This ought to be a spot for writing about going to the Consulate's 4th of July party. I mean, even if I am one of the citizen liaison volunteers, just getting chosen to receive an invitation is a Big Fucking Deal that Peter-in-Doumen's choosing to forgo "because they wouldn't also let [his] wife come" is probably going to weigh heavily in decisions to never invite him again.

It ought to be about my carefully picked "representing Hainan" outfit¹ that Tyra mailed from Haikou.

It is not.

Instead, it is about celebrating a different kind of freedom.

Although their missing their morning flight and not meeting me at noon kind of ruined my afternoon, the detectives really did just want me to sign and thumbprint some paperwork that had to be done in person. Perfectly reasonable paperwork that they were being efficient in combining with an unrelated work trip.

I'd say it would have been nice if the detective had been a little more clear that they weren't coming to Guangzhou just because of me, but the brain weasels that were agonizing over all the what-ifs that could have happened already weren't believing him any of the times he told me that this wasn't the Big Scary Deal I was making it out to be, so I doubt it would have actually helped.

Paperwork signed², red ink pad retrieved and my thumbprint affixed to every signature and date, photo taken of me doing this because smudgy red-ink fingerprints aren't actually very good at being used to confirm identity, he did the following Unexpected Things:

1. Shook my hand³.
2. Apologized to me for inadvertently making me think that seeing me wasn't being tacked on to a different work trip and, therefore, scaring the beejezus out of me.
3. Said that they like my videos and I do a nice job of introducing Chinese culture.
4. Said I should call them when I get back from this year's bike tour and we can all go out for beer.
5. Asked me about translation because it's something their department⁴ often needs.

Given the severity of the crime (not counting the smuggling aspect, it's a minimum three year sentence just to possess that quantity of MDMA), them never limiting my passport or anything like that are astonishingly lenient gestures. 

However, no matter how much respect I have for how they've treated me versus how they could have treated me, respecting them and their ability to be logical just made dealing with them bearable, it didn't make it not terrifying. 

When they were talking to me in their official capacity, stressing me out so much I was unable to force myself to eat was an unexpected bonus helping get them the information they want. But in their minds, that (or any of the times they made me cry) is not abnormal or incorrect treatment⁵; and they were never being confronted with either the idea that someone spent time and money, and energy trying to ruin my life, or the idea that their believing me is a choice which could change. 

My case is closed. It's going into the archives. The brain weasels and their what-ifs might take some time to go away, might never actually go away, but—after five years—there's a horrible weight lifted from my shoulders that I am never going to have to deal with again as anything more than a funny anecdote when someone asks "what's the worst thing that ever happened to you in China?"

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¹ Rockabilly sundress in a bright green, black and white Hawaiian shirt style print featuring various locations in Hainan, paired with layered black and white net petticoats, green sunglasses to hold my hair out of my face, the handwoven Li-brocade shawl given to attendees of the China Daily event in April, and the handwoven handspun plant-dyed Li-brocade purse that Chinese Boyfriend bought me in late March.

² In a Starbucks, of all places! Because the world standard in non-threatening non-office places to meet a potential employee for a casual interview is also a place for non-threatening police business.

³ Something made that much more shocking by the etiquette lesson I got from Chinese Boyfriend after I accidentally snubbed a friend of his by not shaking the friend's hand as they were leaving his place after dinner.

⁴ The criminal arm of Chinese Customs 

⁵ This is possibly because their standards for abnormal or incorrect behavior are "as police," and my standards are "as people." I am particularly reminded of the occasion in 2020 when—owing to a large puddle of rainwater and flip-flops with overly worn-out soles—I managed a beautiful Laurel and Hardy-esque pratfall, and, after the general "that looked like it hurt" human concern that always happens when I fall on my ass (what can I say, it's a talent of mine), they barely paused before ensuring that it went on record that my bruises had nothing to do with them.