After hearing his story, I ask John, "What about Jeremy Irons? What makes you a fan of his?"

"I love making men fall madly in love with me like Jeremy Irons does for his Beijing lover in the movie M. Butterfly." John cracks a devious smile.

HAIGUI: Sea turtles; refers to overseas returnees who come back with advanced degrees, Westernized lifestyle, and nice jobs. Unlike the endangered sea turtle, their numbers are growing every year.

PIGU: Butt.

PIFU: Skin.

PIQI: Temperament.

Our company, World News, has nine people in the Beijing office. It's quite international. Sean, an Englishman, is the bureau chief and Hugh, an American, is the vice bureau chief. We also have Linda, our Oceanian reporter, who specializes in environmental issues; Mr. Chun, our financial specialist from Hong Kong; and Mr. Lai, from Singapore, our accountant. Two assistants and one driver from Beijing make up the rest of the team.

Sean and Hugh have different focuses. Sean is interested in politics, such as human rights violations and China 's undeveloped interior. Hugh prefers to write about economic growth in the prosperous coastal areas. Hugh has assigned me to write on Chinese dot-coms, luxury goods users, and General Motors in Shanghai. Sean has asked me to do stories on China 's think tanks, Taiwan relations, and religious issues.

I remember when I first started the job, Sean had a talk with me in his office. "Niuniu, you have many advantages as a reporter. Your Chinese and English are flawless. You've got friends and connections here. You have a strong sense of news-worthiness. You have 'unlimited potential.' But what I value most is that your views are balanced. The influences of Chinese and American culture mean you are not overly politicized. Too many Western journalists reporting on China are influenced by their own personal values. In other words, they have a tainted view of China. And I hope you are an exception."

I was so flattered by his words that ever since I have worked hard to demonstrate the diligence of a Chinese and the defiance of an American.

My two bosses' jobs are dream jobs and the competition is fierce. Normally, to become a bureau chief in a foreign country, one has to work at home for many years to pay one's dues before being posted abroad. Being a correspondent posted to a large city like Beijing, Moscow, or Paris is a sign of status and success.

Sean and Hugh both earn over $150,000 per year. They each have a company-subsidized apartment, a maid, a driver, a travel allowance, and a generous expense account. And they get both Chinese and English public holidays. Compared to the middle classes in most developed countries, they live like kings.

Sean, age thirty-seven, studied politics at Oxford University. He speaks fluent Mandarin, and whether he is speaking English or Mandarin, he likes to swear. In his Oxford accent, his speech is peppered with references to sex, genitalia, and mothers.

Sean is a workaholic. He is short-tempered and quick-thinking, and few people can keep up with him. Every day Sean arrives at the office at eight o'clock, and often works late into the night. He wants every article to leave people struck with admiration. But he is extremely circumspect and serious. Compared to the other foreigners in China, who enjoy chasing women, the handsome Sean never has any interesting sidelights. It seems that, apart from work, there is nothing else in his life. Even when he is eating out with friends, all he ever speaks about are current affairs and Sino-U.S. relations.

As his subordinate, I have never spoken with him about anything other than work. Except once. I went out at lunchtime to buy ice cream at the Häagen-Dazs next to the International Club Hotel, and I saw Sean sitting by himself on a bright yellow bench, eating a coffee-flavored Häagen-Dazs ice cream with gusto. A grown man, totally absorbed in his sickly sweet ice cream, sitting in front of the purple Häagen-Dazs sign. As I watched, I thought it was funny. I greeted Sean. He smiled at me for the first time, showing a mouthful of white teeth. "I love sweets. The sweeter the better. Especially ice cream."

My other boss, Hugh, tends to speak more outside work. Hugh studied history at Stanford and is a Fulbright Scholar. Because we both lived in the Bay Area for a while, we have more in common. Hugh and Sean are both tall and handsome but have different styles. Sean is domineering and enjoys the limelight, whereas Hugh is relaxed and refined. He once said that he was a dreamer and came to China in order to find meaning in life. He meditates and practices yoga every day. He's what people call "an egg," white on the outside, yellow on the inside.

One of the things I like about my journalist job is not having to spend all day in my office. This has allowed me to stay out of office politics and maintain a good relationship with most of my colleagues. But I have never imagined those relations are as good as they seem today.

I walk into my office building and board the elevator. The three people already in the elevator all greet me with exceptional warmth. There is a chorus of enthusiastic good mornings. I am a little surprised, but I try to respond in a similar manner.

"How was your weekend, Niuniu," says Mr. Lai.

"Fine, thanks," I say.

Then Mr. Lai winks at me.

The wink seems forced. Not insincere, but practiced. Almost as though Mr. Lai had been holding that wink in his pocket all morning just waiting to spring it on me. Was this a "How do you do?" wink? No, I didn't think so. This was almost certainly a "Thanks for last night" wink.

I smile awkwardly and face the front of the elevator. When the door opens, I step out and head toward my office, Mr. Lai's eyes burning into my back.

I walk to my desk, put down my belongings, and pick up my cup. I walk to the kitchen to get some hot water when in walks Linda, a New Zealander. I have gone to lunch with Linda on several occasions and am rather fond of her.

"I, I can't believe this!" Linda says, walking up closely behind me. "You had me totally fooled. I'm so glad you had the courage to tell me. I don't think I would have felt comfortable approaching you."

"Oh, um… Linda, I'm sorry. I'm a bit confused."

"Oh, please don't worry about it," says Linda. "I totally understand. I was the same way. Listen, this isn't the time or place to talk, but let's have lunch, okay?"

And then Linda is gone.

On the way back to my desk, I encounter Mr. Chun, who on several occasions has asked inappropriate questions about my personal life. I have learned to steer away from him at all cost. This time, he stands in my path holding a pile of color-coded files and a box of paper clips. But he doesn't say anything to me. He just stands there smiling, bobbing his head up and down with all the apparent satisfaction of a man who can finally say, "I told you so."

"What was happening?" I think. If ever there was a day I ought to go out in the field to gather a story, this was it. I suddenly feel extremely self-conscious. Just thinking of this sequence of events causes me to shudder.

Whisking by Mr. Chun, I return to my desk hoping to quickly check my e-mail before heading out.

I see that I've got sixty-seven new messages: a surprisingly high number for a late Friday morning. But even more strange is that most of them are titled "Re: I Love You."

"Another chain letter?" I wonder.

I haven't received so many e-mails on one topic since I responded to the Internet hoax about the little girl who needed a liver transplant and had been promised a donation of $1 for every person I contacted by e-mail from the McDonald's Corporation.