时间：2022-02-24 06:05:57
During a brief honeymoon period in the mid-2000s when his business enjoyed rosy relations with the local government， Zeng Chengjie’s company shared the same floor of an office building with officials in charge of infrastructure. Small wonder， then， that Zeng was offered the contracts to build a public library， a theater and a gymnasium in Jishou， capital of the Xiangxi Tujia and Miao Autonomous Prefecture， Hunan Province.
To get funding for these projects， Zeng set about raising funds from local residents， promising unbelievably high returns on any investment. Zeng’s fundraising， which he conducted literally under the noses of local officials， was allowed to continue， despite its technical illegality.
Most of Zeng’s investors were trusts holding officials’ savings， and numerous government statements and speeches ensued， extolling the virtues of tapping private capital in order to build local infrastructure.
This love-in quickly went sour when Zeng failed to cough up the high returns he had promised. Mass protests by individual investors broke out in 2008， calling for Zeng’s head. In the meantime， this troubled entrepreneur fell out with local authorities over the settlement of his own loans. The government thus confiscated all his assets and， in spite of their previous endorsements， accused him of fundraising fraud， a crime they had only been too happy to turn a blind eye to merely a year before. Zeng was eventually arrested， sentenced to death and was executed by gunshot on July 12.
Unfortunately for Zeng’s former partners， his story did not end there.
Gold Rush
Despite being the only local businessperson formally charged with fundraising fraud， Zeng’s supporters claim he neither raised the most funds nor was the first entrepreneur in Xiangxi to engage in this commonplace activity.
Despite its poverty， Xiangxi and the surrounding area abounds in nonferrous metal resources. Since the 1980s， local mining companies have been raising funds from local residents， offering impressive interest rates into the bargain. A high default rate meant that State banks wouldn’t sign off on loans to Xiangxi businesses， meaning that illegal fundraising quickly became the only fundraising that could conceivably be conducted in the area.
When the local government planned to jumpstart the local economy by promoting real estate development in the 2000s， illegal fundraising once again became an attractive source of capital for a government-sponsored construction boom. Xiangxi’s old city was reconstructed and a new economic development zone launched with funds raised outside the approved channels. Once again， nobody raised an objection， so long as everyone was getting rich.
Competition between fundraisers for loans and the sheer thirst for money had driven the local interest rate from 25 percent in 2004 to around 60 percent by early 2008， about 10 times the benchmark lending rate set by China’s central bank and exceeding the legal boundaries， being set at four times the benchmark rate. Almost all urban families in the area and two out of three rural households sank money into development projects even households on welfare， according to a research report by Lu Mingyong， a professor from the local Jishou University.
Lu added that most of individual lenders put in their life savings， while others put their homes up as collateral. Some even sold their homes outright， sinking the money into infrastructure projects spearheaded by the local government.
With no regulation and no legal protection even when the government attempted to step in to calm down the fundraising frenzy， it was too late.
Amid a nationwide campaign to promote social stability ahead of the 2008 Beijing Olympics， the government released an internal order on June 2008 to ban public servants from taking part in fundraising， while fundraisers themselves were told to scale back their interest rates. Sensing a coming crackdown， officials and government departments soon started pulling their money out， along with all existing profits， placing the full burden of responsibility on fundraisers and private investors.
Tuanjie newspaper， the mouthpiece of the local government， withdrew 20 million yuan （US$3.3m） after the ban was imposed， according to a report by the China Economic Times. The report disclosed that it was common practice for local government bureaus to apportion their expenses to ordinary staff， who were then in turn allowed to reinvest money in the fundraising and pocket the interest as a bonus. Even local banks got in on these scams.
It was estimated that a total of 1 billion yuan （US$163m） was withdrawn almost overnight by government departments and officials after the ban was issued. This set in motion the total collapse of the capital chain. One of the earliest casualties was Zeng Chengjie， who had to force his interest rates through the roof simply to secure the additional capital to keep his business operations afloat.
In the three months prior to the complete collapse of the local capital chain in August 2008， the interest rate topped out at 100 percent. By this point， new investors were a lost cause and existing investors could see the writing on the wall.
Crackdown
Most of the lenders that rushed into the frenzy in its last phase were those who had either just sold all their landholdings or those recently laid off by local State-owned companies who had invested their compensation packages. Too poor to get involved in the fundraising during its boom years， these latecomers shouldered all of the risk for none of the potential profits.
After Zeng and other investment managers halted payments to principals in August 2008， anger and desperation soon drove creditors onto the streets. Knowledge of the earlier government pullout that had left them and their fellow investors high and dry only served to exacerbate public anger most of which was directed at the government officials whose withdrawal from the market had led to its collapse.
In the aftermath of these incidents， the government， fearing a coup， denounced all fundraising activities， seizing the assets of all known fundraisers. In a meeting to which 22 major fundraisers， Zeng among them， were summoned in October 2008， police stormed into the room and arrested everyone present， in the process， guaranteeing their debts remained unpaid.
For some reason， Zeng’s company was specifically targeted and was sold out from under him without his knowledge. The other 21 detainees enjoyed the luxury of personally settling their debts with government help from jail， but Zeng was already being set up as a scapegoat.
Zeng’s assets were confiscated and， even before his trial opened， sold to a State-owned company by the working team dispatched to Jishou City for 330 million yuan （US$54m）， less than one-seventh of Zeng’s own assessment which put their value at 2.38 billion yuan（US$388m）.
Zeng’s lawyer Wang Shaoguang argued that Zeng’s personal assets could easily have covered the debt of 710 million yuan （US$116m） owed to his creditors， however the government’s appraisal estimated Zeng’s assets to be worth 829 million yuan （US$135m）. One asset which the government investigation simply refused to acknowledge was 100，000 tons of mineral ore. In addition， Zeng’s considerable real estate holdings were evaluated at cost， rather than market price. Zeng went to trial， during which the government withheld evidence that Wang claimed would have exonerated his client.
Two separate trials each sentenced Zeng to death without reprieve. This verdict came in spite of inconsistencies in the prosecution’s case， which gave wildly fluctuating figures for Zeng’s personal wealth and outstanding debts. One court report valued Zeng’s outstanding debts at 1.77 billion yuan （US$289m）， only to contradict itself pages later and claim that his debts totaled 1.25 billion yuan （US$204m）.
Wang claims that both these figures were simply invented by the prosecution， who used shoddy accounting to simplify and accentuate Zeng’s liability. Nevertheless， even an appeal to the Supreme People’s Court resulted in a death sentence for Zeng. The government wasn’t about to let their fall guy go.
Stealthy Execution
Of all the 22 illegal fundraisers jailed in the government sting operation， Zeng alone was sentenced to death， despite the defense claiming he had invested all the funds in government projects， keeping nothing for himself.
Of the others， one early-bird fundraiser was sentenced to 10 years in jail. Another， who had raised the most funds in total， received a life sentence， while another who had opened an illegal casino with his illegally-acquired funding received a death sentence with reprieve， typically commuted to life imprisonment in China.
A clue to the reason why Zeng was singled out for the most severe punishment may lie in a letter which his lawyer smuggled out of jail in May.
According to the letter， once he perceived a crackdown coming， Zeng went over a local government head when determining what would happen to the funds he had raised illegally. While others were happy to accept government control in exchange for lighter punishments， Zeng’s attempt to beat the system got him into hot water with one top local official in particular. Zeng’s claims to lenders， blaming local officials for the collapse of his capital chain， was， according to a report by China Business Journal， the final straw. Zeng had made too many enemies to save himself.
With her mother and elder sister also jailed for their involvement in the case， Zeng’s youngest daughter Zeng Shan continued to petition the Supreme People’s Court after her father’s death sentence was upheld in February 2012. She also publicized the case on Twitter equivalent Sina Weibo in the hope of attracting sufficient media attention to save her father’s life. A similar campaign in Zhejiang Province concerning private fundraiser Wu Ying had spurred the Supreme People’s Court to commute Wu’s death sentence， and Zeng Shan hoped the same might happen for her father.
On July 12， however， unbeknownst to his family， Zeng was quietly escorted from his prison cell and shot. Only after two days had elapsed did his family receive a letter informing them of his execution. Even if he had been informed of his execution date， Zeng was never afforded the opportunity to speak to his family beforehand.
In their attempt to keep Zeng’s case quiet until Zeng himself had been permanently silenced， however， the local government has once again become the target of public fury. Later reports announced that Zeng’s death warrant had been approved by the Supreme People’s Court one month before his execution， but neither he， his family nor his lawyers were informed of the fact， meaning it was impossible for them to appeal.
Wang， Zeng’s defense attorney， said that in his two decades of practice as a criminal defense lawyer， he had never known judges from the death sentence review board of the Supreme People’s Court to fail to inform a convict’s lawyers of their client’s death date.
Zeng’s lawyers learned of his death the same way his family did after being instructed to come to collect his ashes.
Had Zeng been treated more leniently， the Xiangxi local government and the provincial judicial authorities may have gotten their wish of a swiftly-resolved case. Now， however， they have all but ensured a full-blown scandal， which has cast the harshest of lights upon the subversion of Chinese justice in the interests of political expediency.