Many years later, in 2011, I was secretly arrested and detained in Beijing, and my belt was confiscated. Soon after, the button on my trousers fell off, leaving me with the task of holding up my only pair of trousers by hand when I walked across those six tiles in the tiny room. When the investigators asked me if I had any requests, I said I needed to mend the button. They replied that it was understood. Nothing happened. Each day, I walked holding onto my trousers, making the two soldiers standing next to me feel very uncomfortable.
These soldiers were from the guard of honour and wore striking golden buttons that were manufactured to commemorate the founding of the PLA on 1 August 1927. They stood before me with the utmost formality of military people, their gazes fixed. I was instructed not to look at their faces, so I focused on their buttons, which have been revered from my birth until today as symbols of the unassailable dignity of the army and the honour of the country. As for my button, despite repeated requests, the soldiers always responded that they understood, but nothing was done.
Finally, after more than two months of secret detention, a soldier walked in with a button and a threaded needle. He then star ted to sew the button onto my trousers in front of the surveillance camera. Those at the other end of the camera watched as he made each gesture to fix the button. Apparently, the soldier had not done anything like this before, so the result was rather askew. It was only after a long discussion within the bureaucratic system that I had received the replacement button, so it was already a significant bestowal.