked except for my underwear.
An old habit.
The rhythm of silk brushing against skin was smooth as the movement of a keyboard rising and falling.
One soft arm rested across my chest.
“Hey, are you uncomfortable with me sleeping here?”
“Not uncomfortable.”
“I just never imagined it.”
She burst out laughing.
“You bad man.”
Then she threw herself onto me.
She kissed my forehead.
My cheeks.
My eyes.
My nose.
When she reached my lips, she stopped.
“Ha! Your mouth smells like cigarettes.”
“Terrible. Terrible.”
I curled inward, pulling my face toward my neck.
“Oh no, did I fumigate you?”
I couldn't help laughing.
“I'll teach you to laugh.”
Her lips pressed against mine.
Flowers had already bloomed.
I let myself drift slowly into a deep ocean.
She murmured softly.
Her body moved restlessly.
Her heart hammered.
I did everything I knew to make her happy.
From deep in my throat came a low overtone hum, like a lion crossing a snowy plain.
She cried out.
Again and again.
“Don't stop.”
“Don't stop.”
It should have been a perfectly natural song.
A moment capable of carrying a person beyond himself.
Yet my senses refused to stay where they belonged.
My body continued searching for sounds hidden beneath the surface.
The mattress grew damp.
I shifted positions, trying to transform every sensation filling my ears into something resembling love.
Then suddenly—
a red mist drifted across my vision.
Needles of sound pierced through everything.
Deep beneath the waves of the sea, capillaries twisted.
Hormones moved.
Lymph flowed.
The body spoke in countless hidden rhythms.
All of them part of the ancient music of reproduction.
The low frequencies transformed into rows of numbers.
They crowded my sight.
Darkness gradually descended.
Everything softened.
Everything cooled.
Only the center of my heart remained harder than stone.
“What's wrong?”
“Are you too tired?”
She cradled my head.
Concern filled her voice.
“I'm sorry, little one.”
“I think I may just be tired.”
Several silent seconds passed.
With the gentlest motion I could manage, I moved away.
“Go to sleep, great lion.”
She slipped out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.
Water began to run.
Beneath its steady sound, there seemed to linger a faint sigh.
FRAGMENT 95
The Ultimate Eruption That Never Came
Fragments: The Fragile Cracking of Cellular Metabolism | The Countdown of Birth, Aging, Sickness, and Death
Time & Location: Winter 2018 · Homewood Suites, Reading
At breakfast, Prince Anka would only discuss serious matters when Lan Hui deliberately left the table to fetch food.
I was astonished to learn that since my father's death, he had continued tracking my life for eighteen years.
He understood my abilities in extraordinary detail.
He knew the story of my life almost better than I did.
I found myself unable to refuse his arrangements.
In an otherwise unremarkable private residence not far from Taylor Swift's home, I listened to distant voices.
Conversations among Wall Street bankers.
Strange gatherings in Hollywood.
Private dinners hosted by powerful families.
Quiet promises exchanged by members of Congress.
One day, the old prince let me hear the voice of a president.
The experience sent a chill through me.
The only thing he did not fully understand was my growing obsession with the digital world.
Orchid and I continued trying to make love.
Yet every time, something remained unfinished.
She reached climax quickly.
Often intensely.
But the thing she seemed to long for most—the overwhelming release she imagined as the final triumph of masculine force—never arrived.
She would never know what I heard.
Whenever human beings engaged in reproduction—and I no longer wished to call it "making love"—I heard more than desire.
Far more.
I heard subtler sounds.
Saw larger fields of numbers.
Heard the fragile cracking of cellular metabolism.
The countdown ticking through birth, aging, sickness, and death.
Orchid and I sat together on a lawn.
Both of us hugged our knees and looked toward distant mountains.
Thin clouds drifted from the ridgeline as if painted there by unseen hands.
The shapes dissolved gracefully into the sky.
I listened to the quiet machinery within her body.
She was thinking about the ultimate eruption that had never come.
A trace of longing lingered upon her moonlike face.
She picked up a small clod of earth and dropped it into the grass.
A move filled with uncertainty.
A move from a life that still had questions.
I drew a deep breath.
Trying to soften the disappointment within me.
I was still being sentimental.
The irreversible overload of hearing had reached a point where even the strongest love became another layer of noise.
My body had already delivered its verdict.
“We should go back home.”
“Sure.”
“Sure, Great Lion.”
She smiled.
