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preyed on the powerless, the old, and the poor. She hated the way people gave their money to Xiao Da. She knew from personal experience that fanaticism could be harmful to the state and to society as a whole. America might let religious cults gain power over the weak; China wouldn’t. She told herself what others in the ministry told her: every time a file crossed her desk or she made another arrest she was protecting the masses and ensuring the stability of the government. Besides, she was grateful for the tasks assigned her. They kept her focused.
    She knew that David didn’t understand her obsession, but there was a lot she didn’t understand about him anymore either. When he was at the U.S. Attorney’s Office, he had labored to right terrible wrongs. He had followed a strict code of ethics and had a great belief in public service. He carried those ideals with him into private practice, where he’d had twenty or more other lawyers working on his matters, which often dealt with grave social or political issues. After David and Hulan reconnected, his law firm let him open a small office in Beijing. He was now a one-man show with a thriving practice. His days were busy and his clients paid him lots of money, but none of his cases was a great intellectual stretch for him or would make any real difference in the larger world. From her perspective, he now got through his straightforward business matters by occupying his mind with word puzzles and questions of culture. It was as if David were waiting for something to happen but it never came. The way things were between them now, she couldn’t ask him about his choices, and she was grateful he didn’t question her too much about hers.
    When the tea girl returned after just a few minutes, Hulan looked up. “Yes?”
    “Vice Minister Zai would like to see you, Inspector.”
    Hulan closed the folder and left the room. Hurrying down the hall and up the stairs, she felt confident that she could answer any questions he might have about this morning. When she stepped into the anteroom of Zai’s office, his secretary stood, knocked gently on the office door, and opened it for Hulan.
    “Good morning, Vice Minister,” Hulan said as she entered.
    “Good morning, Inspector Liu.”
    Their words were formal, but she was closer to this man than she’d been to her own father.
    “Please sit,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. She did as she was told and waited as he finished writing on a notepad. They were comfortable enough with each other that he could complete his task with her sitting across from him rather than have her wait in the anteroom as a way of showing his more powerful position. In these quiet minutes, Hulan looked around the room. It looked the same as when her father had held the job. Heavy crimson drapes covered the windows. Official seals and plaques decorated the walls. Nothing spoke of the personal nature of the man who sat behind the desk.
    At last the vice minister looked up. She’d known him her entire life, so she could easily read the concern in his eyes.
    “I am sorry about what happened today,” she began.
    “No need for apologies, Inspector. The woman’s death was an accident, and the press will report it that way beginning now.” He hesitated, then added, “It was a mistake to give the Central Broadcasting Bureau the ability to air the event live.”
    Yes, Hulan thought, we had an arrangement. Why had things changed so suddenly and without any discussion? She had to approach the subject carefully. “A mistake or was it—”
    He quickly cut her off. “There was no way to predict that a deranged woman would try to hurt her child.”
    “If she was crazy….”
    He frowned. “The Falun Gong and the All-Patriotic Society are not the same.”
    What did he mean? That the self-immolations Falun Gong members had done were not the same as a woman trying to cut off her daughter’s hand? That the accusations—mostly in the foreign