The Price of Words
by Huina Zheng
When Jun’s phone rang, an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. He picked up.
“Is this Chen Jun?” The voice on the other end was unfamiliar: low, hoarse and laced with a thick Cantonese-Mandarin accent.
“Yes.”
“I’m Officer Wang from the Tongli Street police station.”
“Oh... hello.” Jun felt a wave of anxiety. Why was the local police contacting him?
“Yesterday, in your WeChat group, didn’t your friend Zhang Yong say that he’s been suffering heavy losses in the stock market?”
“Yes...” Jun recalled chatting with Yong the day before.
“And you mentioned that you also suffered heavy losses?”
“Right...”
“Then he said something about wanting to kill someone?”
Jun froze. It had been a joke, nothing serious. But hearing it now, it felt disturbingly serious.
“Did you suggest that he buy a knife online?”
Jun’s stomach dropped. A bead of sweat slid down his neck, even though it was already late November in southern China, where the weather was turning cold. He shivered. It had only been a joke; he knew that online stores like Taobao required real-name registration to purchase dangerous knives. But now that joke felt like it had gone way too far.
“Come to our station for a conversation.”
“I don’t get off work until seven. I won’t be there until eight.”
“Just come over.”
After the call ended, Jun opened the WeChat group and reviewed the messages. They were brief and casual. No one had intended harm. He called Yong, and they both realized they had received calls from local police and been told to come in.
Jun took a deep breath and shook his head. He was a law-abiding citizen with no criminal record, no tax issues, no drunk-driving offenses. He had simply played along with Yong’s jokes, and surely, it couldn’t be that serious. Could it?
That night, when Jun pushed open the glass door of the Tongli Street police station, it let out a faint “creak.” Inside, a young officer in a blue uniform looked up. “May I help you?” the officer asked in Cantonese.
Switching to Cantonese himself, Jun stated his name and explained the reason for his visit.
Before long, a middle-aged officer emerged. His skin was dark, his hair cropped short into a crew cut, and his face was marked with scars from old acne. This had to be Officer Wang.
Officer Wang again confirmed the details of the chat between Jun and Yong in the WeChat group.
Jun forced a smile. “We were just joking around. We didn’t mean it.”
Wang frowned. “After the incident in Z City, the government has been paying close attention to safety issues. Be careful what you say. Don’t say things you shouldn’t.”
Jun nodded. Last month in Z City, a man — enraged by his divorce ruling — had lashed out by driving into a crowded square, killing dozens.
“Also, dissolve that WeChat group tonight,” Officer Wang added.
Jun considered explaining that the group had only five members who rarely chatted, and surely the police — who could monitor their conversations — already knew the group’s size and everyone’s background. In the end, he said nothing.
Walking home, Jun stopped under a streetlight. E-bikes and cars zipped past, their sounds blending with the hum of a lively city. The shopfronts along the road cast warm glows onto the sidewalks. Jun messaged Min, the group’s founder, asking him to dissolve the group. He gave no explanation. Min didn’t ask any questions. And just like that, the six-year old group — formed by five friends who shared a passion for marathons — disappeared. Jun felt a hollow sadness.
Back home, Ling was helping their ten-year old daughter Lan with her English homework.
“Why are you back so late?” Ling asked, without looking up.
“Overtime.” His voice was hoarse.
She glanced up at him. “You don’t look well.”
“Just tired.”
Jun grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom. He didn’t want to worry Ling or hear her tell him he’d been careless.
A month later, on a Saturday morning, Wang called again, saying they’d visit before noon. They didn’t even ask for Jun’s address, likely having pulled it from their system.
After the call, Jun entered his room. Ling was correcting her students’ essays. A red pen danced across the pages, circling one grammar mistake after another. Jun stopped next to her, his gaze settling on the bright red marks.
Ling looked up. “What is it?”
“Nothing...” Jun’s index finger scratched at his thumb. “The police are coming by later.”
Ling just looked at him, waiting. Jun averted his gaze, focusing instead on the red pen.
“It’s just... after the Z City incident, the government tightened control. My friend and I chatted in WeChat, said some things... It’s just a formality.”
“What did you talk about that got their attention?”
“We were just joking. My friend said he was losing a lot in the stock market, and I said I was, too.”
“What else did you say?”
“He... he said he wanted to kill someone. You know, he was just joking...”
Ling stayed silent for a full ten seconds. “So it is true, then. A friend once warned me that even casual comments online can be monitored. I thought she was paranoid.” She sighed.
“I didn’t say much.”
“We should be more careful. ‘Disaster comes from careless words,’ as the old saying goes.”
Lan walked in. “What’s going on?”
Ling gave her a brief explanation.
Lan looked at her father. “Dad, isn’t it rude for them to spy on people’s conversations? Aren’t you angry?”
“This is how our country stays safe. That’s why it’s safer here than elsewhere.” Jun smiled faintly.
Lan’s eyes went wide in disbelief.
“In many countries, the government doesn’t take action, and those places can be very dangerous.”
Lan frowned, then nodded slowly. Jun ruffled her hair, trying to smile. Yet a trace of worry lingered in his eyes, like a sky overcast with clouds, uncertain when the rain would come.
Copyright © 2024 by Huina Zheng
