Dragon Bones by Lisa See

for your discretion in sensitive matters.”
    So this was to be a job interview.
    “I’m one man with a small practice.”
    “Ah, Chinese modesty. I’ve heard you are an expert.”
    “Many people say many things, but are they reliable character witnesses?”
    “I’m sure Minister Li at the Ministry of Justice would be amused to hear you question his reliability. He says you are a Zhongguotong— an honorary Chinese.”
    “The minister and I are well-acquainted, but we both know he is given to exaggeration.”
    Ho laughed. “Old Li said you would say this as well.”
    “I’m happy to be predictable then.”
    The irony, if such a thing could be said of David’s career, was that the Chinese government often hired him, a foreigner, because he adhered to American legal ethics. He honored attorney-client privilege in all of its manifestations, including work product. This was especially important to bureaus and ministries. What was common in the United States—hiring an attorney to conduct an internal investigation of malfeasance and then quietly negotiate restitution and punishment—was a rarity in China, but word had circulated that David could get results without necessarily bringing in the police. Furthermore, he was fluent in spoken Mandarin, even though he was still basically illiterate. He’d gotten pretty far with his tutor in the written language until he’d reached the word yang. The word meant different things when pronounced in each of the four tones: disaster, sheep, raise one’s head, and sample. He’d mastered the distinctions but had finally balked when he learned that yang in the second rising tone could also mean pretend, ocean, melt, or beetle, depending on the intricacies of the written character. But he’d stuck with the spoken language, which was why he knew gutter curses and wasn’t shy about using them if a case required it.
    He was also well-respected in the foreign business community. If he accepted a matter, it was because he knew he could deliver. And deliver he did, for in these last five years David had developed that quintessential prerequisite for good business dealings in China —guanxi, connections. No matter which side of the cultural fence a client was on, David had impeccable connections. He worked hard to maintain his contacts back in the States with the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s Office, but the people he had private access to in China were even more impressive. He often consulted with the Ministry of Public Security. Beyond this, it was a well-known fact that his wife was a Red Princess, very rich, very well connected in her own right.
    For these reasons, David’s practice thrived. He’d conducted numerous internal investigations of corruption for a variety of Chinese governmental entities and had handled several politically awkward matters that required someone intimately familiar with U.S. law. He’d litigated on behalf of the Ministry of Culture in a dispute with an American film company over a proposed theme park. He’d worked as a liaison between U.S. and Chinese Customs departments in numerous matters involving smuggled artifacts. These cases rarely made the papers in either country but were common knowledge in some circles.
    “It is your absence of predictability that has made you a friend to China,” Ho continued. “My old friend Nixon Chen said this about you as well.”
    No one had better guanxi than Nixon Chen. Nixon was a childhood friend of Hulan’s, a former associate at Phillips & MacKenzie, a Red Prince, and probably the most important private lawyer in Beijing.
    “Again you embarrass me, but let me say that it’s an honor to meet with the director. I too have knowledge of your reputation….” Unlike Hulan, David couldn’t pull a dangan, a secret personal file, but he’d chatted just enough with Nixon and a few others this morning to be able to flatter the director.
    They could go on this way for hours. David used to chafe at these