Ren was a man of few strengths, but one of them was recognizing the subtleties in the words of powerful men. He seemed to collect himself and squared his shoulders. “It would be a blow to the integrity of the government to have the head of the project accused as well,” he ventured. “Perhaps we could find another way. For the good of the people.”

“I can see you are a man of sound practical judgment,” Tan replied in a wooden voice. Shan had had difficulty talking him out of offering Ren up on a skewer to Beijing. The Amban Council had all been dealt with, the warden having been demoted and sent to a desert outpost. The Tibetans who had been detained by Huan had all been released from the Shoe Factory and transported back to their mountain homes. Tan had even reluctantly accepted Shan’s recommendation that each family be given a mule out of the prison stables. The Larung Gar prisoners at the 404th had also been given their freedom, and made a tearful reunion with Lhakpa, who had waited outside the gate for them.

Now, as his ceremony began, Director Ren motioned for his companions to stand as a banner was unfurled on two long stakes held by workers. Modern Tibet is a Chinese Tibet, it read, only in Chinese characters. Gathered all around them were Tibetans, from the work crews and from the surrounding countryside. Ren gave a short, tentative speech, followed by words from managers from each of the companies involved in the glorious endeavor. As they spoke, Ren looked forlornly at the little detonator switch mounted on the podium. Chiseling the pass, imploding the overhanging cliff walls, was to be the final step in preparing the dam foundations.

Colonel Tan sat on one of the folding chairs near the director, with Shan on one side and the aged Commissar on the other, nurses hovering behind him. Shan ventured a glance over his shoulder. On a ledge above them were more spectators, including Cato Pike, Jaya, Lhakpa, and the hail chaser who, true to reputation, was doing one of his strange dances, shaking a bundle of twigs toward the narrow mountain pass. A murmur went through the crowd as they saw him, and workers pointed upward to a long line of prayer flags fluttering down from the sky toward the opposite slope.

As the last of the speeches ended, Director Ren rose and placed his hand over the switch. “I present to you the culmination of all our work,” he announced, then hesitated. He fumbled in his pockets, then withdrew the little blue tsa tsa of the mountain god which Shan had given him. He positioned it on the podium, facing the mountain, and pushed the switch.