Pursuing Shadows: Sutherlands in China trilogy, #3

By P.Scott Corbett

This is the third and final chapter in the chronicles of the Sutherland family in China.  In Pursuing Shadows, Lawson Sutherland embarks on a gripping journey that defies time and borders. Despite his family's absence from China for four decades, a relentless longing compels him to return to the land where his roots were planted, where his grandfather's story began, and where his father dedicated his life as an educational missionary.

Driven by an insatiable desire to unravel the mysteries of his family's history and legacy, Lawson delves into the depths of a forgotten past. But little does he know that his quest for truth will unleash a chain of events that will forever alter his future.

In Pursuing Shadows, readers will be swept away on an exhilarating adventure, where the boundaries of time and the power of heritage converge. Will Lawson unearth the long-guarded secrets that lie dormant in the shadows? Or will he be consumed by the darkness that threatens to engulf him? Prepare to be captivated by a tale that explores the complexities of identity, heritage, and the enduring power of the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.Scott Corbett
• Release date: Jan 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224393428

Book preview

Pursuing Shadows

By P. Scott Corbett

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Copyright © 2023 by P. Scott Corbett

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2024

ISBN: 9798224393428

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For my treasure, Cui Yi, who became my future and my forever, one day in Beijing.

And to Daniel the heir to all of this.

Preface

This is the third installment in the trilogy of the Sutherland family’s engagement with China throughout the 20th century.  What began with a rural Pennsylvania farm boy, having both a medical and theological education, answering a call to serve as a missionary in China in the 1860s blossomed into four consecutive generations of Sutherlands choosing to dedicate a good portion of their lives and energies to living and working in China as it transitioned from a disintegrating seventeenth-century imperial dynasty to a modern nation.  Through famine and war, they persevered.  Finally, the great-grandson of that first missionary ventured to China in the 1980s looking for the vestiges of his patrimony and his family’s legacy in China only to find his future.  This is his story.

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Dramatis Personae

Lawson Sutherland, aka Xu Ling De: the fourth generation of American academics to live and work in China/Beijing.[1]

You Dian: the Beijing Institute of Posts and Telecommunications

Beida:  Beijing University which absorbed Yenching University in 1949.

Beiwai:  Beijing Foreign Studies University.

Huang Jicong:  Lawson’s patron who arranged for him to go to China.

Mr.  Liu Weiguo:  the head of the Foreign Affairs section of the Institute of Posts and Telecommunications (You Dian).

Mr. Xu: Mr. Liu’s assistant.

David Beatle:  one of Lawson’s colleagues at You Dian.

Thomas Trotter:  Another colleague of Lawson at You Dian.

Ruan Feng:  one of Lawson’s doctoral students at You Dian.

Fan Hua:  one of the female students of the special class.

Wu Ningkun:  English Professor at the Institute of International Relations Guo Ji Guan Xi Xue Yuan and Lawson’s adopted father.

Dr. Hong:  physician at You Dian.

Yue Juan:  the woman Lawson meets at the canteen at Bei Wai.

1

The excitement of the path thirty-six-year-old Lawson Sutherland had begun to tread at the beginning of his flight to Hong Kong had more or less worn off by the time the plane made a fuel and rest stop in Taipei, Taiwan.  Normally he took aisle seats because he was tall, 6 feet 2 inches, and he liked the easier access to the restroom.  But this time he took the window seat in hopes of catching glimpses of an unfamiliar world he knew he was entering.  His seatmate for the flight to Taipei was a rather matronly Chinese woman, smartly dressed, but wholly uninterested in movies, conversation, or anything besides the served meal and sleep.  That was all right with Lawson because he was extremely self-conscious about how poor and limited his Mandarin was, and he certainly could not handle any sort of conversation in any of the other Chinese dialects.  When she got up to deplane in Taipei, she checked her seat to make sure she was not leaving anything behind and then looked at him briefly.  She nodded a quick Goodbye as if to both thank him for his respect for her space and attention and perhaps to wish him luck for the rest of his trip. 

He was tired from the flight, unable to get much sleep for all the excited and hopeful imaginary scenarios he played in his head.  Still, he craned his neck to see what he could see of the Taipei airport and mentally checked off in his head—so I’ve been to Taiwan officially.  One step closer to the commencement of his odyssey and the great adventure of discovery.  He turned to look up and watched the middle-aged Chinese businessman squeeze himself into the newly vacated seat beside him. 

I’m Terry Lam, my Chinese name is Lam Taiming, the fellow said in near-perfect English while extending his arm for a handshake.  We are going to be seatmates for the next two hours or so.

A bit startled by the man’s outgoingness, somewhat unusual for Chinese, Lawson replied, I’m Lawson Sutherland, while shaking Mr. Lam’s hand. 

Hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Lam continued.  I’m a salesman and it is a habit.  You never know when you meet someone what might evolve.

I suppose so, Lawson non-committedly turning his head forward neither looking out of the window nor at Mr. Lam.  Lawson too enjoyed meeting people, especially Chinese, but he was teetering on the edge of the contradictory sensations of weariness and excitement and his head was a bit foggy.

I sell semiconductors and I’m going to try to finalize a big deal between my company and a client in Hong Kong, Mr. Lam proceeded to reveal.  What are you going to Hong Kong for?

Lawson perked up a bit, realizing that a little conversation might be a welcome antidote for the silence he had experienced with the previous seat occupant.  Oh, I’m not really going to Hong Kong.  I’m headed to Beijing.

Really?  What for?

"I’m a teacher and I got a contract to teach there at the Institute of Posts and Telecommunications—You Dian Xue Yuan," Lawson said with a bit of pride.

Mr. Lam himself perked up, realizing that Lawson was heading into a potentially major market for some of his wares if he could find a connection or door into it.  Interesting, so you know a great deal about telecommunications? Mr. Lam probed.

Lawson began to chuckle, Absolutely nothing.  I am going there to teach English.

Oh, so how did you get connected with them?  I would think an American, you are an American right? he asked.  "I would think an American teacher would be more likely to go to Beida, Beijing University, or some more prestigious institution."  Mr. Lam was still trying to figure out what use he could make of the serendipitous meeting with Lawson.

"Well, I certainly would have preferred that as well, but Beida did not want me.  I guess I’m just a second-tier American intellectual.  Still, beggars can’t be choosers, right?"

"So how did you get connected with You Dian Xue Yuan?

The question allowed Lawson to fall back into some of his favorite family folklore.  But he decided to pare down his reply to just some of the basics. 

"My family spent decades in China from the 1860s to the 1920s.  My grandfather was born there and my father, though born in the United States, grew up in Beijing.  Hence, some connections, guanxi really, enabled me to receive the job offer through some people impressed with what my forebearers did in and for China."

Interesting, Mr. Lam said as if to encourage Lawson to continue with his autobiography.  So, what did they do?

"My great grandfather, a missionary, established a hospital and school in Shandong Province and my grandfather taught at Yenching University, later absorbed into Beida by the Communists after the revolution. He also taught at the Peking Union Medical College."

Mr. Lam raised an eyebrow when he heard Yenching University because he knew it was one of the foremost institutions of higher education in China before 1949.  That little thumbnail seemed to satisfy Mr. Lam who then began to explain a bit of his background, including getting a degree in Business Administration from the University of California Santa Barbra. 

When the flight attendant came, they both ordered coffee.  As they drank it, they both seemed to lapse into the quiet processing of their conversation and Lawson looked out the window to try to see through the clouds.  After a while, they could hear the plane’s engines changing speed as it seemed they were approaching Hong Kong. 

As the plane began its final approach,  Lawson watched while his body began to tingle with electric anticipation.  That quickly turned to near panic as he watched their descent through low-level terror associated with landing at Kai Tak Airport in Hong Kong where the tips of the plane’s wings and the high-rise apartment buildings seemed to be separated by only a whisper of luck. 

Mr. Lam noticed how white-knuckled Lawson was and the mask of fright on his face. 

First time flying to Hong Kong, I guess? Mr. Lam said chuckling a bit.

Lawson sputtered something like Yeah. He quickly stole a glance out the window and he could clearly see the balconies of the high-rise building they were whisking past.  They seemed only a few feet away from the wingtips.  On one balcony he noticed a woman hanging out laundry to dry on a clothesline.  She turned to look at the plane as it flashed past.  Lawson could clearly see her face and looked into her eyes.

Not much room for error, eh? Mr. Lam continued.  You get used to it after a while, though.  I find it helps wake one up after a sleepy flight.

That it did for Lawson.  His heart was pounding, and he closed his eyes, hoped, and waited to hear the sound of the wheels touching the runway. 

Safely on the ground and going through the deplaning protocols, Lawson gradually caught his breath.  Mr. Lam kept chortling a bit as he stood up, grabbed his carry-on bag from the overhead bin, and began to inch his way down the aisle. 

Lawson’s knees wobbled a bit as he struggled to get up and extricate himself from the window seat.  Somewhat weakly he retrieved his overhead possessions and looked up the aisle at the line of people trundling towards the exit.  Mr. Lam looked back at him, waved a bit, and said, Good luck, Dr. Sutherland.  If I get to Beijing, I’ll try to look you up.

Lawson had had ample time during the long flight to reflect on the lengthy succession of incremental steps that had propelled him forward. His mind had ping-ponged between reflecting on the ingredients of his adventure thus far and the hoped-for harvest of his return to the cradle of his family. 

Lawson was alone and had nobody to meet him at the airport.  The adrenaline rush of the landing began to wear off.  Instead, as he tried to get his bearings and figure out his next move, he somehow felt someone or something welcoming him to his portal into China.  It had been more than forty years since the last of his family had left China. He knew that in many ways he was pursuing shadows of the bits and pieces of the reminiscences he listened to and overheard his father and grandfather share on the front porch of his boyhood home on warm summer evenings. 

Staggering a bit through a crowd of mostly Chinese towards the baggage claim carousel, he focused on finding his two huge, checked bags.  Figuring on staying in China for at least a year, but he hoped it might be longer, he had tried to pack and bring as much survival stuff and professional tools for his teaching as he could.  He grabbed them and stumbled out of the airport exit to figure out how he was going to get to the YMCA. The cacophony of the bustling airport and all the Cantonese assaulting his ears made him a bit nervous.  He realized that the limited smattering of Mandarin Chinese that he knew would probably be of no use there in Hong Kong.  But Hong Kong was still a British possession, so he hoped he’d get by with English.

He began to second-guess himself.  Before leaving the States, he had converted a couple of hundred dollars into Hong Kong’s currency.  Not knowing the cost of anything, he feared that it might not be enough.  Knowing that converting money in airports was generally not a very good idea as the rates were likely to be lower than one might get elsewhere, he still decided to exchange another $200 US.  He struggled with his two oversized bags and dragged himself to the exchange window.  When he got to the cashier, the rate was announced, and he had to decide whether to accept it or not.  A bit reluctantly he agreed but when he started to try to fish out two one-hundred-dollar bills from the small case he carried holding all his travel documents and his wallet, he clumsily dropped the case and his wallet, and papers scattered out on the floor.  As he bent down to gather everything up, another customer slipped in front of him and up to the cashier’s window.  And then another cut in front as well.  Still juggling all his papers and his wallet, he felt a bit uncomfortable having to aggressively insert himself into the short line that had formed at the exchange booth.  Chinese have a different sense of personal space, he thought.

All told, though, it really only took him less than six minutes to regain his spot to conduct a transaction with the cashier.  As he handed the cashier his money, he noticed that the exchange rate had dropped noticeably. 

Hey, what’s that? he asked.  That’s not the rate you quoted me just a few minutes ago.

The cashier just casually shrugged his shoulders and said, Things change.

What? Lawson protested.

Things change.  Take it or leave it.

Not sure whether the rates might change again as he haggled with the cashier, Lawson grumbled a bit and agreed to the current rate.  As he turned away from the cashier clutching his bags and stumbled towards the exit, he thought he would have to revisit all the stereotypical shibboleths he had heard about the Asian concepts of time, timelessness, and cultural calcification.  Some things, at least in the Hong Kong version of China could move lightning fast.

2

Upon exiting the terminal, he decided the best way he could get himself and all his stuff to the YMCA would be to take a taxi.  There Lawson was on August 20, 1985, approaching the Hong Kong YMCA to retreat to his reserved space; take a shower and catch some sleep.  He was on the threshold of a long-standing dream of discovering and unpacking his legacy.  Upon returning from China, his grandfather’s first job was as the Secretary for Christian World Education, which was affiliated with the student YMCA and YWCA movement.  And now Lawson was entering a YMCA in Hong Kong. 

Struggling with his luggage, he lit a cigarette and stood in the lobby, and looked around.  It in no way looked like the sort of hostel he expected.  It seemed pretty much like a regular, modestly priced hotel.  And for that reason, he was extremely grateful he was able to reserve a room for himself, as he had learned that accommodations in Hong Kong could be very expensive.

He went up to the check-in desk, announced who he was, and signed the registry.  He was astonished that there was a message waiting for him.  Curious as hell, though jet lag was beginning to nibble on his consciousness, he opened the message. 

After completing his dissertation on the international relief efforts during the North China Famine of 1920-21, in which his grandfather had played a minor role, he bolted from his university nest into an overcrowded field of academics seeking employment.  Though he desperately wanted to be a teacher, if not a professor, he took an administrative job at a mediocre regional university just to keep body and soul together.  But Lawson soon discovered that administrative work was not for him, and he desperately wanted to get into classrooms.

As luck would have it, his university was hosting a visiting scholar from Beijing, Huang Jicong.  Given his family history in China and his academic interest in US-Chinese relations, Lawson made it a point to introduce himself to Professor Huang.  During their initial meeting, they slowly unraveled a serendipitous connection between the past and their present.  Professor Huang had been a graduate of and thereafter an instructor at Yenching University just before it had been absorbed into Beijing University after Mao Zedong and the Chinese Communists assumed power over China.  Lawson’s grandfather had been one of the founding faculty of Yenching when it coagulated from several smaller different foreign missionary institutions in the 1920s.  An old-school connection had been made and as far as Professor Huang was concerned, the traditional Chinese system of social relationships, guanxi, came into play and flowed through the decades and generations to Lawson.   

Have you been to China? Professor Huang asked.

Lawson was a little embarrassed to answer. No.  I wish I could go.  There were so many mannerisms and attitudes of my father and grandfather that I am sure came from their years in China.  I’d like to go there and see for myself and then maybe I could understand them better. 

Absolutely, Professor Huang almost snorted.  Given your family history, you simply have to go. 

But how do I get there?  I lifting restrictions are opening up these days, Lawson said.  But I just don’t know how to get there.

Well, do you want to work there or just visit? Professor Huang probed.

"I’d rather work there, teach, if possible, because that might allow me to stay long enough to get a thorough sense of the country.

Professor Huang placed his right hand and forefinger near his mouth and looked pensively.  The country is lifting restrictions and recruiting Western intellectuals to be Foreign Experts.  The Cultural Revolution pretty much eliminated a whole generation of Chinese academics.

Lawson nodded in agreement, knowing a little about Professor Huang’s struggles and persecution during that terrible time for China.

I’ve still got some connections, he said.  Let me see what I can do for you.

Wow, that would be great, Lawson said, doing his best to restrain his optimism.  Anything you could do for me would be greatly appreciated and I promise to do my best to live up to and continue my family’s service to China.

I’m sure you would, Professor Huang said softly. 

That was how Lawson got set on the pathway that delivered him to the YMCA there in Hong Kong.  Professor Huang called upon some of his guanxi with a few of his former students and eventually connected Lawson with the Institute of Posts and Telecommunications, which offered him a Foreign Expert position.  The web of Yenching connections and guanxi was more widespread and extensive than Lawson could imagine as he was about to find out there in Hong Kong by opening the message that was waiting for him upon his arrival. 

Professor Huang had written ahead to Li Bingwen, a successful Hong Kong businessman and real estate capitalist, who had graduated from Yenching and was at one time one of Zhou Enlai’s assistants in the management of China’s foreign affairs. Having gotten Lawson’s itinerary as far as Hong Kong was concerned, the man had reached out to Lawson to serve as his host while he was in Hong Kong.  Lawson carried with him a packet of letters of introduction; he was instructed to deliver to various contacts and associates of Professor Huang and the one to Mr. Li was on top.  The welcome to Hong Kong message included Mr. Li’s phone number with instructions to call when he arrived and got settled a little. 

Lawson thanked the clerk, took his keys, and proceeded to his room.  He took a well-needed shower and collapsed on the bed for some real sleep.  He would call after he put to rest his jet lag. 

The next morning, anxious to meet Mr. Li and drink in the frenetic hustle and bustle of Hong Kong, Lawson called, and Mr. Li invited him to lunch.  He would send a car to the YMCA to pick him up.  To kill time until lunch, Lawson decided to just walk around the vicinity of the Y and get a feel for the morning regime of Hong Kongers.  He did not know if it was just the district he was in, but he noticed a very large number of jewelry shops.  Almost all of them had some sort of armed guard outside them brandishing some sort of weaponry—frequently shotguns.  At one point he noticed a scuffle between private security guards, apparently some Hong Kong policemen, and a man struggling on the ground to avoid the blows raining down on him from truncheons wielded by the police.  Lawson could not comprehend the shouts and exclamations from the policemen or the victim.  But it seemed the man had been caught doing something and was pleading for mercy.  Eventually, a paddy wagon arrived, and the man was roughly thrown into it and sped away.  All the while the drama was playing out, Lawson also noticed that he was the only one paying attention and watching.  All the other Hong Kongers continued to walk by the scene, intent on their tasks and personal business without taking any notice of the fracas.  Lawson thought it all very curious.

When Mr. Li’s chauffeur delivered him to the rendezvous restaurant, and he met Mr. Li he immediately gave him the letter of introduction from Professor Huang.  Mr. Li read the letter of introduction and enthusiastically accepted the resurrection of some of the old Yenching ties and the opportunity to pay his respects to his alma mater via his reception of Lawson. 

So, your grandfather taught at Yenching, right?

Yes, he was always a very modest man, but family lore has it that he was one of the original faculty members, Lawson said with a touch of pride.

When did your family leave China? Mr. Li asked.

My immediate family returned to the United States in 1925, Lawson replied.  But my grandfather had a brother, a son, my father, and a daughter, my aunt, who remained in China until they were interned by the Japanese and forcibly repatriated to the United States in the 1940s.

Ah, those were difficult years, Mr. Li commented.  I attended and graduated from Yenching after your grandfather left, so I never had the opportunity to meet him.

They were at a dim sum restaurant, something that Lawson had never experienced before.  As the waiters came around with trays of delectable treats, Mr. Li would nod or point to the small plates of four or so bite-sized tidbits which were then placed on the table. 

Their conversation then alternated between various topics involving Yenching, Lawson’s family, Mr. Li’s career arc, the intricacies of dim sum, and the savoriness of each different plate deposited before them. 

And nobody has been back since then? Mr. Li asked.

After my father was liberated in 1945, he returned to the States and carved out a career and family that anchored him there for the rest of his life.  Toward the end of his life, my grandfather came to live with us.  He and my father used to reminisce about China on occasion and it was not unusual for them to lapse into speaking Chinese. I always got a sense that they both were a little wistful about maybe visiting China again, but they both died before diplomatic relations between America and China were restored, Lawson said as he reached for a morsel of stuffed shrimp.

So, you’ve picked up the baton, so to speak? Mr. Li noted.

I am not sure about that, Lawson admitted.  But I have been advised that if I want to know why my father and grandfather were the way they were, I’d have to come to China.

Well, I know you’ve just been here for one day and Hong Kong is not the real China, but do you have any impressions? Mr. Li asked, sipping some tea.

"So far I am