If having performed the critique you ask, “Then what is it that makes the superior society?” then the critique comes to its inevitable, final conclusion. That a society, where the state power is divested in the bourgeoisie method, which is to say that state power is made individual power, so long as the individual possess the capital is flawed, but at least better than the feudal society where all power and economic access to it is invested within the king, the Emperor, or their selected magistrates. The conclusion finally, having evolved from either is the socialist society, where the economic means distributed among the people as their own property, shared collectively as equals, does power manifest from the people itself as preached by the bourgeoisie western, liberal tradition. But also so too might we find the ultimate manifestation in the Chinese tradition. The removal of the oppressive barriers of bankers and dukes, freeing the people, allows them the full power of their individual life to study and exercise the philosophy and ethics of life, to see the harmony and righteousness of a free and balanced existence. Should institutions as money be removed, the pursuit of material greed through money, and thus the abuse of other's labor too fade from the social consciousness and be replaced in the observation of the social merit of the self. A commitment can be made to the self and to the community as a family, a proper wisdom explored, and a true progress made. The ideal society from here thus springs. The power of demagoguery and Pseudo-Emperors is replaced by the democratic interests of and activity of the people through the shared investment of belonging in, labor within, and innovation for the greater community. That indifferent leaders should arise, safe in knowing that in letting it be the expression of the whole while build Xiétóng xiàoyìng – synergy – in the whole. And that in the end, the disinterested leader exists as a guardian from the external threat, or should rarely happen the internal threat. But this disinterested leader should not be the sole figure left. Because even in his guardianship may he act against the interests of the whole in claims of its defense. In doing so we recognize the possibilities of the decay of the leadership role through the privilege and access this gives. And like the old Emperor, or even chieftains of other times the disorganization in checking his power from below leads to him seizing power from above when brought into contact with external bribery, for as long as the Revolution is less then global there will be its enemies from outside the Revolution that will seek to derail it through their own material means. These enemies being the last bastions of the reactionaries and the final vaults of the capitalist or offer sweet honey to distract men from venerable life. So thus do we have a national body, a congress of the people. And the legal practice, its courts. Who like in America, and freed from the power of monopolized economic power reach its freest and most pure condition as an aspect of the people in the government. One where the people will be free, hold its leaders to account, and will find the pursuit to their liberty, equality, and communal bond and commonality fruitful and enjoyable. But still though, the most astute observer might ask themselves: if the economic freedom of man is achieved, then what will prevent the most ignorant of farmer from influencing the passing of ignorant law without virtue? And he would be right. But this is in itself the beauty. The recently liberated peasant may not understand the world he is in, but the experience of it over time will temper and train him as he trained his body at the plow with the oxen. Or in the heat of the factory with the urban proletariat. But being able to determine their conditions at work, their reward and their freedom to work however long they present themselves with an opportunity many of our ancestors throughout our history had only dreamed of, and that is to study and pursue self improvement. Thus, education is paramount. The education of the people is to not just provide them with the technical skills to perform a certain task, but an education to teach the people the means by which to understand, to analyze, and to think of the world. The progress of history is that of a conversation, and in a liberated society all become a part of the conversation. As an individual is to be equipped in his life with the skill to perform a role allotted to him or by himself, so too should he or she be equipped with the faculties to partake in the historical progress, to understand the historical canon, and to participate in writing its continuing chapters. The availability of and the improvement of the educated faculties of the nation will be the first step to put a people as a whole down the long road. All shall be sages in total liberation. For it is in China, that those who knew the poetry built the bridges that stand for a thousand years. [right]On Power and Politics Hou Tsai Tang December 9th, 1954[/right] [h1]China[/h1] [h2]Tianjin[/h2] Stepping out onto the the porch, Hou stood watching the rolling sea. A cup of tea in his hand. The sun had only just rose and the eastern sky was still burning with an orange light. He stepped up to the railing and leaned against it watching the gulls patrol above the sandy beach. Their squalling soared high above the waves as they preened their feathers on the sand or squabbled among each other before setting out to sea. Beyond, the white sails and narrow forms of fishing boats were prowling far out beyond the waves. He was joined minutes later by his wife. Walking out onto the deck she laid out a tray with the kettle of tea and her own cup on it on a small wicker table between two chairs. Brushing her hand along her red dress she sat down, crossing her feet. “You going to join me?” she asked after a moment. Hou stood leaning on the railing. Turning to her he nodded and went to join her, sitting down in the reclining chair and sipped his tea. There were dumplings also on the tray, and a few other small snack cakes. He absentmindedly reached for one and silently ate the breakfast snack as he and his wife sat looking out at the morning sea. The reflection of the sun's dimming orange light sparkling in the waves like flashes of dying embers. “I'm going to go into the city today, and meet with some friends at the tea house.” Hou Ju finally spoke, breaking the calm silence between them, “Are you doing anything?” Hou shook his head, “I don't have anything to attend to. Not immediately.” he said. “What about the war, the one just started in Russia?” she asked. “No word on engagement in the north. No emergency. I'm not needed.” Hou asserted. He spoke calmly and matter of factly about it. He was not stressed about it, he was not concerned. Late last evening an update had arrived. For the most part, it sounded like a walk in the woods, “You going to send those letters back to the boys?” he asked. “When I'm there I will.” answered Hou Ju, “I got them in my bag.” Hou nodded, and sipped his tea. Another moment of domestic quietude passed, and the sun continued its rise. As the color of the morning changed from the soft warm orange and reds, to be replaced by the soft blue of mid and late morning the couple began to stir in their seats. The tea, now cold and mostly empty was taken back inside and Hou followed Ju back inside. Negotiating around, they managed to split the task of cleaning up the tea set. As Ju was ready to leave, Hou summoned a security officer to accompany her, and she left for town. She leaving, the house stood empty, save for the security detail still at home. Sitting in a chair with a copy of Dream of the Red Chamber. Seating himself in his chair he looked up across the room to the guard that still sat at a table by the door. With a leg crossed across his knee, he leaned against the wooden end-table reading the newspaper. Hou read quietly to himself. [center]The maid Pearl sulks and takes Pao Yu quietly to task. The maid Little Ping keeps silent and saves Chia Lien from being discovered. Next morning, Pao Yu jumped out of bed very early, put on his slippers and dressing gown, and tripped along next door to the bedroom of his two cousins. He found them still in bed fast asleep. The absence of the maids made it possible for him to observe them at leisure. How different they looked even when asleep! Black Jade lay all carefully wrapped and muffled up to her ears in the apricot-colored silk eiderdown, while Little Cloud had let the cover slide off her so much that her right shoulder and her right arm, decorated with two gold bangles, and even a bit of her round smooth thigh lay bare and naked. The blue-black ringlets of her loosened hair fell over the edge of the pillow. "She cannot be still even when asleep!" murmured Pao Yu to him-self. "She'll get a fine cold and then complain of twinges." And he drew the cover gently and carefully up over her. Thereupon Black Jade turned round and opened her eyes. "What are you doing here so early?" she asked Pao Yu. "It's not at all so early. Quick, get up!" "You must go out first." Pao Yu waited a little while in the adjoining dressing room, then he came back. In the meantime the two cousins had got up and were just at their morning toilet. Pao Yu sat down by the dressing table and looked on as Little Cloud washed herself. When she had finished, the maid Blue Thread was about to take away the washing water. "Stop!" cried Pao Yu, holding her back. "I would like to have it to wash in." And he stooped over the basin, wetted his face and hands in the same water which Little Cloud had used, and dried himself with the same towel with which she had dried herself. Then he quickly rinsed out his mouth and cleaned his teeth with blue salts and, this done, turned round again to Little Cloud. She had just finished doing her hair. "Dear little sister, please do my hair too!" he begged. "No, I cannot do that." "But you used to be able to do it before." ''Perhaps so, but I have forgotten how to." “You must do it! I will not go away from here or put on my fore-head band or my cap until you have done my hair! Just to plait the few little pigtails is not so very difficult!" Finally she gave in and did what he asked; she drew his head nearer to her, plaited the front hair into a ring of little pigtails which when all tied by the ends and drawn up formed a crown-shaped coiffure, and dressed his back hair in a long pigtail with a red braid plaited through it. This braid was decorated with four pearls and it was weighted down with a gold clasp at the end.[/center] Hou read on for an hour more, silent and uninterrupted. He came to a point eventually where he looked up, and wondering about the time asked the guard: “What time is it?” The soldier by the door looked up. He was a young man with shallow expression in his face, eyes sunk deep and cheeks that looked shallow through his protruding bones. It was flat and angled. He looked down at his wrist for the watch that hung there. “Quarter passed eleven, comrade.” “I have an appointment soon, and I have yet to take my walk.” announced Hou, placing the book aside and rising to his feet. “It's not until four in the afternoon.” the guard said pensively, confused over Hou's apparent sudden shift in priorities. He was also young. “Nonsense.” Hou said, heading for the door and slipping on a pair of slippers, “Besides, I don't know how long I will be gone.” he opened the door, and stepped out the door. The guard, suddenly bewildered stood back, hesitating before shooting to his feet and heading for the door. His boots drumming heavily against the wood floor boards. When he reached outside, Hou was already on the beach, strolling genially along the tide line. Crabs, disturbed from their hiding spot were already flitting away as the old man walked through the sand. There was no particular goal in mind. Or any destination. To Hou, this was a mental exercise, as much as gardening was. A physical activity that helped move the mind. He walked in a state of meditation, as the security guard caught up, joined by a few others who had just noticed. The hand guns holstered to their hips jostling as they jogged to meet up with the secretary, their steps impeded by the weight and softness of the sand. They held their distance from Hou as they caught up. Groves of trees and stands of bamboo lined the shore atop high berms and dunes. Kelp and sea wood tossed up in tides or storms lay across the sand, drying in the open air. Thin hair-like grasses grew from the sand a distance from the shore, and the odd bird looked up at them. A few stray knots were spooked from their hiding in the beach grass or passively herded along the shore through the tide, before being fed up and taking wing with a chorus of high-pitched piping. Over time, the natural emptiness of the region gave way to signs of pensively touched territory. A dog, distant and down the beach looked up at the approaching figures and began rooting through the sand on its own clumsy hunt for mollusks, turtles, or tasty morsels it might try to eat. As Hou and his entourage began to draw close, the canine rapidly slinked away, ascending the beach and over into try land. As well as him came the litter and debris of man, fishing buoys cut free and let to drift, drift wood boards, glass bottles and a few rags were scattered thin in a fanning pattern across the sand. Footprints began to appear, heralding they were coming close to where other men walked. Seeing this, some of the guards began to head inland, finding a path to walk between Hou and anything to his right as he went. Beyond and above the hills and the dunes the stretches of rice fields came to view. The sound of distant train whistles sang through clear and open air. It had been close to an hour of walking, and Hou – as old as he was – showed no real sign of wanting to stop. Until suddenly he did. He stood over a fish that had become tangled in a graying fishing line. It was cutting into its gills and lifeless and stony the corpse lay drying and rotting in the sun. The albatrosses had come to scavenge from it and parts of the fish carcass were missing, revealing the bone under the graying flesh. Now he had stopped, the soldiers formed a distant and loose half circle around him. Squatting down next to it, Hou studied the carcass. His thoughts broken suddenly to absorb the line and the circumstances. He looked around him, the various detritus of fishing line and broken tackle littered the beach. Further ahead a landed or abandoned fishing boat lay lop sided. He began to formulate questions. How large were the catches in China? What was the history thus far in the rate at which fish were pulled up? Lost? The smell here was an intermingling of sensation. Of the natural rot of fish washed ashore, the smell of the salt; these were normal to him, natural. But also here too the smell of fertilizer and of other things. A soft smell of coal hung distant, almost suggestively in its subtlety in the air. He turned on his heels when he rose, heading up the embankment and stopped alongside a soldier. He looked over at Hou as the secretary looked out across a jigsaw puzzle field of rice paddies, separated by dirt paths between, some clearly reinforced with wooden planks and scaffolding. A few dark figures were in the field, harvesting or tending to the rice; it was hard to tell. Beyond the fields a gravel and stone berm ran across, a train track. It divided the fields from the small communal settlement beyond, hidden in a faded blue haze at this distance and further beyond the unmistakable towers of smoke stacks. “Those must be the refineries.” the security officer said. “Must be.” Hou answered. His voice sounded distant, still meditative. He gazed out over the fields and they stood there for a while. Hou turned quietly and headed off when he was done. The walk back was in much the same contemplative silence as before. They trudged through the soft sand. The birds were disturbed. A light breeze rustled the trees and the bamboo. And Hou came home. As Hou ascended the steps up to his house, a guard walked to the wooden railing and looked down. With a dry expression on his face she said down to him, “A message came from Mang Xhu while you were gone. He had something he wanted to talk to you about.” “I don't doubt it.” Hou said, turning to her as he reached the top step. Her hair was wrapped in a bun behind her cap, pulling back at her face so the side of her temples looked pulled back too, “I might have something for him.” The guard nodded, and she followed Hou back into his house. “I left it in the table in the parlor.” she intoned. Hou saw a delicate yellow file on the tea table. “I'll have to check it later. I have an appointment.” said Hou. Without any particular haste he wound his way through the home. He said something about a driver, and one of the soldiers that followed him from the beach peeled off from following him. Stepping outside, he hung in the shade of a tree alongside the door as a black sedan with aggressively angled corners rolled over the loose gravel to him. The loose stones popped under the tires as it pulled up to Hou and he unceremoniously stepped inside. In the cool stillness, seperated from the warm summer's afternoon the car rolled down the drive, and through the forested gateway onto the main road. Through the tinted car windows, Hou watched the countryside pass him by. Heading north, they eventually merged in alongside a train track. Separated from the road by several meters worth of thick bushes and stands of bamboo both ran a course north passed farmer's fields and communal enclaves. Every so often over the long flat distance of the northern edge of China's Northern Plain, a rocking iron mule could be seen in a field, among several others on the far side of rice paddies or wild fields. There, an oil field. Elsewhere, an oil field. Scattered haphazardly around the southern part of the province, and running south into the next. The production of oil in China's north, impeded geographically by the southern mountains, socially by the willingness of the farmers to yield their land or not. Farmers fields gave way to city, and soon the plain edifices of apartments gave way to the old Tianjin. The development of and influence of European interests in China came to full bare with streets enclosed by the flat plastered faces of European colonial townhouses. First for Hou came the red-bricked and castle-like townhouses and offices of the old German concession. Their stoic Prussian edifice brooding over the tree-lined side walks and cobble streets of inner old Tianjin. Mashed together within blocks, or even mixed entirely together Bavarian themes met with Saxon artistry and Prussian pride. The Germans, now long gone had been replaced with the Chinese who again moved back into their city here, replacing food stands for bratwurst from forty years ago with dumplings and rice noodles or street barbecue as factory and office workers got off their shift. What came next was the old British concession, and it felt as if driving into London. A corner building that may have been a replica of the London stock-market, or parliament. With prominent colonial reach, it felt to Hou like visiting Hong Kong again. The noble and dour edifices of Victorian stature and superiority stood above the Chinese streets. English words still hung from the sides of some buildings, or chiseled into their corner stones. But they likewise shared common space with Chinese characters and script. And the car kept going. Coming to the end of its journey in what had been the French concession. Here appearances held more at odds with the country they were in, let alone their neighbors. Salon parlors here, brightly painted solid color townhouses of reds, oranges, pinks, with white trim. Townhouses with balconies and flowered gardens. With the changes in French government, a relaxed policy towards the French had been taken lately, and French Communists had been trickling into their old colonial concession, hoping to be as if comrades. And thus lent the quarter a certain relaxed air as a coffee-house like policy swept into the local tea houses and wine shops on this tiny pocket of Northern China. Tucked in that French quarter was the destination of Hou's trip. A hospital building, taking up a block of what had been ruins some twenty years ago. Constructed without expense, it was at odds with its own surroundings and leaned more towards a function over form. Though some pains had been taken to brush in its brutish simplicity in with the royal European aesthetic that surrounded it with gardens and courtyards with shrubbery and trees, it still rose up some seven stories, standing above the delicate surroundings of a misplaced Europe that hemmed it in on all sides. Hanging off the side in large red letters was: “Hospital Twelve”. Hou's car did not take the front entrance, but instead went around the back into a service sector. Ready to take in the car, the shuttered garage doors were opened for him and they shut with a clamor behind Hou's car. The bright sunlight was cut off and the much dimmer sickly yellow tint of artificial light took over. A nurse was first to greet Hou as he stepped out. Idle pleasantries were exchanged. There was a nervousness to the young woman's voice as she spoke with him, “Doctor San Huan will be ready in a few moments.” she told him as they walked to a service elevator in the corner of the underground garage. The smell of automotive fumes, oil, and hospital detritus was strong in the enclosed space. Hou said nothing as they stepped in. A guard had accompanied him and he stood in the corner, hands wrapped behind his back and back set straight. They elevator jostled as they rose silently several floors until it stopped with a shutter. It opened up into a service hallway, a space for janitors and cleaning staff. The few who were there stood awkwardly and stunned silent as the leader of the nation stepped out with a nurse and a guard. Some of the older staff members made passing glances aside, and returned to their work. In the main hall, an oppressive amount of white filled the world. The linoleum tiled floors, pearl white reflected the light from a white-tiled ceiling. The walls were not much better, though the sterile tyranny of the color was blighted only somewhat by faint geometric patterns in the off-white wall paper. An ivory wainscoting rose to about waist height. Walking down the hall, Hou felt he was the darkest figure in the building with his dark gray suit. Nurses and orderlies in the hall stepped aside and bowed respectfully to the Grand Secretary, who returned the favor best he could while on the move. He could feel the weight of eyes on him as he passed open doors and windowed rooms. The guard following him was shifty and tense as they wound their way through. By the end of their journey he was lead into an empty examination room. He was left alone on a wooden bench as the nurse stepped out and the guard waited outside. With his hands resting on his knees Hou sat alone in the empty room, idly looking it up and down. It was sparse to say the least. Wooden cabinets hung from the ceiling above a simple wooden counter. They were the only things to break the starchy white color scheme in the room. Over head, hanging from a chord floated a suspended light-bulb in a tin shroud. Just a half inch separated from the ceiling, it let down a lonely light. A second hung over the door. On the walls a small number of basic posters hung. All of them reminders for the basics. To keep one's hands washed, when to wash them, and for how long. The virtues of brushing one's teeth, and how to maintain basic hygiene overall. They were not decorative posters, and apart from some basic illustration were entirely all text. Uninspired, but informative in their intent. Time passed uninterrupted for what felt like half an hour. But just shy of eleven minutes later the doctor entered. A young man with a broad forehead and short cut hair. He dressed in what was best described as being business casual, his white Zhongshan suit loosely buttoned, sleeves rolled back passed his wrist. He had in one hand a plain notebook, pens in his pocket, and a old stethoscope around his neck. “Comrade Hou, how are we doing today?” the doctor asked. “I am doing well, Doctor San.” Hou responded calmly. “Very well. How are the aches in your joints doing? Better since last time.” “I still feel pain in my wrists.” said Hou, raising and twisting a hand as he held it at the wrist by the other, “It's a dull pain, but persistent. I haven't been paying much attention to my hip, so I don't know about it anymore.” “Well if you're not worried about it, I won't.” the doctor said, flopping the notebook on the counter and breezing through a few pages to the first empty one. He immediately began taking down notes. “I almost couldn't get in passed your guard. I was afraid how far I would have to go to prove I was your doctor.” he added, conversationally. “It's a precaution.” “I understand.” “Listen, if you're still feeling sore in your hands I can recommend acupuncture.” “So soon?” asked Hou. “It's not like it's a new condition. Would you like to do it now, or...” he trailed off, inviting a response from Hou. “Another day.” Hou responded. “Very well. Anyways, can you open your mouth?” the doctor asked, putting on a pair of gloves Hou obliged, opening his mouth. With the tips of his fore and middle fingers, San Huan reached in and pushed down on Hou's tongue, examining the color in the examining room's light and pulled it out. Thus began Hou's routine checkup. He was obliged to blow into the doctor's face. His pulse was read and timed, finger taps against his joints to test his reflexes. With the stethoscope his lungs and heart was checked. All the while the doctor kept Hou talking, asking short questions about his present physical condition. His ears were checked, eyes checked. A small portion of blood was drawn on this visit. By the end, the doctor approved him with a clean bill of health, and negotiated an appointment for acupuncture in the next couple weeks, and for the next routine check up. Pending closer examination, a full report of health would be sent to Hou in the next week or two. Without incident, Hou was out as quick as he was in. On the way out of town he had time to finish mulling over some questions. Satisfied with himself, he reached under the seat for a set of stationary and a pen kept there and set to write. “Hue Yu,” he begun his letter. “I request fishery reports through the years 1954 and 1959 if 1960 is not yet available. Pending that, a best estimate by your department would suffice for the current year. If at all possible, estimations for catch weight in the intervening years between the end of the Revolution and 1954 would be helpful but are of minor importance. I likewise would be interested in any regional reports you might be able to acquire for the coastal provinces in respect to local declared catches. “If the matter can be expanded, I would like any information on recent stock studies and for your ministry to reach out to relevant universities for their information. Send all you can to me and wait for further word. “Hou Sai Tang.” He nodded as he peeled the succinct letter from the book of stationary paper, and folding it slipped it into his breast pocket. He would review it at home and finalize it before sending it off. In the mean time, he set to work beginning a new letter. “Dear Brother,” it began, “How long it has been since we spoke person to person. But please, accept another letter. I may have returned to living by the sea, but fortune dictates I do not go out on it. How are the waters?” He continued to write. [h1]Kazakhstan[/h1] The engine rumbled as they sped along the barren unpaved road. Rocking sharply, the motorbike jostled over potholes and deep ruts carved in the dry brown earth. On either side of them, the vast Kazakh steppe rolled on into the distance, dry, dusty, and full of rocks. Grass, hardened and browned grew in the dry earth under a parched dry sky. But at least it was relatively cool. A breeze blew from the east, bringing more dry air. It was another clear sky, and the two nomads squinted in the bright clear sunlight as they rumbled ahead. In their backs, their old Chinese license plate jostled with their other gathered effects. They had discovered they didn't need that, but hesitant to throw it out they had stuffed it away, pressing it against their clothes and sacks of food. They were beginning to run thin on something to eat, and there was an understanding between the two that they would need to stop and find a way to earn them some bread on the road. It was not dire straights, just enough that on entering into the next town they would need to probe around the best they could to find work. For now, more of the road. Keeping on the road south their migration south bound and west brought them to the end of the road. It did not abruptly end, but came to an awkward taper before the terrain began to meander downward. Guo and Chao who stopped the bike before they could drive it into the dry brush. Before them the steppe turned down into a gently flowing, deep, dark river. Its sandy brown and wine dark waters swirling as the currents rolled west. Staring across it stood stands of trees and more rocks scattered along the not-so-distant shore, there was no bridge. “Well, that's nice.” Chao said, resting his arms across the handle bars of the bike. Reaching over from the side-car Guo cut off the engine. “I wonder what the road was for?” Guo asked, “It seemed to be going pretty well there for a while.” “Aside from the holes, you mean.” “Of course.” The two sat there, staring at the obstruction before them. Sighing, the two dismounted the bike and Chao found a rock to stash the bike behind. Walking towards the river Guo scratched at his raggedy Guan Yu beard, sand poured from it. Joining him, Chao caught up and walked down to about as far as either could, and looked down into the dark greenish-brown water. “Why didn't they build a bridge?” asked Guo. “No money.” Chao suggested. His opinion of the world outside of China was beginning to change. There was always a bridge in China. Old. New. It was always there. He didn't think he could miss bridges. “And why the road ending [i]here[/i] of all places?” Guo continued, his voice rising to a threshold of a shout. “Fuck this country! Their heads, it must be filled with water. There is nothing else that it must be full of!” he yelled at the threshold of rage and frustration. Chao could feel for him. “I'm as mad as you are, but we're going to need to take it in stride.” Chao said to him hopefully. He put a hand on his shoulder, “And while we're here, we might as well stretch our legs. “Fuck. Fuck, I guess you're right.” Guo mumbled discontented. Chao strolled down the hill, Guo following close. “We might as well check things out.” Chao said as they went along. “We can decide on what to do later.” “Honestly, my opinion is we turn back and see if there's any other way.” Guo suggested, “Find a bit of work, or something in the meantime. Or hell, steal a chicken or two.” “Really now?” Chao called back, turning and squinting into the sun. “I mean it.” answered Guo. “You're crazy.” “This whole thing is crazy.” They stood at the bank of the river now. It didn't looks much wider than half a kilometer. But still, peering down into the water from the rocky shores gave them no impression on if it was here, or if there were any nearby shallows. Thorny brushes crowded the water's edge in spots, and the silver glistening of the afternoon sun stung their eyes as they looked into it. “Where do you think it comes from?” Chao asked. “What from where?” Guo asked. “The river.” Guo looked down at the water, and looked east. “I don't know. Home?” he said. He felt a sudden tinge of home sickness. Indeed, the river they stood at sourced its waters from China. Flowing from central Xinjiang, the Ile river poured west into Kazakhstan, before turning north unhindered into Lake Balkhash. Through this vein, the two countries shared an artery from the snow caps of Xinjiang's southern mountains. The Karatal, Aksu, and Lepsi further north, rivers that they had crossed, likewise sourced themselves in China, tickling the very frontier of the Communist border. Chao shrugged. He gazed distantly over the rocky, barren horizon in the direction the river came. But in the end it wasn't where they were going. The two walked along the river's course watching the slowly churning water. There was a half hope between the two of them they might find any hint or suggestion of a crossing nearby. But they couldn't find any. They walked two miles along it before turning back to search for their bike. “Do you think this country has any bridges?” asked Guo. “What do you mean?” responded Chao. “This country, this nation – I suppose you can call the area that now – do you suppose it has bridges? Or is it like it was two hundred, three hundred years ago? As it was during the Ming? No bridges, only open land. How long have we been here and how many settlements have we come across? One. I'm unsure about Kazakhstan.” “It was a Russian territory once, there has to be some bridge somewhere!” Chao responded, “We only have to find it.” “And the road ended all at once!” Guo pointed out, “That sort of thing isn't normal. It shouldn't be. Who would come out here?” Chao shrugged. “I guess people like us.” [h1]Dragon Diaries[/h1] [i]Li Chao July 8th, 1960. The year of the metal rat.[/i] We have been on the road for a few days now. Since passing through that city we have passed by some traffic, but never much. It was persistent so long as there was farms. Mixed horse-drawn carts and motor vehicles. Nothing unlike home. Things seem without order though. We've long since hidden our plates, and no one seems to mind or notice. One this is for certain though, we are less equipped for speaking with the people here than we thought. Much of the signs are in what looks like Russian. None of us know any Russian. All the same, we're continuing on south. Passing away from the city and through the hills we loose sight of the farms and we enter into empty wasteland again. I remember that this country used to be a part of Russia. But passing through it I don't see what the point of the Russians being interested in this land was. All Guo and I find is emptiness and little in the way of civilization. Further along the roads we see what looks like herds in the distance but there always far enough from the roads that neither of us can make it out. Deep down I am imagining this land being ruled still by the Great Khans of old. I suppose some old Mongol capital is in this vast wasteland, but we have seen no trace of it. But what would be the luck we do find it? All the same, my impressions of Kazakhstan have so far not been positive. There is a certain lacking out here. More so that what both of us have expected from Western China. Our frontier had at the least a sense of order and belonging. But out here we feel not just alienated, but in our brief time in the city we feel there isn't much a sense of order or unity in the country. There is something tense in this land. I can not put my finger on it. But perhaps it is why the military is at the border, to observe it.