NOTE: This is part of a continuing online novel. Here is the Table of Contents.

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Even if President Chen wanted to come to Shanghai, which he didn’t, he wasn’t going to defy what amounted to an American blockade.

The U.S. warships stood off Taipei to protect his sovereignty, after all. Walking into the enemy’s lair would be a provocation.

Ambassador Randt’s notes to Secretary Rice, therefore, expressed surprise that Foreign Minister Li Zhaoxing was nonetheless traveling to Shanghai, China’s largest city. This was especially true given the excuse of the state media, namely a celebration of former Shanghai Mayor (and former President) Jiang Zemin.

It was Jiang who suggested the Oriental Pearl Tower. The Wise Leader would be toasted in the small conference center of the "space dome", with local dignitaries and old friends, while technicians set up the nearby coffee bar. In this way preparations could be controlled, and failure could be hidden.

Back in the 1980s, when he had been Mayor here, Shanghai had been a sleepy town, still on full lock-down following Mao’s Cultural Revolution. Hong Kong was a glittering paradise by comparison, and people were willing to do just about anything to escape to it.

Even before the events of 1989 Jiang had known the status quo did not hold. So he maintained contact with local dissidents, emphasizing the need for order first before any reform could proceed. Through Zhu Rongji he kept things quiet, while in Beijing the Dear Leader, Deng Xiaoping, was compelled to call out the troops in Tienanmien.

The result was inevitable. Zhao Ziyang was publicly discredited inside China, Li Peng was discredited outside China. Jiang and Zhu quietly rose toward power, as did Shanghai, China's city too busy to hate.

The West never understood, but Zhao fell, and Falun Gong had to die , because order is the first prerequisite for civilization. Before freedom, before democracy, before capitalism or socialism or communism, there must be order.

Without order the Great Leader had, not perpetual revolution, but anarchy and despair. Without order, the Dear Leader knew, demonstrators at Tienanmien promised the same horror.

But mere repression is not order, Jiang now told the luncheon crowd. Repression is like a lid on a pressure cooker. The disorder is beneath, perhaps stronger than ever. The heat must be turned down, the pressure allowed to dissipate, the reaction controlled. Controlled reaction, balanced reaction, is the heart of all creativity, he continued. Respect for law, respect for the boundaries, must be maintained. But once it is guaranteed miracles can occur. Jiang spread his arms wide to take in the hall, and the tower around him.

China spent the last century failing to balance the need for order and the imperative of change. Every system had been tried, and every system had failed. But there is no simple recipe, other than the fact that mutual respect, between rulers and ruled, must be maintained.

Jiang Zemin concluded his valedictory. “England had this balance in the 19th century of the Christian calendar, and that was the century of England. America had this balance in the 20th century, and that was the century of America. Now China has found this balance, and this will be the Century of China.”

After the dignitaries had left, and waiters cleared their tables, Jiang’s official itinerary had him resting from his exertions. Instead he walked slowly to the coffee shop, greeted Li with a nod, and walked toward a corner table, where tea and comfort awaited him.

The show was about to come on.

The wide screen beside Jiang flickered to life. He saw the face of “Taiwan President” Chen Shui-bian. He was grateful Chen could not see him. Instead it was Li at the opposite side of the room from Jiang who faced Chen, impassive, but with hands open.

Li would not have been Jiang’s choice for this meeting. As foreign minister his meeting with Chen conferred upon the man undeserved status, as a foreign leader (which he was not). But Hu had been insistent, Jiang learned as he flew east from his captivity. And Hu Xintao was President of China, not Jiang Zemin.

Li got right to business, in a way that surprised Jiang. Rather than ask about the American fleet, or anything at all concerning the island’s status, he asked Chen a question about economics. “Mr. Chen, we are both troubled by our currency troubles. What can we do, together, to ease the situation?”

Chen was plainly taken aback by the directness, and Li's concern for his situation. “It has been difficult,” he said. Off camera, Jiang smiled.

“I well understand,” said Li. “We, too, have had many difficulties. The value of our vast dollar reserves has fallen. Our exports have been negatively affected. We fear cutting interest rates to stimulate demand, knowing the economy might over-heat.

“You have it even harder, I know. More of your trade is in dollars. You depend heavily on exports to the United States, as we do, and as your currency has not fallen rapidly against the dollar, the prices of those exports has risen.

“But we have the cure at our hands, in our own great Chinese market, eh?” Li waited a few moments for that to sink in.

“Our currency has fallen in value against yours. You can buy more,” Chen said.

“We can buy more of your goods, yes,” said Li. “But we can also trade reserves, easing the pressure on your central bank. Other Asian central banks have been reducing their dollar reserves in recent weeks, increasing their reserves of Renminbi. This has given East Asia relative stability, against the rest of the world, and benefitted all our people.

“If you would like to join this movement, you would be welcome.”

Suddenly Jiang saw Li's trap, and smiled. He settled back in his seat, fingers rising to his mouth, stifling a smile. With Taiwan moving out of dollars, into Renminbi, its independence from China decreased even as its prosperity increased.

With greater economic integration would come personal integration, and political integration as well. The more the U.S. strained against this, the more steadily Taiwan would move into China’s orbit. And with China having already held a string of local elections, each one with just a little more representation to the elected than the one before, everything was moving in the right direction.

As the meeting continued, Jiang Zemin felt his 78 years like warm hands embracing him and drifted into a deep, but contented sleep, dreaming of old Shanghai.