Volume One, Chapter Sixty-One: Internal Crisis

The prolonged stalemate in the Kachin conflict has also deeply affected the stability of China’s border regions. According to a report by The Financial Times, the ethnic minority areas of northern Myanmar involve significant interests for both Myanmar and China. As Myanmar’s most important ally and largest investor, China hopes that within a decade it can complete construction of a pipeline over two thousand kilometers long, traversing Myanmar to deliver oil and natural gas from the Andaman Sea to Yunnan Province—a densely populated but economically underdeveloped region.

Deze State, where Mang City is located, will become the first stop for the China–Myanmar oil and gas pipeline as it enters China. Currently, all these areas are under the control of armed ethnic minorities in northern Myanmar. If the issues here cannot be resolved and the situation remains unstable, not only will China’s strategic objectives be difficult to achieve, but border security will also be gravely threatened.

It is here that one must mention the connection between local drug lords and these transnational events.

Myanmar has long been the world’s largest producer of drugs. There is international consensus on combating narcotics crimes, and with the reduction of drug cultivation in the Golden Triangle—where even notorious drug lords like Khun Sa have reached agreements with the government and can be said to have been “brought to heel”—the result has been a sharp decline in drug production. Domestic drug lords like Yan Nuo are finding their sources increasingly depleted. At the same time, international crackdowns have intensified, prompting them to seek new avenues. On one hand, they have begun to venture into the gray zones within the country, such as underground casinos and the sex industry, and even further, to launder their money by investing in newly emerging sectors like real estate and tourism.

However, the essence of criminal organizations does not change. Their mindset, personnel quality, and organizational structure, as well as their innate tendency and desire to commit evil, all cause them to remain attached to the skills and tactics that made their names.

In recent years, Yan Nuo has forged close ties with the Kachin and Wa rebel forces. He provides them with funding and supplies sourced from drug profits, bolstering their combat strength. In exchange, he shares in the profits of the resources seized in territorial disputes.

He smuggles raw jadeite into China, where it is processed into various grades of jewelry according to the quality of the material. He then manipulates jade prices through legal means, using jade as a vehicle for money laundering.

If things proceed according to his plan, Ruili will become the largest smuggling hub for Burmese jade into China along the border. From this perspective, these drug traffickers are effectively participating in another country’s war. Yan Nuo is no longer merely the boss of an economic organization, but a leader of a military one. The rebel armies, driven by profit, will obey his every command. If they are not eradicated at once, the consequences will seriously affect the relations between the two nations.

Chang Ke and his superior now wandered to the entrance of Lingjing Alley. The alley was dimly lit by a single incandescent bulb hanging from a wooden utility pole, swaying in the autumn wind so that the whole lane looked like a battered ship adrift at sea. Yet not a soul could be seen; everyone sat inside their old courtyard homes, perched on heated brick beds watching television. Some men gathered cross-legged around low tables, discussing “business.”

This ancient country once divided its people into four classes—scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants—referring to officials, tillers of the land, craftsmen, and traders. For thousands of years, merchants were regarded as the lowest social stratum. Government officials were most revered; education was a means to official rank, hence the saying, “All other pursuits are base; only study is noble.”

Next came the farmers. As Guan Zhong wrote in “Shepherding the People,” “When the granaries are full, people know propriety; when clothing and food are sufficient, they know honor and shame.” With such a vast population, feeding the people was paramount; famine would inevitably result in chaos.

As for merchants, they did not create value through production. In ancient times, when transportation was difficult, the value of trade was scarcely acknowledged. It was often said, “No business without trickery”—merchants were seen as the most inept and unpromising of professions.

Chang Ke had read Bai Juyi’s “Song of the Lute,” which decried, “Merchants value profit and treat separation lightly.”

After enduring a long era of poverty and even famine, a great man finally made “development of productive forces” and “market economy” the nation’s top priorities. The old order was transformed: scholars, merchants, artisans, and farmers, in that order.

In recent years, commerce had become a nationwide craze. Everyone was jumping into business.

Chang Ke felt a swell of pride for his foresight in becoming an entrepreneur early on. He had always understood what a person ought to pursue in this world. Though his education had been abruptly interrupted, he harbored no regrets. He knew a person has only one destiny.

In contrast to the dead silence of the alley, the Xidan shopping mall across the street blazed with lights. On Fuyou Street, people bustled back and forth; on either side were small private shops, fluorescent lights glaring over chaotic shelves filled with all manner of clothing and bags sourced from Gaodi Street in Yingzhou.

His superior gripped Chang Ke’s shoulder with his left hand and braced his right against a crumbling wall. His speech was slightly slurred.

Chang Ke understood that the time had come for some probing. “Boss, if you’d given me this assignment three or four years ago, I would have accepted it without a doubt. I owe you for your guidance and all the practical experience I’ve had these years.”

He fixed his gaze on his superior’s expression, but all he could see was a face dazed with drunkenness.

“Damn it, what a wily old fox!” Chang Ke cursed inwardly.

But he also knew that the only way to deal with someone like his boss was to be direct. He said, “No matter how low my rank, I know that if Yan Nuo is truly this dangerous, our country has dedicated departments to handle drug-related crimes, and their power and capabilities are no less than ours. What you’re asking of me is like a dog meddling in matters that aren’t its concern. I’m your protégé—and not a stupid one, either. What you said after drinking was clearly meant to mislead me. You’re a master of the grand chessboard—why not just tell me the real objective?”

His superior raised his eyes and looked at him for a moment. His gaze suddenly sharpened; clearly, he had only been feigning drunkenness.

He spoke deliberately, “The real purpose of this mission is this: there’s a traitor in your team. You’re to use the task of killing Yan Nuo to flush him out—that’s the true objective. I came personally tonight because I trust no one else.”

Chang Ke pursed his lips, annoyed that something so crucial to his own survival was being delivered in such a roundabout fashion. To any passerby, it looked as though the two were just discussing business; not a word could be overheard.

Chang Ke frowned. “How did the organization detect a mole?”

“We periodically find ways to test your loyalty. In this line of work, temptation and danger are equally great; you can never tell who might turn traitor one day.” His superior mused, then added, “There’s no such thing as absolute loyalty. The organization believes that so-called loyalty either means the risk of betrayal is too great, or the temptations aren’t great enough.”

His superior stared at Chang Ke. “If there’s a traitor in the tactical team, the whole unit will be wiped out—worse, the entire system could collapse. That’s why periodic checks are essential. The organization will never give any member unconditional, long-term trust. Because of the way I arranged things, you’re the only one not privy to the details of the Lone Wolf operation—we’re using an elimination method, and your turn hadn’t come yet. Of course, comparatively, your cost of betrayal is much higher than theirs.”

There was a hidden barb in that statement, and Chang Ke knew it well. There were six people on the team, and he differed from the others in two key ways: he hadn’t been a policeman when selected, but a recently expelled university student.

Worse still, the other five were all single. Even the team leader, Crow, though he had a child, had never married officially—so he wasn’t considered to have a family.

Chang Ke, on the other hand, had fallen in love early and, during training, had married and had a son to give his girlfriend peace of mind.

He felt his boss was using his family as leverage—a provocation that immediately drew a look of defiance to his face.

His superior noticed, handed him a cigarette, and said, “I’m not threatening you. You’re a family man. If you ever did betray us, and we found out, you’d have no choice but to flee. But you’re not the type to abandon your wife and child.”