IT IS Sunday January 2nd, a national holiday, in a medium-sized Chinese city, just north of the Taiwan Strait. The temperature is well below freezing. There is no heating in the factory, which makes components for electrical tools. This probably reflects frugality rather than a ban, imposed by Mao Zedong, covering every building south of the Yangzi river. A thin haze of winter light comes through the windows. The only other sources of illumination are flickering cathode-ray computer terminals, which make silhouettes of the heavily clad workers sitting at them.
Down the corridor, in a huge office even colder than the main floor, the company’s president sits at the head of a low table surrounded by friends. His hands are too busy to shiver, plucking tiny cups out of boiling water and making tea with a jumble of strainers and clay kettles. The cups are passed around, returned, and passed again, providing little jolts of warmth.
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