As Mr. Lin’s case crawled through the immigration system, he eventually recounted his story to case workers.
In an interview he gave in 2019 to a volunteer who worked with Mr. Mills, he talked about growing up on his family farm in rural Fujian Province. As a young man, in the wake of the Tiananmen Square protests, he went to a rally in Fuzhou calling for more freedom and reforms — and found himself on the authorities’ list as a potential troublemaker. Fearing arrest, he said, he fled his home and began a grueling quest to find safety in America.
With the help of a network of sympathizers and a series of loans he couldn’t afford, he ended up at the Thai border, he said, and eventually on an airplane to Los Angeles. When he landed, he retreated into an airport men’s room, where he could be sure no one was watching him. He said he ripped up his passport and headed to customs with two letters memorized: P. A. Political asylum.
He was allowed temporary entry, but after a judge ordered his deportation, he spent the ensuing years hiding from the authorities, working grueling jobs for little pay, fearful of being noticed. “I found work in a kitchen and worked as hard as I could to pay for my bed, my debts, my wife,” he said in 2019 through an interpreter. “I did this for eight years and then my body gave up.”
He eventually made it to New York and bounced around from shelter to shelter. “I was so scared,” he said.
Mr. Mills was haunted by his story. “My whole sense of Mo, even though I didn’t know him well — here’s a guy who the entirety of his life was one of just survival,” he said. “Raw survival and getting beat up constantly.”
It took four years for the visa to come through, but it worked. On April 2, 2019 — 28 years after he first entered the United States — Mr. Lin received his visa. He and Mr. Chin were at their Chinatown park when the document — sent to Mr. Chin’s email address because Mr. Lin didn’t have one — came through.
“Mo had the sweetest smile I ever saw on his face all these years,” Mr. Chin remembered. “He kept on asking me to read over and over every line to him.”
Now that he had a visa, it would be easier for Mr. Lin to visit the dentist and get his teeth fixed. Maybe he could finally get out of the shelter. In three years, as long as he stayed in the United States, he could apply for a green card. And he could finally bring his wife, Huo Mei Li, to New York. He hadn’t seen her in nearly three decades.
“There is so much time we have lost,” Mr. Lin told the nonprofit volunteer in 2019.
Mr. Chin had changed his friend’s life without revealing his own secrets about his years working for the government or his arrests, but months after Mr. Lin got his visa, Mr. Lin confronted him one day with a direct question:Are you an immigration officer?
Someone at the park had clued him in. Now he wanted to know, had Mr. Chin been toying with him all along? Could he have helped secure his paperwork long ago?
As Mr. Chin remembers it, the confrontation quickly became tense. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” he recalls saying to Mr. Lin. “How do you think you got your visa? You should be thanking me.”
An iciness slipped into their friendship, but Mr. Chin says they eventually moved past it. They continued spending time together, and Mr. Chin continued to help Mr. Lin navigate the city and find doctors and dentists. . .