Eventually, Lai's excesses became so outrageous that even the rulers in faraway Beijing began to take notice. "If Lai Changxing were executed three times over, it would not be too much," fumed Premier Zhu Rongji in October 2000. Indeed, it was Zhu himself, China's most vocal graft buster, who the year before had ordered an investigation into Lai's alleged smuggling, later precipitating the disgraced businessman's escape to Canada. For more than a year, state newspapers were filled nearly every day with the sordid details of Lai's alleged crimes, making him the greatest symbol of the country's mounting but, ultimately, all-too-narrow corruption crackdown. It soon grew to be the largest and most expensive criminal case in the history of the People's Republic.

From the outside, the infamous Red Chamber looks like any other office building in Xiamen—a drab and dusty complex covered in red tiles. Across the street, a row of beauty parlors sell haircuts, massages and more. Farther down, a sex shop hawks oversize dildos and the top-selling Plump Landlady blow-up doll. "This shop is nothing," laughs Liu Yan, the manager of the sex store. "Just think about what went on inside the Red Chamber."

It was this seven-story building that cemented Lai's over-the-top reputation in Xiamen. Premier Zhu's team of investigators, dubbed 4-20 for the date they began their detective work, alleges that this plush pleasure palace lay at the heart of Lai's efforts to corrupt dozens of businessmen and government officials. Leased to Lai by the local Public Security Bureau in 1996, the building held four opulent dining rooms for the culinary amusement of his friends. On the third floor, the sensual pleasures became more dizzying: four massage rooms, two Jacuzzis, a sauna, a steam room. The fourth floor boasted a 40-seat movie theater, a karaoke parlor, a bar and three mini dance halls. The lavish bedrooms were on the next floor. According to 4-20 investigators, hundreds of Lai's acquaintances flowed through the Red Chamber, and they became integral partners in Lai's financial dealings. "I would drop people off at the Red Chamber," recalls a limo driver for Yuanhua, "and I would hear them be skeptical about Mr. Lai. But when I would take them to the airport, most were filled with praise for him."

Certainly, Ai Ai, whose name means Double Love in Chinese, adored Lai. In her home village, Ai Ai was regarded as proof that Zhejiang girls were the prettiest in China. After graduating from high school, she worked as a hostess in a Shanghai hotel before ending up at the Red Chamber in 1997. There, she met some of China's most alluring girls—leggy lasses from Inner Mongolia, slim beauties from tropical Hainan Island. Ai Ai says she entertained a slew of businessmen and government bureaucrats, including one Beijing customs official whom she dubbed Fat Nose. He visited Lai's pleasure den several times, she says, never paying for his stay in a luxurious suite on the fifth floor. Ai Ai was his favorite plaything, she recalls, and he rewarded her affections with a diamond-encrusted brooch and designer handbag. Only once did Ai Ai talk to Lai directly, but she remembers it with awe. Lai patted her backside, she says, then handed her a stack of 100-yuan notes. "Everybody liked Boss Lai," says Ai Ai, who now works as a hotel concierge. "I'm sad that the same people who came to the Red Chamber have turned against him."

Indeed, despite his flashy ways, Lai was popular in Xiamen. Unlike other rich businessmen, he always seemed willing to share the spoils. He made sure that members of the extended Lai clan were employed at his various companies. His brothers Lai Changbiao, Lai Changtu and Lai Shuiqiang helped run his cigarette and automotive concerns, and his wife's brothers and his nephews worked for him too. Chen Lian, an office lady for one of Lai's smaller ventures in the mid-'90s, remembers telling him that her son had been kicked out of high school and had no employment prospects. "Mr. Lai told me he hadn't been good at school, either," recalls Chen, "so he got my son a job as a night watchman for Yuanhua." Another employee, a limo driver, remembers Lai giving him a $400 tip for no apparent reason.

Lai's lack of airs was similarly endearing. One guest at the Red Chamber remembers Lai uncorking bottles of expensive wine and toasting his dinner companions, who were to feast on such delicacies as shark's fin soup and abalone. Lai then disappeared, slinking back to the kitchen to slurp down rice porridge instead. At nightclubs, he would invariably buy the most expensive liquor but he rarely bothered to savor it, preferring beer.

Even today, some members of Xiamen's police force secretly confess to having liked Lai. They appreciated his plainspoken demeanor, his refusal to look down on them—and, of course, his generosity. One ex-cop says his ill-equipped squad was given motorcycles and jeeps by Lai to help them keep the streets safe. Other officers received new cell phones from Lai so they could make calls while on the beat. Lai claims he also donated money to build a new cadre-training facility. "Honestly, I think he did more for this city than the government ever did," whispers a former police lieutenant, whose brother worked for Yuanhua. "When he made money, we all saw the benefits."

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