Shi Pei Pu, a Chinese Spy and Opera Singer Who Persuaded His French Lover He Was a Woman

Shi Pei Pu (1938–2009) was a Chinese opera singer from Beijing who became the center of one of the most unusual and unbelievable espionage cases of the 20th century. His story is a mix of Cold War politics, deep deception, and a 20-year romance that inspired the Tony Award-winning play and subsequent film, M. Butterfly.

Chinese opera singer Shi Pei Pu, before 1960.

The story began in 1964 when Bernard Boursicot, a 20-year-old diplomat at the French embassy in Beijing, met Shi Pei Pu at a cocktail party. Shi, who was 26 at the time, was a singer and librettist who convinced Boursicot that he was actually a woman disguised as a man by his parents because they desperately wanted a son.

Boursicot believed the story, and the two began a sexual and romantic relationship that lasted two decades. To maintain the ruse during intimacy, Shi utilized extreme modesty and physical manipulation, citing Chinese cultural “tradition” to keep the lights off and clothes on.

Bernard Boursicot worked as an accountant at the French Embassy in Beijing in 1965.

The deception went even further. Shi claimed to have become pregnant and later presented Boursicot with a son, Shi Du Du. In reality, Shi had purchased the child from a doctor in a remote region of China. When Chinese intelligence discovered the affair, they pressured Boursicot into providing embassy documents. Between 1977 and 1982, Boursicot turned over approximately 500 classified documents to the Chinese government, believing he was protecting his “wife” and “son.”

The truth finally came out in 1983 after Boursicot moved Shi and the boy to Paris. French authorities arrested them both for espionage. During the trial, a medical examination confirmed that Shi Pei Pu was biologically male. Boursicot was reportedly devastated and became the subject of widespread ridicule in France. Both men were sentenced to six years in prison, but Shi was pardoned by President François Mitterrand after only a year to ease diplomatic tensions with China.

Shi (left) and Boursicot met in 1964. Shi dressed as a man but claimed that he was actually a woman.

Boursicot and Shi Dudu, his ‘son’ with Shi Peipu. In reality, the boy was adopted.

Boursicot (left) and Shi stood trial in France in 1983 for spying for China. They were found guilty in 1986 and received six-year sentences for espionage. Both were pardoned in 1987.

After his pardon, Shi returned to performing as an opera singer. He was reluctant to share the details of his relationship with Boursicot, stating that he “used to fascinate both men and women” and that “What I was and what they were didn’t matter.” Shi spoke infrequently with Boursicot over the subsequent years. However, in the months before Shi’s death, he told Boursicot that he still loved him.

Shi was said to be 70 years old when he died on 30 June 2009, in Paris. Shi is survived by his adopted son, Shi Du Du, who later fathered three sons of his own. Notified at a French nursing home of Shi’s death, Boursicot said, “He did so many things against me that he had no pity for; I think it is stupid to play another game now and say I am sad. The plate is clean now. I am free.”

Shi and Boursicot’s affair is one of the strangest espionage stories of recent times.

A scene from the 1993 film M. Butterfly.

Edmund Adler: Painting the Heart of Childhood

Edmund Adler (1876–1965) was a celebrated Austrian genre painter renowned for his warm and intimate portrayals of rural life and childhood.

A master of the Vienna Academy, Adler possessed a unique gift for capturing the innocence of youth, often depicting children engaged in simple, everyday activities, playing with pets, sharing meals, or wandering through sun-dappled forests. His work is characterized by a remarkable technical precision and a soft, naturalistic light that gives his canvases a timeless, nostalgic glow.

Rather than focusing on the grand dramas of his era, Adler chose to immortalize the quiet, harmonious moments of the peasantry, making him a beloved figure for those who cherish realism infused with heart and humanity.

A Little Tragedy

A Feathered Friend

A Girl with a Ball

A Posy for Mother

A Work of Art

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In 1968, the Pilot of a Japan Airlines Flight Accidentally Landed the Plane in the Ocean Just Over 2 Miles Short of the Runway

On November 22, 1968, Japan Air Lines (JAL) Flight 2, a Douglas DC-8-62 named Shiga, made an accidental water landing in the shallow waters of San Francisco Bay. The aircraft was on a scheduled flight from Tokyo to San Francisco. Often called the “Asoh Defense” incident or the “SFO Water Landing,” it remains a legendary story not just for the survival of everyone on board, but for what happened to the aircraft afterward.

In thick fog and low visibility, Captain Kohei Asoh mistakenly believed he was over the runway. Instead, the plane touched down roughly 2.5 miles (4 km) short of San Francisco International Airport (SFO).

Miraculously, all 107 occupants (96 passengers and 11 crew) survived without a single injury. The landing was assisted by an unusually high tide, which provided enough cushioning for the impact while keeping the exit doors above the waterline. Passengers and crew evacuated via lifeboats and were towed to the nearby Coyote Point Yacht Harbor by the Coast Guard and police. Captain Asoh was the last to leave the aircraft. 

The incident is most famous for Captain Asoh’s blunt accountability during the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) investigation. When asked what went wrong, he reportedly stated: “As you Americans say, I f---ed up.”

This rare act of “radical honesty” became known in leadership and business management as the “Asoh Defense.” Because he took full responsibility without shifting blame to technical issues or weather, he was not fired, but merely demoted and sent for retraining; he eventually returned to flying for JAL until his retirement. 

Unlike most ditched jetliners, the Shiga was not a total loss. The aircraft was salvaged from the bay 55 hours after the incident. United Airlines repaired the plane at a cost of approximately $4 million. It was returned to JAL in March 1969 and continued to fly for several years under a new name, Hidaka. It was later sold to Airborne Express and was finally scrapped in 2001.

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Anjelica Huston: The High Priestess of Hollywood Elegance

Anjelica Huston is a cinematic icon known for her commanding presence, aristocratic features, and an uncanny ability to portray women of immense depth and complexity.

Born into Hollywood royalty as the daughter of director John Huston, she defied expectations by carving out a unique legacy that transitioned from high-fashion modeling to Academy Award-winning acting. She is perhaps most beloved for her transformative role as Morticia Addams in The Addams Family, where she balanced macabre elegance with dry wit, but her range spans from the gritty intensity of Prizzi’s Honor to the whimsical, deadpan charm of her frequent collaborations with Wes Anderson.

Huston remains a symbol of unconventional beauty and fierce independence, a performer who never needed to raise her voice to command the entire screen.

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The Cardiff Giant, One of the Most Famous Archaeological Hoaxes in American History

The Cardiff Giant was a 10-foot-tall (3.0 m) gypsum statue that became one of the most famous archaeological hoaxes in American history. “Discovered” on October 16, 1869, on William “Stub” Newell’s farm in Cardiff, New York, it was presented as the petrified remains of an ancient giant.

The hoax was conceived by George Hull, a cigar manufacturer and atheist. He was inspired by a debate with a Methodist minister over Genesis 6:4 (“There were giants in the earth in those days”). He wanted to mock religious literalism while also turning a profit.

Hull purchased a 5-ton block of gypsum in Fort Dodge, Iowa, and had a Chicago stonecutter carve it in his own likeness. To make it look ancient, Hull treated the statue with sulphuric acid and used steel knitting needles to simulate skin pores. 

Newell hired unsuspecting workers to dig a well exactly where the giant had been buried a year earlier. Upon its “discovery,” news spread rapidly, and Newell began charging 50 cents for admission, drawing thousands of visitors who believed they were seeing a biblical giant.

When the syndicate of owners refused to sell the giant to showman P.T. Barnum for $50,000, Barnum simply created his own plaster replica. He then claimed his version was the “real” giant and the Cardiff one was a fake. This sparked a legal battle where a judge famously refused to intervene unless the original giant could “swear to his own genuineness” in court. 

Leading paleontologists like Othniel C. Marsh quickly identified the figure as a “decided humbug,” noting fresh chisel marks and the fact that gypsum would have deteriorated in the wet soil. Hull eventually confessed to the press in December 1869, though the giant remained a popular attraction for years.

The original Cardiff Giant is on permanent display at The Farmers’ Museum in Cooperstown, New York. Barnum’s replica is reportedly at Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Museum in Farmington Hills, Michigan.

Corfu in the 1980s Through Fascinating Photos

Corfu in the 1980s was a decade of vibrant transformation, marking the island's transition from a sleepy Mediterranean secret to a premier destination for European sun-seekers. This era was defined by the raw, burgeoning energy of the “package holiday” boom, where the narrow streets of Corfu Town and the olive-strewn hillsides of Kavos began to buzz with the sounds of mopeds and disco music.

Despite the rapid influx of tourism, the island retained a rustic charm. It was a time of unfiltered freedom, characterized by long summer nights, the scent of wild sage and sea salt, and a local hospitality that remained authentic even as the world began to rush in. These photos, via Paul Clarke, capture life in Corfu during his parents’ trip in the 1980s.

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The Lost Photographs From Andrée's Arctic Balloon Expedition of 1897

In 1897, Swedish engineer S. A. Andrée led a high-stakes, patriotic attempt to reach the North Pole using a hydrogen balloon named The Eagle (Örnen). Supported by King Oscar II and Alfred Nobel, the mission sought to claim the Pole for Sweden through “futurist” aerial exploration rather than traditional sledging.

Andrée was accompanied by engineer Knut Frænkel and photographer Nils Strindberg. They took off from Svalbard on July 11, 1897. Moments after lift-off, the balloon lost its heavy steering drag-ropes, leaving it at the mercy of the wind. The balloon sailed for only 65 hours. Leaking gas and weighed down by freezing rain, it made a gentle emergency landing on the pack ice, far short of the North Pole.

The three men were unhurt but unprepared for the terrain. They attempted a grueling three-month trek south across shifting ice, eventually reaching the deserted Kvitøya (White Island) in October 1897, where they perished.

The expedition’s fate remained a mystery for 33 years until 1930, when Norwegian whalers discovered their final camp. Remarkably, the harsh Arctic cold preserved the men's diaries and photographic film. The Grenna Museum in Sweden now houses the collection of recovered equipment and photographs. Modern analysis, such as that by author Bea Uusma, continues to investigate the exact cause of death, theories range from trichinosis from polar bear meat to carbon monoxide poisoning or exhaustion.

The photographs recovered in 1930 from Nils Strindberg’s camera provide a haunting, first-hand account of the expedition’s final months. Despite spending 33 years frozen in the Arctic ice, the film remained remarkably developable. The most famous of these images document the immediate aftermath of the balloon’s crash-landing on July 14, 1897, and the men’s subsequent struggle to survive while trekking across the pack ice.

The Eagle sailing north, photographed from Danes Island.

Moments after take off the balloon loses two steering ropes weighing a half ton each.

The steering ropes drag The Eagle toward the water shortly after launching.

Crash landing.

S. A. Andrée and Knut Frænkel with the balloon on the pack ice, photographed by the third expedition member, Nils Strindberg. The exposed film for this photograph and others from the failed 1897 expedition was recovered in 1930.

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