Encircle Part 1

Introduction:
As many scholars have noted, history inevitably centers on struggles for power. Accordingly historical textbooks, and thus the students of the world, see the past through the lens of politics, warfare, and economics. On the one hand these large scale perspectives are an attempt to capture and explain the movements in world history that impact the most people: regime changes, economic policies, and war have instantaneously changed the fates of hundreds of millions of individuals. However, this view of history also simplifies the past to a mere collection of political, economic, and militaristic decisions. Such a paradigm fundamentally denies the individual agency that constitutes an important part of history. When parsing through this history, questions arise in the mind almost automatically: Who lived here? What were their names? What did they eat? What did they think about the world around them? When did they get married, and what were familial relations like? The answers to these questions, in the aggregate, constitute the actual experiences of individuals living in a certain epoch.

This piece seeks to solidify the link between the center and the periphery of historical experience by telling a tale that, while fictional, draws heavily from primary source materials. In doing so, I hope this tale depicts the lived-experience of the people who made that history. In writing the story of the brothers Yuan Ming元明and Yi Han毅涵, the questions it sought to answer were: What role did a random villager from rural China have during the Purge of 1937? From the lens of future generations, what role do any of us play in the creation of our past and present? Do we have a voice?

I.

Shanghai, Southeast China. April 9th, 1927

Patients and Messages

Shadows made long by a sliver of crescent moon reached out from behind the slanting stone barrier. A hazy flood of grey moonlight was all that illuminated my path to the Old City wall[1], seemingly announcing my presence as an unwelcome intruder. Clutching the handle of my briefcase tightly I hurried towards the exit.

            “Stop,” declared a voice.

The statement was accompanied by the distinct click of a Mauser C96.[2] Straining my eyes, I caught movement in the shadows directly in front of me. My heart began pounding erratically. They know.

            I froze midstride, caught in an exposing beam of moonlight while unable to peer into the thick shadows that surrounded me. “I-I’m a doctor,” I stammered, glancing nervously around. The unsettling notion of a long, smooth gun barrel just a few feet away in the dark, aimed at my head, did nothing to quell the erratic pounding in my chest.

            “Did you not hear the news?” the voice sneered, “no one’s allowed out of the Old City after dark, not even doctors.” Derisive snorts of laughter rang out from behind the voice. I guessed there were three others, maybe more.

            “I’ve been called to see an extremely sick patient in the French Concession,” I replied.

            “Open your bag,” the voice demanded immediately.

            Unwilling tremors traveled the length of my arm as I slowly placed the black briefcase on the ground in front of my feet and unzipped it. Nearby shadows stirred slightly as the silvery barrel of a gun slid into view, followed immediately by a uniformed guard. A dark wool cap cast a deep shadow over the man’s face, but the coffee colored hue of a cleanly pressed military jacket and matching trousers told me he was a man of some ranking. Not all Nationalist soldiers were fortunate enough to own an official military ensemble.[3]

            More shadows parted behind him, revealing several languid-looking characters wielding an assortment of axes, pistols, and rusty swords. One stepped forward and spat a dirty glob of saliva at my feet. Other than the soldier, the rest looked unkempt, restless, gangsters. These Nationalist pigs are not even trying to hide the fact that they’re working with the Green Gang thugs anymore.[4] I could barely contain my disgust.

            The soldier approached cautiously. The gun was steady in his grip, performing a slow 90-degree arc around me as he took in the two-piece wool suit,[5] the black character asserting “Doctor” painted on the papers protruding from the breast pocket, and finally craned his neck to examine the contents of the now open bag. As he leaned in the two stars on his collar glinted dimly in the hazy night: a Lieutenant Colonel. A moment passed before he pointed and motioned at my breast pocket with his gun.

            Eyes fixated on the barrel, I carefully handed him the folded documents, the contents of which I had begun memorizing that morning when I had accepted the assignment. Doctor Pan, Harbin County, Shaan Xi Province, 2nd Medical Schoo--my recitation was interrupted by a brief motion of the gun, signaling me to continue through to the exit. 

            “All right, doctor, let’s see where you’re going,” the soldier said. The emphasis he placed on my supposed title left no doubt in my mind that he was yet to be convinced by my disguise.

            I picked up my briefcase and began trudging through the west gate. The nearly silent tread of military issue boots indicated the guard, and his gun, were not far behind. The clink of rusty weapons and the low, guttural tones of the gangsters followed us through into the French Concession, but the rest of the streets were deathly quiet. It seemed news of the newly imposed martial law had traveled quickly.[6]  As we exited the Old City and crossed the street, I looked up to see a sign pointing south indicating “Margaret Williamson Hospital.”[7],[8],[9][TTT1]  [Yup. All primary source material is available in Perkins Library.] I tacked left as the shadows suddenly retracted, replaced instead by a broad swath of moonlight.

            Shanghai’s French Concession sprawled out before me.  This once small residential area had exploded in the wake of the First World War. The sprawling tracks of the Shanghai South Railway Station lay just below the Concession, feeding into a series of tram routes that ran throughout the Concession and into the international district beyond.  Grey brick-and-mortar houses and shops lined the paved streets. The dotted white marble columns, threesquared [TTT2] [this is a reference to an architectural feature] brick residences, and Western-style villas reflected the migration of British and American merchants into the French Concession while high-rising church spires were a testament to the growing Russian presence. Schools, power stations, and country clubs were on every street corner.[10],[11],[12]

            I stopped abruptly outside the doors of the Margaret Williamson Hospital. The six-building complex was just outside Shanghai’s Old City and just inside the French Concession, placing it a crossroads of sorts between the Chinese and foreign presence. Built a mere five years earlier, the hospital and its staff reflected this intersection well, composed of a mixed crew of native Chinese nurses and western Evangelical missionaries.[13]

I jumped as my uniformed accompaniment knocked on the gate with the barrel of his Mauser. His ill-groomed companions lounged a few steps away, leaning against a wall passing a cigarette between them. The door creaked open slowly, and a short-statured, timid-looking nurse glanced first at me, then at the armed guard standing next to me. Her eyes darted between his gun and face.

Perhaps recognizing that she was not a danger to him, the soldier holstered his gun and asked, “Nurse, this man says he was called here…”

As he deliberately trailed off I tensed up. If things had not been arranged correctly on the other side, the situation could deteriorate quickly. The nurse stared once again at the Nationalist’s gun, then at my face, saying nothing. The silence wore on and a look of understanding began to creep over the soldier’s face. I saw his hand reaching slowly down to his waist. Keeping an eye on the ruffians lounging against the wall, my mind began churning as to how best to get the concealed gun at the bottom of my black briefcase out. I started to hedge towards the front door for potential cover.

Suddenly, just as his hand was about to reach the handle of the gun, the nurse stepped quickly through the door, placing herself in between the two of us. “Yes, we have been expecting Doctor Pan,” she said with a tremor in her voice. She continued, “there is a seriously ill patient here and Doctor Pan has received some training in treating her disease.”

The soldier gave the nurse a long look. “I see,” he replied after a long pause. After another sweeping glance at the pair of us, he barked out an order and began walking back towards the Old City with the others in tow.  After watching them disappear out of sight, I turned to the nurse. “Thank yo—” I began, but she cut me off, all sense of fear gone. 

“Come inside Comrade,” she said, as she ushered me inside the door. Surprised at the sudden shift in her demeanor, I stepped into a darkened hallway, trying to let my eyes adjust. I quickly felt the firm hand of the nurse on my arm. “This way,” she said, “your brother is waiting.”

I let her lead me through the silent hallways and up a staircase. The rooms we passed were dimly lit, most of the beds empty. My mind filled with questions as to who this comrade was. Though after the May Thirtieth movement the party had swelled to more than 20,000 due to the inclusion of women and the laboring class, the Communist presence in Shanghai was still based mostly on interpersonal relations and former connections established before the First World War.[14] I wanted to ask her where she was from, but the silence of the hospital dissuaded me. I racked my brains trying to think of whether I was connected to her in some way, but eventually just settled on the fact that she was another addition to the movement, and that meant we were one step closer to revolutionizing the country.

We had stopped at the beginning of a short corridor. The nurse turned to me and said, “the last room on the right.”

“Thank you comrade,” I responded. I hesitated, wanting to ask her where she was from, but she had already begun walking back down the staircase.

            Turning towards the direction she had indicated, I walked the few steps down the hallway and slowly pushed open the door on my right. I barely had time to register a brightly lit and sparsely furnished office before my hand was grasped firmly. The handshake turned into a full embrace as I heard my brother speak: “Yi Han, it’s been too long.”

            “Yuan Ming, it really has,” I replied, trying with difficulty to keep the emotion out of my voice. It had been almost two years since I had last seen my brother. I put my hands on his shoulders, taking in the sharply drawn features and aristocratic nose that had earned him the constant torment of our peers in school. “Foreign Devil,” they would call him. When he came home crying from the incidents our parents would always smile and say, “foreigners can be good people too.” When they passed a few years later, he ventured often into the international districts of the city, but he would never tell me what for. I looked into his eyes to see him scrutinizing me with equal intensity, perhaps reminiscing about the same times. His face mirrored the thought crossing my mind: so much had changed, yet so much had stayed the same.

            “Did anyone give you trouble on the way here?” he asked. “With the martial law in place I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get through to the French Concession.”

            “To be honest we’ve been expecting some sort of action from General Chiang. The Zhili clique has been running scared ever since the worker uprisings last month, so no sight of them.[15] And the Party isn’t nearly militarized enough. The Nationalists are the only ones with any sort of real power now.”

“So no one gave you trouble at the gate?” he asked.  

“A Nationalist soldier and some Green Gang thugs gave me some trouble coming out of the Old City, but the nurse at the front salvaged the situation. The forged doctoral papers were a genius idea Yuan Ming,” I said.[16]

            “You should thank Colonel Ruo,” he said as he smiled wanly. “He took care of all the paperwork.” Looking at him more closely, I noticed my older brother did not have the excited look of a man fresh from victorious battle. I took a quick glance around the office as I sat down in a chair facing the lone window across from the door, noting the messy pile of loose papers on the desk and a framed photograph on the wall of what looked to be a missionary. Just outside the window I could see the stark metal lines of the power station rising a few blocks away.

            “How was the Northern Expedition?” I queried, “tell me all about the defeat of the warlords! We’ve been starved for information here. Is it true you sent those foreign devils back to their ships in Nanjing?”[17]

            Upon hearing my questions he turned slowly away from me, slumping into the chair at the desk. I saw the new stripes on his shoulder as he turned. With his back turned to me, I thought I glimpsed just the tiniest sliver of gray hair protruding from the back of his head. Gray hairs at 28.

Turning to face me, meeting my eyes slowly, he began, “Do you remember what I said to you after Mom and Dad died in the earthquake?”[18]

“Of course,” I said, a bit taken back. “We stick together, no matter what.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s right,” he agreed. As if measuring his next words extremely carefully, he said, “The expedition was not what I expected.” The syllables came slowly, deliberately. “We have a problem,” he finished expectantly, looking up at me.

Sensing something was not quite right, I dropped my bag and leaned forward in my chair. “What happened?” I asked quietly.

Leaning forward, touching his fingertips together, he responded, “The initial plan fell through. It was supposed to be a joint operation between the two parties, Nationalist and Communist, working together to overthrow the warlord factions. The Communists were to lay the groundwork in each city, organizing labor protests, speaking to merchant unions, bringing in peasants from the countryside, and gathering intelligence. We Nationalists would come in after with military force.” [19]

“But isn’t that exactly what happened?” I cut in. “We heard the reports trickle in from Wuhan and Nanchang. The Communists roused the people, inspiring them with our revolutionary fervor to drive out the imperialists and warlords, and your Nationalists came in and finished the job! Soon, the Nationalists, the whole country, will see how irresistible the class struggle is, they’ll come around. It’s happening in Shanghai right now—”

Yuan Ming held up his hand: “Please, let me finish,” he said. Again, with the air of measuring his words carefully, he continued, “General Chiang has had a change of heart.”

Not quite sure if I understood him correctly, I gave him a quizzical look. “A change of heart?” I asked, “about what? We’ve been preparing for his arrival in Shanghai for the past month. Labor unions have been organized, the Zhili faction has pretty much been run out of town, the merchants are all on our side. What do you mean ‘change of heart?’” my voice escalated, “he’s due to arrive in the city in two days!” 

Yuan Ming sat back in his chair, heaving out a long, drawn-out sigh, running his hands through his hair. “These last two years, the Nationalist leadership has been divided…”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently, “Wang Jingwei is more sympathetic to the Communist cause and General Chiang wants to separate the two parties. But what does this have to do with a change of heart? We are still one bloc as set down by the Soviet Comintern, ready to overthrow the corrupt imperialists and warlords and reunite China under the banner of the mass—”[20],[21]

I started in my seat as the resounding smack of both of my elder brother’s hands forcefully came into contact with the desk in front of him. “This is not the time for ideology and textbooks Yi Han! This is war!” As he glanced at my face with a smoldering glare his look softened. “This is family,” he said. Now looking more calmly into my eyes, he said, “General Chiang has confided in a few of his highest-ranking officers, most of them like me—graduates from the Whampoa Military Academy.”[22] Relaxing back into his chair, Yuan Ming continued softly, “What I am about to tell you, you will not repeat to anyone. Do you understand?”

Still stinging from his rebuke, I nodded curtly. “Yes,” I replied, “I understand.”

Noticing my tone, Yuan Ming smiled wryly at me. “Little brother, not much has changed has it?”

Remembering all the times he had scolded me in the past, I couldn’t help but allow a slight smile to crease my face as well. “No,” I chuckled, “not mu—”

            We both froze as a cacophony of harsh tones split the quiet night. Yuan Ming’s neck snapped towards the window as he stood up, scattering the loose leaf papers on the desk. Unintelligible words and syllables escalated rapidly in volume as he stuck his head outside and glanced up and down the street. A split second later, he whipped back around and dove on the ground, yelling, “Get down!” 

I tipped over my chair to the side as the sound of a gunshot rent the still night air. A moment passed before the situation dawned on both of us.

            “Grab your bag!” a now wide-eyed Yuan Ming hissed at me while he scrambled to collect the loose sheafs of paper scattered all over the table. I ran to my bag and grabbed the handle as the distinct sound of doors being slammed open came from the floor beneath us. I stayed on the ground, frozen in my hesitation before I felt Yuan Ming’s hand pulling on my shoulder.

            I turned to see him already halfway through the door, the speed of his exit causing some of the loose papers in his grip to float out of his hands. Glancing back over my shoulder I stayed on my hands and knees and scurried out the door to follow him. Below us, the guttural shouts and the shattering sound of rifle butts being thrust through windowpanes echoed loudly. The sounds of broken glass chased us into the corridor and down the staircase. As I hit the bottom floor I glanced around: it was pandemonium. Patients and a few nurses in their nightgowns were standing or cowering in the hallway at random locations. Broken glass was littered everywhere. I barely made out a crumpled figure on the floor, blood pooling from her waist. A shadowy figure at the entrance to the hospital shouted. I looked straight at him as he raised a rifle to his shoulder. A bullet whizzed by my briefcase and something glass behind me shattered into pieces as I ducked down.

From the corner of my eye I saw Yuan Ming scramble straight across the hallway into a dark room. I hurried to follow. Once in the room I pulled up to an abrupt halt. He had stopped suddenly in front of me; I panicked for a brief moment as we reached the far wall of the room. It was a dead end. I desperately looked around for another exit as the excited sound of discovery emanated from the hallway we had just escaped. At the same moment Yuan Ming raised his right leg and shoved hard into the wall: a whole corner of the sidewall crumbled instantly under the force of his boot. He ducked through to the other side swiftly and as I followed suit I glimpsed down and saw the remnants of a cleverly concealed drywall.

A sliver of crescent moon greeted me on the other side: we were outside of the hospital facing the west end of the French Concession. Yuan Ming’s hand pulled me behind him as he guided me to the right. The sounds of chaos gradually faded as we pounded down three separate side streets. I started to notice some familiar buildings, and was expecting to run into the French Concession street market before I heard a ragged “stop,” uttered behind me. The night had become still once more.

Panting, the black bag swinging alongside, I whispered “Which way?”

Shaking his head vigorously and catching his breath, Yuan Ming bent over for a few moments. I thought he had started to rest before he straightened back up, with his left boot now in his hand. He tossed the boot at me while shifting the remaining sheafs of paper in his hands into a pile on the ground. As he lit the papers on fire he turned and said quickly, “Leave the French Concession from behind the market and head back to the Old City. There is a message for Colonel Ruo in the boot. You must get it to him tonight.”

“But, where are you going?” I asked panting. “Who were those soldiers? Were they Nationalists?” What the hell is happening, I wondered.

“Just open the boot. It will explain everything,” he gasped out. “I’ll come to the Old City tomorrow to get you. Stay safe. Tell no one.”

As another gunshot suddenly split the night air, I hurriedly shed my left boot and worked Yuan Ming’s up and over my foot.

“Go!” he hissed at me as I looked around.

Sticking close to the long shadows afforded by the buildings lining the street, I began moving towards the market square. My heart pounding, I glanced behind me. I saw my brother’s dark, uniformed silhouette, missing a shoe, outlined by the dim moon. The pile of ashes at his feet was blowing away in the wind. Not until I left the French Concession did I remember there was a gun at the bottom of my bag.

[1] View of the Walled City. 1910. Photograph. Shanghai. Virtual Shanghai. Web. 12 Dec. 2012. A photo of the walls of the Old City, or Chinese section, of Shanghai in the early 20th century.

[2] Fortier, David M. "Giant .45 Broomhandle From China." Gun World Feb. 2001: 1-6. Web. 13 Dec. 2012. A magazine article that discusses the extensive use of the Mauser C96 by Chinese armed forces in the early 20th century.

[3] Teng, Xinyun. Kang Zhan Shi Qi Lu Jun Fu Zhi Zhuang Bei 1931-1945. Tai Bei Xian: Lao Zhan You Gong Zuo Shi Chu Ban, 90. 14-76. Print. Included a large number of photos of different military uniforms of the time covering Nationalist, Communist, and different warlord factions.

[4] Wilbur, C. Martin. "The Nationalist Revolution: from Canton to Nanking, 1923–28." 12-15, 104-112, 136-138. Republican China 1912–1949, Part 1. Ed. John K. Fairbank. Cambridge University Press, 1983. Cambridge Histories Online. 12 December 2012. A detailed account of the intricate link between General Chiang Kai-Shek and the gangsters of Shanghai. Recounts how his previous residence in the city had allowed him to cultivate connections with some of the more notorious characters in the city. Also describes specific acts of sabotage and violence perpetuated by gangsters on behalf of General Chiang.

[5] A Portrait of Chen Qimei. 1910. Photograph. Shanghai. Virtual Shanghai. Web. 12 Dec. 2012. Many western-inclined or higher stratum individuals would wear western-style suits in Shanghai.

[6] Wakeman, Frederic E. Policing Shanghai, 1927-1937. Berkeley: University of California, 1995. Print. Describes the imposition of martial law in Shanghai on April 9th, 1927 to drive out radicals under the guise of maintaining law and order.

[7] Su, Jiarong. “A New Directory Map of Shanghai.” C.Y. Soo. Shanghai, China : Jih-Sin Geographical Institute. 1934. Rubenstein Library, Duke University. East Asia Collection. 28 November 2012.

[8] “Map of Central Shanghai.” British War Office. US Army Map Service. 1935. University of Texas Perry-Castañeda Library Map Collection. 29 November 2012.

[9] Foreign Settlements in 1937. 1945. Photograph. Shanghai. Virtual Shanghai. Web. 12 Dec. 2012. These three maps combined are an extremely detailed representation of the French Concession, Chinese City, and Foreign Settlements of China in the early 20th century. All maps have individual street names and building locations. All three maps are dated a few years after the story takes place.

[10] View of the Roofs in the French Concession. 1930. Photograph. Shanghai. Virtual Shanghai. Web. 12 Dec. 2012.

[11] French Concession Jail. 1930. Photograph. Shanghai. Virtual Shanghai. Web. 12 Dec. 2012.

[12] Police Station (French Concession). 1920. Photograph. Shanghai. Virtual Shanghai. Web. 11 Dec. 2012.

[13] Report of the Margaret Williamson Hospital, Shanghai, China, 1922. Drexel University College of Medicine. Legacy Center: Archives and Special Collections. 13 December 2012. A series of photographs including the floor plan of the hospital, pictures of its staff members, a brief description of its founding missionary, and descriptions of procedures performed.

[14] Ch'en, Jerome. "The Chinese Communist Movement to 1927." 2-22. Republican China 1912–1949, Part 1. Ed. John K. Fairbank. Cambridge University Press, 1983. Cambridge Histories Online. Cambridge University Press. 13 December 2012. Follows the rise of the Communist movement in southern China, both in ideology and in action starting from its inception in 1921. Goes into extreme detail, including number of party members at in different years, influential literature on the movement, key players of the 1920’s, Soviet influence, and early interaction with the KMD.

[15] Wilbur, C. Martin. "The Nationalist Revolution: from Canton to Nanking, 1923–28." 90-93. Republican China 1912–1949, Part 1. Ed. John K. Fairbank. Cambridge University Press, 1983. Cambridge Histories Online. 12 December 2012. This section discusses the organizing and logistics behind the uprisings in Nanjing and Shanghai. Discusses General Chiang and Zhou En-Lai’s, among others’, roles as well as the immediate consequences and aftermath.

[16] "Grandmother's Diaries." Personal interview. May-June 2012. A series of interviews performed earlier this summer with my grandmother, a native resident of Shanghai born in 1923. Some of the aspects of this story are directly modeled after her memories of my grandfather, an intelligence worker for the Communist Party. Utilized her interviews to gain a better grasp of how people perceived each other, foreigners, and the state at the time. It should be mentioned most of her memories are of almost two decades after the story takes place. She was also recently diagnosed with Mild Cognitive Impairment.

[17] Jordan, Donald A. "The Military Conquest of Warlord China." The Northern Expedition: China's National Revolution of 1926-1928. Honolulu: University of Hawaii, 1976. 65+. Print. An overview of the origins of the Northern Expedition, tactics, and warlord and United Front troop movement.

[18] G. Gu et al., eds, Catalogue of Chinese Earthquakes (1831 B.C. - 1969 A.D.), Science Press, Beijing, China, 1983 (in Chinese); English version translated by Z. Li et al., Science Press, Beijing, 1989.

[19] Wilbur, C. Martin. "The Nationalist Revolution: from Canton to Nanking, 1923–28." 615-617. Republican China 1912–1949, Part 1. Ed. John K. Fairbank. Cambridge University Press, 1983. Cambridge Histories Online. 12 December 2012. This section discusses the organizing and logistics behind the uprisings in Nanjing and Shanghai. Discusses General Chiang and Zhou En-Lai’s, among others’, roles as well as the immediate consequences and aftermath.

[20] Ch'en, Jerome. "The Chinese Communist Movement to 1927." 16-20. Republican China 1912–1949, Part 1. Ed. John K. Fairbank. Cambridge University Press, 1983. Cambridge Histories Online. Cambridge University Press. 13 December 2012. Details the initial collaboration between KMD and CCP under the guidance of Borodin and the Comintern; goes on to describe the ideological incompatibility and uneven militarization of both sides, eventually leading to the split and the purges.

[21] Spence, Jonathan D. (1999) The Search for Modern China, W.W. Norton and Company. pp. 338–339. Details the Ninghan split between the left-wing Wang Jingwei government and the faction led by General Chiang.

[22] Harold R. Isaacs. “Tragedy of the Chinese Revolution.” 1938. Excerpts. A look at the founding of the Whampoa Military Academy before Sun Yat-Sen’s death in 1924. Highly competitive military training program that produced some of the foremost leaders of the revolution, many of whom would later go on to affiliate with both the Nationalist and the Communist.

 [TTT1]Any chance these are at library or otherwise attainable? Would love to add maps to give a feel of the human-geography.

 [TTT2]Is “three-squared” some reference to an architectural feature, or do you just mean 3 square brick houses?

About the Author

Ian Zhang is a rising senior at Duke University currently pursuing a joint degree in History, Chinese, and Computer Science.  Ian was born at Duke Hospital while his father was pursuing a PhD in Cell Biology at Duke Medical Center. The Zhang family first relocated to Nashville, Tennessee, then Mercer Island, Washington, where Ian spent his middle school and high school years. He quickly discovered that medicine was not the career path he wanted to invest in, but did find a deep passion for people, literature, history, language, and culture. When Ian got to Duke he underwent an identity crisis of sorts as he re-navigated his relationship with his cultural heritage and community: this shows up in his work which often centers on the complexity of East-West relations. Outside of school Ian plays water polo for Duke Club Sports, serves as Captain of the Undergraduate Moot Court Team, President of Inter-Greek Council, and actively seeks out entrepreneurial projects. Ian plans on working in China for a few years post-graduation before pursuing a law degree.

Please don’t hesitate to reach out to the author with questions or comments at ian.zhang@duke.edu