{"product_id":"patriot-number-one-isbn-9780451496140","title":"Patriot Number One","description":"\u003cb\u003eNAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF 2018 BY\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Critics • \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal • Kirkus Reviews \u003cbr\u003eChristian Science Monitor • San Francisco Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eFinalist for the PEN Jacqueline Bograd Weld Biography Award\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShortlisted for the J. Anthony Lukas Book Prize\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe deeply reported story of one indelible family transplanted from rural China to New York City, forging a life between two worlds\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003eIn 2014, in a snow-covered house in Flushing, Queens, a village revolutionary from Southern China considered his options. Zhuang Liehong was the son of a fisherman, the former owner of a small tea shop, and the spark that had sent his village into an uproar—pitting residents against a corrupt local government. Under the alias Patriot Number One, he had stoked a series of pro-democracy protests, hoping to change his home for the better. Instead, sensing an impending crackdown, Zhuang and his wife, Little Yan, left their infant son with relatives and traveled to America. With few contacts and only a shaky grasp of English, they had to start from scratch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn \u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e, Hilgers follows this dauntless family through a world hidden in plain sight: a byzantine network of employment agencies and language schools, of underground asylum brokers and illegal dormitories that Flushing’s Chinese community relies on for survival. As the irrepressibly opinionated Zhuang and the more pragmatic Little Yan pursue legal status and struggle to reunite with their son, we also meet others piecing together a new life in Flushing. Tang, a democracy activist who was caught up in the Tiananmen Square crackdown in 1989, is still dedicated to his cause after more than a decade in exile. Karen, a college graduate whose mother imagined a bold American life for her, works part-time in a nail salon as she attends vocational school, and refuses to look backward.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a novelist’s eye for character and detail, Hilgers captures the joys and indignities of building a life in a new country—and the stubborn allure of the American dream.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eA \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Notable Book of 2018\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review \u003c\/i\u003eEditors' Choice\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Rich and absorbing... A penetrating profile of a man and much more besides: an indelible portrait of his wife and their marriage; a canny depiction of Flushing, Queens; a lucid anatomy of Chinese politics and America’s immigration system... Hilgers observes all this with a sharp eye and an open heart... As evocative and engrossing as a novel.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A superb account of Chinese immigrants in America... Stealing the show is Zhuang, irrepressible, quixotic, an endlessly scheming operator who finds his calling in activism.... [\u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e] tells a powerful human story about America and the world in 2018.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Excellent... a well-researched, informative look at the realities of Chinese immigration. It also depicts one man’s battle to figure out who he is.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003cb\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hilgers is a gifted writer and reporter whose talent for observation shines through the book’s opening chapters.... [Her] deep reporting and relationships grant her access to a world that is almost completely unknown to others.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] clear-eyed, humane look at modern immigration... Hilgers’ narrative intercuts between the dramatic rebellion in Wukan and a vibrant portrait of Flushing’s Chinese diaspora built around fine-grained character studies drawn with equal parts empathy and humor. The result is a quintessentially American story of exile and renewal.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With admirable attention to narrative detail, [Hilgers] gives a nuanced portrait of a vibrant working-class immigrant neighborhood.... This excellent book makes a powerful argument for why the U.S. should always remain a place of sanctuary, benefiting immensely from those who arrive from other shores.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (starred)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Zhuang and Little Yan jump off the page fully realized; it’s impossible not to root for them and their friends... A highly readable story about starting over in a new land; a must-read for all.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e (starred)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e is a wonderfully intimate portrait of Chinese immigrants. Lauren Hilgers followed her irrepressible protagonist (or rather he followed her) from a village in southern China to Queens, N.Y., and her book is chockablock with fresh observations and humor about both worlds.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003eBARBARA DEMICK\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eNothing to Envy\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \"A timely, informative book that offers a truthful account of the immigrant and exile experiences in the Chinese-American context. Hilgers captures the lives of her subjects with generosity, nuance, and psychological acuity.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eHA JIN\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eWaiting\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the National Book Award for Fiction\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With her fluent Chinese and meticulous reporting, Lauren Hilgers has crafted a deeply sympathetic portrait of some of the country’s newest Chinese-Americans.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003ePETER HESSLER\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eRiver Town\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eOracle Bones\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Lauren Hilgers has found an unexpected hero in the southern Chinese teashop owner Zhuang Liehong, who launched perhaps the most important grassroots political movement in China since Tiananmen Square. In this fascinating book, Hilgers shows us how one person and one village can make a difference—and how precarious a life in exile can be.”  \u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003ePAUL FRENCH\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eMidnight in Peking \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “In \u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One,\u003c\/i\u003e Lauren Hilgers deftly weaves the personal with the political, the sweeping with the intimate, an immigration story that is genuinely timeless with a bracingly specific picture of Flushing, Queens, right now. She captures the ambitions and foibles of a trio of Chinese strivers, and demonstrates, in rousing detail, that whatever happens to America, it is still a country built on dreams.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003ePATRICK RADDEN KEEFE\u003c\/b\u003e, author of\u003ci\u003e The Snakehead\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lauren Hilgers's \u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e tells a great story spanning China and America, shedding light on the most complex and tangled relationship between any two nations in the world. It's a great yarn.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJOHN POMFRET\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eChinese Lessons\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Beautiful Country and the Middle Kingdom\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e is an intricate and engaging dual portrait of the struggles of New York Chinese working class immigrants and the struggles of China’s village democracy. Its carefully rendered scenes offer a rare depth to worlds we know mostly from headlines.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJENNIFER 8. LEE\u003c\/b\u003e, author \u003ci\u003eThe Fortune Cookie Chronicles: Adventures in the World of Chinese Food\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“The humanity, sly humor, and drama of \u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e make it a delight to read. Its intertwined China-and-America narrative is revealing about both countries. This joins the list of books that easily convey larger messages through a vivid focus on the particular.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJAMES FALLOWS\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003ePostcards from Tomorrow Square: Reports from China\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eOur Towns\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e brilliantly captures the bittersweet combination of joy, sorrow, and transformation of Chinese immigrants in New York City. Lauren Hilgers’ vibrant, compassionate writing transports readers to the gritty streets and vertiginous world of the recently arrived, enabling you to see America with a set of new eyes.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eROB SCHMITZ\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eStreet of Eternal Happiness\u003c\/i\u003e; Shanghai correspondent, NPR \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"\u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e is a page-turning tale of the sub-world of exiled Chinese dissidents in American society. While Chinese immigration dates back generations, Lauren Hilgers has tapped into the more recent wave of Chinese political exiles and asylum seekers—and she astutely tracks their various struggles adjusting to life in America. A fascinating read.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eDAVID SHAMBAUGH\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eChina Goes Global\u003c\/i\u003e; professor of political science, George Washington University \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In \u003ci\u003ePatriot Number One\u003c\/i\u003e, Lauren Hilgers expertly weaves history and current events into a compelling human narrative, writing with clarity and compassion about how the outsized dreams of immigrants can collide with the an indifferent world. True patriotism, this book shows us, means demanding better of the place that you love.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eLAUREN MARKHAM\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Far Away Brothers: Two Young Migrants and the Making of an American Life\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lauren Hilgers captures with poignancy and humor the courage of immigrants who reach for the American dream. As we follow the tale of Zhuang and his wife Little Yan, we stumble along with them, suffering the indignities of those new to this culture and language, buoyed by their successes. The result is a touching and insightful portrait of modern Chinese immigrants and their community.”  \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJEAN KWOK\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eGirl in Translation\u003c\/i\u003eLAUREN HILGERS lived in Shanghai, China for six years. Her articles have appeared in \u003ci\u003eHarper's\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWired\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBusinessweek\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eNew York Times Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in New York with her husband and their daughter.***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof*** \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCopyright © 2018 Lauren Hilgers\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eEscape\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e逃逸 \/ Táoyì\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eMARCH 2013 – FEBRUARY 2014\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eZhuang Liehong had made three plans to get from his village in China to New York. In the first, the American embassy would simply send someone to pick him up. He envisioned a midnight escape—cars waiting in the shadows along the uneven, trash-filled fields on the outskirts of his village. He felt sure, when he considered the plan, that the Americans would be sympathetic to his situation. He was a lover of democracy trapped in a corrupt corner of Guangdong Province. If the plan were to work, it would have to be secret. His friends would wake the next morning to find him vanished. By the time the news spread, he would be on a plane, heading toward a new life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn a second plan, Zhuang would flee by sea. He had learned that Guam, a mere two thousand miles from the Guangdong coastline, was U.S. territory. This plan made it closer to execution: he went to work on a friend’s fishing boat in Wukan Bay in preparation—ten grueling hours on a wooden plank boat, fully exposed to the sun—and purchased slightly too much fuel each time, stockpiling it slowly, so no one would notice. He planned to buy two motors. “Just in case one died,” he said. “I would use one some of the time and then switch them. Sometimes I would use them both, and vrrrmm!” He would wait until the two months of the year when the intervening stretch of ocean was at its calmest, the swells low and rolling, the water undisturbed by typhoons. Then he would take a tiny boat out into the expanse of the South China Sea. He estimated the trip would take about ten days. He could make it, if he had to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eZhuang was a man of Wukan Village, a proud former village leader on the ragged outskirts of Guangdong Province’s manufacturing boom. He was on the verge of thirty, stocky and compact, meticulous about his appearance but always slightly out of style. His crooked teeth gave away a childhood spent in poverty, but he was not self-conscious about them. He grinned while greeting people on the street, pouring tea in his tea shop, or singing at the local KTV. He smiled relentlessly in the face of danger or embarrassment. He suffered from the occasional lapse in reading social cues and fought it with volume, warmth, and a strong handshake.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDuring the summer of 2013, paranoia overtook Zhuang’s home village, and he recognized the feeling of trouble on the horizon. The shadowy forces of the county-level government—people he had rebelled against a few years before—were returning to Wukan. His friends were sure that their phones had been tapped by local security forces, the lackeys of corrupt officials. A propaganda official had taken up residence in a local school. Zhuang took the extra precaution of hiding his cell phone in the back of his tea shop whenever he discussed politics. He had heard rumors that government spies could turn them on remotely and listen in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was a time when Zhuang had run headlong into political turmoil. He had led protests, helped spark at least one riot, and argued with police interrogators over cigarettes. He had seen his friends kidnapped by thugs and his village invaded, and he had mourned a friend who died in police custody. But now Zhuang had a wife and a son. Now he understood the consequences of protest and revolution. He did not want to end up in jail, fearing for his life, worrying about his family. So he made plans and counterplans.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe schemed while sitting in his tea shop, a storefront business he had opened along the smaller of the two main arteries that ran through his village. He pulled up the storefront barrier and sat behind sliding glass doors, watching the rain hit the metal awnings that shaded the shops, and the sun return to bake the scoured concrete of the lane. Zhuang first opened the shop in late 2012, when it was nice out and the political pressure more remote. He left the glass doors open to the street and blasted Michael Jackson. He brewed pot after pot of tea, serving it to his friends, who threw around cigarettes before they sat down on the pleather-encased stools Zhuang had placed around a monstrous wooden desk.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLater, the more worried Zhuang grew, the more likely it was you’d find the store shuttered. Eventually, as the pressure increased, he gave up the business entirely and planned in his tiny apartment, still serving tea to passing friends, watching his son struggle to maintain a wobbly sit, and doing his best to put his schemes into action.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eZhuang would subsequently tell people that, as he thought it over in his shop, he considered many possible destinations. An increasing number of Chinese emigrants were choosing Australia as a new home. Germany, he had heard, was welcoming. But the interest was passing. The moment he decided to leave Wukan Village, he thought of the United States. It had an allure no other country could match. It was a country of justice and freedom, a place with values that paralleled his own. He had to whisper when he said it: America. He had heard its asylum policies there were favorable, and he understood it to be a wealthy country that took care of its citizens. Work would be easy to find there. People would be friendly. Some might even know his name. He imagined a warm welcome from Western democracy advocates. He thought of returning to Wukan years later, a success. He envisioned himself on a boat passing Liberty Island, a little windblown and visibly, palpably free.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt the tail end of his plan, the point at which it trailed off into a haze of hard work, success, and prosperity, was Flushing, Queens. Zhuang had carried out his scheming largely online, and had been wise enough to realize that New York City was too large a place to approach uninformed. He had skimmed through online discussion boards and squinted his one nearsighted eye at photographs. Manhattan’s Chinatown, he decided, would be too dense and urban for his village sensibilities, and in the center of the city, real estate would most likely be expensive. Flushing, on the other hand, had become the destination of choice for most working-class immigrants from Mainland China. He looked up photos and saw a clutter of signs in Mandarin. He saw restaurants, driving schools, supermarkets, and even a sign for the Democratic Party of China. He made up his mind that this, at least temporarily, would be his destination in the United States.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFlushing, as far as Zhuang understood it, was a new, more modern kind of Chinatown. It was dominated by the working class, the result of an influx of new immigrants from new parts of China—inland and northern provinces that had little history of exploration or emigration overseas. Flushing wasn’t controlled by the family-based patronage systems that had once ruled Manhattan’s Chinatown or by the human smugglers who had brought in tens of thousands of Fujianese in the 1990s. It was a neighborhood where people would speak Zhuang’s language and the food would suit his palate. There would be opportunities for work and a community of activists who would respect him. He would make friends, explore the neighborhood, and plan his next steps from there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eZhuang had no family in the United States. He spoke no English and had never graduated from middle school. But he did not worry that he might get lost in a crowd of new arrivals or have to struggle to find work. After all, he had the advantage of being at least a little famous. Journalists had been coming to his village since 2011, when he had helped catalyze a particularly explosive protest. He had given interviews and appeared on Chinese-language television. He would wait until he got to the United States to contact the journalists he knew and make a statement, but he imagined it would create quite an impression—a man of Wukan in New York City.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e• • •\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eZhuang’s third plan, the one that would finally bring him to New York, was the simplest and least flamboyant: he would acquire two tourist visas to the United States, one for himself and the other for his wife, Little Yan. This plan had none of the daring of a maritime or midnight escape. Its difficulties were largely bureaucratic. Zhuang had to hope that the local office would ignore his history of troublemaking and issue him a passport, and that the nearest U.S. consulate would grant them the visas. Then he and Little Yan would have to find a place to keep their infant son, Kaizhi, safe. And then the pair would join a tour group. Their exit from China would be led by a distracted young woman hoisting a tiny stuffed bear on a pole, bobbing through the crowds in the Shenzhen ferry port.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf Zhuang had taken a boat, he would have traveled alone—it would have been too dangerous for Little Yan to come with him. Once he decided to go by air, however, he felt they should travel as a couple. He presented the plan to his wife one night, sitting on the long wooden bench that passed for a sofa in most Wukan homes. Baby Kaizhi was asleep on their metal-framed bed. He\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad just started to crawl, military style, around their one-room apartment during the day, bent on exploring the small concrete courtyard. Kaizhi regarded the outside world with great seriousness.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe grabbed leaves and looked at Little Yan before shoving them into his mouth. He rarely cried. He slept well. Little Yan could watch him all day long and not feel bored. She did not want to leave China.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLittle Yan had known Zhuang for three years, and for three years she had stood in flattering relief to her husband. She was quiet and petite; pretty, but with a slight underbite that made her shy about smiling. She had grown up in a village in Guangxi Province, one even smaller and less prosperous than Wukan. She allowed Zhuang an air of worldliness. He could drive the conversation while she happily cooked for his friends and took care of their son. She didn’t make too many demands or spend too much money. And she appreciated his dogged sense of right and wrong. He was honest, which was more than Little Yan could say for a lot of the men she had met in Guangdong Province.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Zhuang described his plan, Little Yan had concerns that came in quick succession, neatly pricking holes in his confidence. He had been prepared for some questions—he had thought carefully about what to do with their son—but she was persistent. She asked why she and Kaizhi couldn’t follow him to the United States after he got settled. She wondered how hard it would be to get by in an English-speaking country with an English vocabulary that was almost nonexistent. She had studied the language in high school but could barely remember a word. She wanted him to delay so she could take classes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLittle Yan had come to understand that the more stung Zhuang felt, the quicker and louder he was with his defenses. “You don’t understand at all!” he told her. He did not want the local government to suspect the couple were planning to run, he said. He worried that any delay could put him in further danger. And she was dense if she didn’t think he was in danger. He felt sure that, the moment he gave them an excuse, local officials would send goons to arrest him. And his fiery nature would eventually give them an excuse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eZhuang was more careful when he talked about Kaizhi. It was natural, he thought, that Little Yan would worry about their son—she would always be connected to him. But the affection between two grown people might not survive across an ocean. Kaizhi could stay with Little Yan’s parents, who would take good care of their grandson, he told her, but no one could help the two of them keep up their relationship when they were separated. It could take him years to get a green card. They would find a Chinese neighborhood, he would look for work on a fishing boat, and she could study English. Kaizhi would come as soon as they could bring him over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Suan le ba,”\u003c\/i\u003e she said, mid-discussion. It doesn’t matter.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was a terrible choice—between her husband and her son—but she did not blame Zhuang for forcing it. He made his points, and she accepted them. If he could make the escape happen, Little Yan would go with him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEscape to America had to be undertaken in steps, each with the potential to derail the entire undertaking. Zhuang was so nervous about applying for a passport that he tested the waters by first applying for a permit to visit Hong Kong. It came in a little blue booklet that said Travel Permit on the front. He then took a ferry from Shenzhen into Kowloon and wandered the streets for a few nervous days. He met with a handful of journalists he knew from his days as a protest leader and told them about his plan. He asked them to help him keep a low profile—Zhuang\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad gotten the travel documents, he guessed, because local officials were too busy to monitor him, and he didn’t want to give them a reason to start paying attention. He talked loudly on the phone about his vacation plans, in case someone was listening in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he went back to his village, he applied for two passports. He stood in line for over an hour, and when he was face to face with the agent, the man barely looked at his name. He purchased two suitcases in his-and-hers pink and black and hid them, just in case. He researched the weather in New York, and Little Yan invested in leggings that were nearly an inch thick with padding. They bought impossibly puffy coats, the volume-to-warmth ratio as high as might be expected in a region where winter bottoms out around fifty degrees Fahrenheit. In with his clothes, Zhuang stuck a little clay teapot, some small cups, and a plastic bag full of tea leaves. Other necessities would be easy to come by in New York. There would be time for everything once they arrived.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302323310821,"sku":"NP9780451496140","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451496140.jpg?v=1767734550","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/patriot-number-one-isbn-9780451496140","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}