Before class on Monday, the religion building felt as though the followers of each religion had been battling one another and the deities’ faces were covered in curses and slaps.
When the students returned from the dining hall after breakfast, they entered the auditorium and saw a professor shoving a book in Director Gong’s face and shouting, “Damn it, I’m not going to take it anymore!” He said this angrily, as though no one recognized his talent.
Associate Professor Huang was forty-one or forty-two years old and was handsome and learned. He knew Christianity as intimately as a father knows his own son, and his articles were always published in leading religious studies journals. Three years in a row, however, each time he was considered for promotion to full professor, he was mysteriously passed over. This inevitably made him furious, and he would throw down his textbooks and the journals containing his articles. On that day, he even threw down a computer mouse and stomped on it. No one knew what exactly Associate Professor Huang and Director Gong said to each other in the auditorium that day, but it seemed as though the professor’s outburst was not aimed solely at the director. However, the encounter did leave Director Gong feeling so embarrassed and helpless that all he could do was exclaim, “Why bother? Why bother?” In the end, the men simply glared at one another, as though they intended to do battle with their eyes.
By this point, a crowd of disciples had gathered around. Because the disciples didn’t know what the issue was, they just stood there and watched the commotion. The female disciples were so shocked that their words got caught in their throats, while the male ones waited for an opening in the fight. The Buddhists and Daoists put their hands together in prayer, though it wasn’t immediately clear whether they were praying that Associate Professor Huang and Director Gong would start fighting or that they wouldn’t. More and more people arrived, making Director Gong and Associate Professor Huang feel as though they couldn’t leave without first starting a fight. Director Gong picked up the computer mouse Associate Professor Huang had stomped on and kicked it back to him, shouting, “What’s the point of getting angry at me for something the school committee did? You should go complain to them!”
Associate Professor Huang put his hands on his hips and laughed coldly. “Do you think I wouldn’t dare?!”
Director Gong shouted back, “Then do it!”
Associate Professor Huang glared at Director Gong one final time, kicked the computer mouse back against the wall, then strode through the crowd and out of the building. The disciples formed a path for him, allowing him to drift by like a specter. When the door opened, sunlight surged in and filled the building. Associate Professor Huang waded through the disciples’ expectations and the divine light, and, panting, proceeded outside. The students watched him leave. Associate Professor Huang pushed the door with such force that it was as if he were opening the outer gate of the imperial court. By the time the light-yellow glass door closed behind him, Director Gong was already several meters away.
This appeared to mark the end of the dispute. The disciples turned back to Director Gong, who seemed to be about to say something, but then the auditorium door opened a crack and Associate Professor Huang’s face reappeared. The disciples heard him announce, “Director Gong, as of this moment, I, Huang Qiudong, officially resign! After leaving this damned religious training center, I’ll become my own master. You’ll no longer have to worry about my career, my home, or where my child will go to preschool!” Then, his face bright red, he stepped outside and slammed the door. Through the door’s glass window, the disciples could see him standing with his back to the sun, as the sunlight streamed down over his head and shoulders, before finally reaching his face.
Everyone waited for Director Gong’s reaction. To their surprise, however, he turned to them and shouted, “What are you staring at?! You are all believers and God’s children. Is there anything in this mortal world that you haven’t already seen before?” As he said this, he cast his gaze over the crowd, making them feel as though they had become debased and secularized. Everyone left the auditorium quickly and rushed toward the stairwell and elevators. Even the old bishop and Monk Dade felt that they had let down Director Gong and the deities, and so when they passed in front of Director Gong, they bowed deeply to express their remorse.
The auditorium once again fell silent. As Director Gong was turning to leave, he saw the class monitor of the Protestant class, Pastor Wang Changping, standing next to him. Pastor Wang said quietly, “Associate Professor Huang is a talented individual, isn’t he?”
“So what if he is?” Director Gong glared at Pastor Wang. “Rain will still fall from the sky and women will still get married. There may be nothing I can do to help Associate Professor Huang get promoted—that is, of course, unless you can arrange for God to issue me two more faculty lines for full professors.”
Pastor Wang reflected for a moment, then said, “Even without the new faculty lines, he could still stay.” Director Gong gazed at Pastor Wang, evaluating him as he would a believer who had suddenly come to perform penance. Pastor Wang was more than a decade older than Director Gong and was also taller and thinner. He was the head resident pastor of Guangxi Province’s famous Jialan Church, and therefore had been assigned to serve as the Protestant class’s class monitor. Because of this position, Director Gong treated him more respectfully than he treated the other disciples.
Director Gong stared at Pastor Wang for several seconds, and then, in a voice that was simultaneously hard and soft, asked, “How can I get Associate Professor Huang to stay?”
Pastor Wang laughed, then looked around and replied, “You have to use money. In this era, money can resolve anything that the gods cannot.”
Director Gong also smiled and asked, “And where exactly would I find this money?”
“In this religion building you oversee.”
Director Gong looked up at the ceiling and then glanced in the direction of his own office, as though he were about to go work. For the sake of politeness, however, he invited Pastor Wang to sit with him for a while.
Director Gong’s office was located at the northern end of the hallway. It was room 106, and had a steel plaque with the words Director’s Office printed in yellow. The office was sixteen square meters—somewhat larger than the offices of the other instructors. Upon entering, visitors would see a huge chart labeled “Tug-of-War Regular Season and Playoffs” posted over the window, beside which there was a bookcase, a table, a sofa, and a small fountain. There was also a copy of the journal Chinese Athletics as well as several religious magazines and newspapers—all prominently displayed.
Director Gong invited Pastor Wang to sit on the couch and poured him a glass of hot water, then proceeded to steep a cup of the maojian tea that one of his students had given him. Director Gong explained apologetically that the religious training center was considered marginal by the university, like an extra thumb on a hand with six fingers. However, even if it was completely useless, it still couldn’t be removed. It was very difficult for lecturers at the center to be promoted to associate professor, just as it was difficult for associate professors to be promoted to full professor. As a result, the instructors came and went, prepared to leave at any moment. They were like people squeezing into a temple to view deities. Inevitably there would come a day when the temple would collapse and the final deity would depart, after which not a trace of a visitor would remain.
Pastor Wang listened attentively, as though in a confessional listening to a saint. When Director Gong finished, Pastor Wang, like a saint gazing at the window in the back of the confessional, looked at him and asked, “And what about you?”
“Of course, I am thirty percent heat and seventy percent light.” Director Gong returned the conversation to the topic of dignity, adding, “How could I let down those who appointed me here? Not only would I like to promote every instructor and give each of them a house, I also want to convert this temporary religious training center into a formal religious studies institute.”
“Would that be difficult?” Pastor Wang asked.
Director Gong replied, “It depends on whether or not the deities are inclined to help … After all, if it weren’t difficult, I wouldn’t have been assigned to work here.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“This is National Politics University. A good university must have academic monographs and national research achievement awards. With these, it may be possible for our religious training center to become elevated to an institute, whereupon all of our problems would be resolved.”
Pastor Wang then asked, “Would we need anything else?”
Director Gong replied, “Yes. For instance, we would need more talented individuals. You can see that we already have some, such as Associate Professor Huang. But damn it, when he gets angry, he’s perfectly capable of smashing something right in front of me.”
Pastor Wang took a couple of sips of tea, spat the tea leaves back into his cup, and shook it until they sank to the bottom. Then he returned the cup to the table and proceeded to say something divine and mysterious. He could see that the center’s problems were a question not only of monographs, articles, and talented individuals, but also of money. He asked, “If we had money, would we be worried about being able to retain our talented individuals? If we had money, would we be worried that those evaluators won’t promote our lecturers to associate and full professor? If we had money, would we be worried about not having sufficient monographs and academic awards? Would we be worried that the higher administration doesn’t respect our religious training center and doesn’t include it within the university’s formal establishment?”
Pastor Wang asked Director Gong several more “would we be worried” questions along these same lines, until eventually a trace of a smile emerged in the corner of Director Gong’s mouth. Director Gong gestured at Pastor Wang and said, “But tell me, where can we find these additional funds? Do you know how much the university gives the center every year? It’s not even enough to cover the cost of a few student meals.”
Pastor Wang took another sip of tea and replied, “Everyone who comes to this high-level religious training center is either a religious master or a master candidate. Usually, they only look after their own churches, temples, and mosques, but do you think that they are all penniless? Don’t they all have at least some savings?”
Director Gong fired back, “Then take some money from the pockets of those believers. Who cares if they write a letter of complaint to the higher-ups! You religious people are as exquisitely sensitive as a woman’s hymen, aren’t you?”
“But what if the believers are willing to donate?” Pastor Wang gazed at Director Gong for a moment. “I can take the lead and donate a hundred thousand yuan, which could then be used to improve everyone’s material and cultural life. What do you think?”
Director Gong simply stared at Pastor Wang. Eventually he laughed and said, “What if you try to report me for accepting a hundred-thousand-yuan bribe?”
Pastor Wang turned pale. Staring intently at Director Gong, he asked, “Does this mean you don’t think I’m a believer?” Without waiting for the director’s response, Pastor Wang got up and excused himself, then headed out of the room. When he reached the doorway, he glanced at the “Tug-of-War Regular Season and Playoffs” chart that Director Gong had posted over the window. Just as he was about to open the door, Pastor Wang heard Director Gong say, “Pastor Wang, before you became a believer, did you ever serve in a national institution?”
“I was briefly a civil servant,” Pastor Wang replied with a smile, and added, “But I felt that going to the office every day was pointless, so I transferred to the church.”
Director Gong laughed. “I can certainly understand that.”
Then Pastor Wang opened the door and saw students of different faiths on their way to class. As he was about to head over to the church, he turned and shook Director Gong’s hand, then disappeared into the crowd of fellow believers.