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Zhang Ru lay back on the couch watching the Western news. CNN was one of the many privileges of rank. Daiyu and the new girl were talking quietly over tea on the other sofa.
Ru had thought about calling the girl Lizzy, but it would be too sweet a nickname and he didn’t want her getting any romantic ideas. Daiyu had done that when he’d first married her; thankfully that phase hadn’t lasted long.
He knew the news release must come sometime today because the West must explain the crashed J-20 jet to the Taiwanese and the world, before another night fell. Crashing it on Fulong Beach the day before a major music festival had been perfect. The media was still covering the removal of the destroyed bandshell, and their lame attempts to still hold the concert on the sand.
Half his attention
