Redemption Through the Narrow Gate

The lights on the third floor of the Gao family's little building stayed on all night.

That light was the only eye on the whole street that hadn't closed. The curtains weren't fully drawn, and light leaked through the gap like a thin, pale ribbon hanging below the third-floor window.

Two cars were parked downstairs: one belonged to the provincial party committee, black with a very short license plate; the other was an ambulance. Its roof lights had long since gone out, but the vehicle was still there.

The driver slumped over the steering wheel, dozing and waking by turns. He didn't dare switch off the engine, afraid the people inside would get cold; nor did he dare leave, in case they needed the car and couldn't find him.

At three in the morning, a baby's cry slipped out through the narrow opening of the third-floor window. It was a crisp cry, like a small piece of ice dropping into a building that was far too quiet.

The cry wasn't loud, but it was sharp. It cut through the damp, cold night air, reaching the guard's booth downstairs and the car with its engine still running.

Everyone keeping watch outside breathed a sigh of relief. Someone went downstairs to make a phone call, someone offered cigarettes, and someone said in a hushed voice, "The baby's here. It's a girl."

Someone pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and passed them around. The lighter's flame illuminated several exhausted faces. They smiled, softly, as if they were afraid that a louder laugh might disturb something upstairs.

Gao Sheng, secretary of the Jiangnan Provincial Party Committee, had a daughter.