society, and over the years his business had grown from a shabby factory to a province-wide industry, supplying
most of eastern Hebei and western Liaoning with food enhanced with all sorts of elements across the Periodic
Table. But of course, who cared about that when no one knew? It was all about profit-making, was it not? Our
pragmatist maximised his profits, our pacifist (if you still remember him) skimmed off his share, and people had
the benefit of cheap food – who would denounce that? As long as nobody probed the shady operations of his
industry, money would come pouring in, and he would continue with all his profligacy.
In thirty minutes he reached the base of the Wall, and he parked frivolously at the side of the road without
regard to its legality. Today, he had had the good humour of walking down the Laolongtou and admiring the
views he had been familiar with for so many years, before strolling to the reconstructed section to see his
beneficiary officiate its opening. For the time being, however, he could afford to relax.
Advancing the well-maintained slope was not a chore, and our pragmatist began shuffling down the stones.
It was amusing how everyone hailed this section of the Wall as of paramount importance, when no one could
say for sure that one was seeing history. For example, the surfaces might had been refurbished – after so many
centuries of trampling, it was hard to believe the good condition of this part of the Wall when many other parts
were falling apart; but again, who would worry about that if the omnipresence were shielded from those parts?
All they cared about was taking photographs of scenery they were too indolent to look at with their eyes, and
then leaving with the clear conscience that they had been to the historical Wall. No one gave the interest of
knowing whether it was authentic; everyone relied simply on the fact that the Wall existed, whether from past
fortifications or from present architecture. A Wall there had always been, and a Wall there would always be.
The Wall spanned not only the space, but in time: as decades weathered, humans built; and the Wall shall never
fall.
His thoughts fell short as he was reminded by his elegant watch to watch the ceremony, and he strode
quickly to the open space. In thirty minutes it was over, and he had the liberty of mind to walk back to his
golden pet. He had hardly passed the crowds when he heard this thunderous crash followed by a harrowing cry.
Travelling over to the source of mayhem, his curiosity was partially satisfied by the sight of a large section of
the north castellations having collapsed in a puff of dancing dust. A slight complication, but such an
imperfection would be mended by the government. Consoled by such a thought, our pragmatist left the scene
without a care in the world and continued his walk to the lingering Lamborghini.
The Wall shall never fall.
* * *
The Realist
Just west of the Wall, down where thick foliage shielded its presence from the untrained eye, slumbered the
abominable village of Nanhaicun. Amongst its collection of ancient, derelict houses lived our last and least
person of interest, the realist. She actually had nothing much – she lived on her own, and her house was as
barren as a prison cell – save for a table, a chair and her own self-respect. Being in such disheartening
conditions, she had nothing much on her agenda but to obtain a meagre salary employed as a Wall sweeper, and
return to her rundown residence waiting to be forcibly relocated – this part of the village was the last one which
still had not been cleared for redevelopment, and there were already rumours circulating within the
neighbourhood; rumours of the axe coming this Thursday, or next Monday. Rumours stayed rumours; for the
time being, however, our realist had to continue her acquaintance with her life, and this day, the very day
another reconstructed section of the Wall was to be officially opened, she had no other business to tend to but
her occupation. Therefore, she pulled on the nauseating shirt Wall sweepers had to pull on, and set off wearily to
sweep the Wall.
It was nearly understandable why nobody gave any regard to Wall sweepers like our realist; absenteeists
were round too short to care, pacifists were round too long to care, and pragmatists were not entitled to care
except for themselves. Ever since there was a Wall, they had been the ones to give way. They had been expected
to obey orders from the government without question, and move aside upon request for development – if there
were any. Development of any kind was scarce in the west, and early plans had heavily favoured that of the east.
As a result, the rich east had gotten richer, and the poor west had gotten poorer; but nobody talked much about
that. As long as people such as our realist stayed impoverished, they could not bargain and the world would go
on turning. That was the spirit – keep them broke, no one spoke.
Being a Wall sweeper meant our realist had to tend to all the fantastic difficulties occurring along the Wall:
this day, the first abnormality reported was the classical vomiting, perhaps a result of being overwhelmed by the
view atop the Wall. Our realist submissively shoved a few faithful utensils in the janitor’s cart and began
trundling the awkward device towards the source of all this. What a nuisance! The body of the cart rattled