Hold Your Breath, China

by Qiu Xiaolong

  ‘I’m fine, Yu. Don’t worry about the digression. It’s just the name of a French novel I’ve read. It talks about people behaving in certain ways in spite of themselves, giving in to a compulsive ritual. Back to the Buddhist service at the temple. These ritualistic services are really growing in today’s China. Like the banquet dedicated to the Money God, which I saw for the first time at a friend’s home last month. It’s in fashion for the increasingly materialistic society. For a lot of people, it’s simply a must. Take my mother, for instance. It’s her going vegetarian once every half a month, the fifteenth in the lunar calendar. Or once a week …’

  Instead of rambling on, however, Chen lapsed into silence all of a sudden.

  ‘In your notes on another serial murder case,’ Yu said, after having waited for a minute for Chen to go on, ‘you also talked about something like a ritual with its inner logic comprehensible only to the murderer, even though the choice of victims seemed to be so uncalled for and unrelated. But ritual or not ritual, it will be too much of a blow to the bureau when another victim falls this week. For a cycle of seven days, we have only two days left.’

  ‘Yes, for a cycle of seven days,’ Chen said, echoing, ‘and he’ll act before the week is over. Exactly seven days. There’s a sort of ritualistic offering that Chinese families – most Chinese families – have to make after the death of a family member.’

  ‘Seven-seven!’

  ‘Exactly! According to the folk belief, the soul of the deceased is unwilling to leave the human world, so it lingers here, as if still functioning – at least partially functioning – like in life. Seven days after one’s passing away, his or her family members will gather together for a special meal dedicated to the dead, along with the burning of candles and incense, and sometimes of the nether world money too, and then the meal will be enjoyed by the living family members, like in a family reunion with the deceased. The ritual will be repeated on the next seventh day, until the end of the seventh week. By that time, the soul of the deceased is said to be able to leave in contentment. With the deceased so far away from home at the end of the seven weeks, the family does not have to provide the ritual service any more, though some still do so, like at a hundred-day anniversary, or ten-year anniversary, or some other variation.’

  ‘Yes, Peiqin has told me about it. The service at Longhua Temple was the twenty-year ritual for Peiqin’s parents having left the world, more or less the same logic as with the seven-seven.’

  ‘So the murderer strikes out at a seven-day interval.’

  ‘That’s true, but not exactly at a seven-day interval. Let me double check,’ Yu said in a hurry, taking out his phone to pull out a chart. ‘Eight days between the first and second, six days between the second and the third, and then seven days.’

  ‘That’s more than understandable, I think, if we take into consideration the difficulty of his killing exactly on the seventh day at those central locations. After all, to commit the crime may not be as easy as to prepare a meal at home. The killing of the second victim might not have been performed on the seventh day for some unforeseeable reason, given the circumstances. So he had to act on the following day. Then for the third victim, it was after six days – to average it to seven days.’

  ‘That’s right. So you’re really talking about the scenario of a sociopath killing for the ritual of seven-seven this coming Friday?’

  ‘Unless with some unpredictable factors, one day more or less, for the cycle of seven.’

  ‘Friday or Saturday, there’s not much time left for us,’ Yu repeated himself, wringing his hands.

  ‘Now the rationale of the seven-seven is about some special offering to the deceased. My mother used to go to the food market so early in the morning, I remember, for a special meal – at least with fish and meat, and father’s favorite Yunnan ham too – on the seventh day for seven weeks. And that along with the nether world money, the incense, the candles and what not. In short, some really special offering for the deceased.’

  ‘In other words, the murderer simply takes other lives as special ritualistic offerings to the deceased. Certainly way more special than an exceptional meal. So he will at least take three more lives – to the end of the seven-seven – before coming to a stop. What can we do?’

  ‘That being the case,’ Chen said, refilling his mug, ‘we may start checking for somebody who died – quite possibly unfair, as seen in the murderer’s mind – seven days before the appearance of Peng’s body near the Bund. That may be a long shot, but worth trying.’

  ‘But it’s not an easy job for such a large city. More than hundreds of people die on a single day.’

  ‘We can try to narrow it down,’ Chen said, with a sudden edge in his voice. ‘Let’s start with hospitals.’

  ‘There’re a number of hospitals, too.’

  ‘It’s possible to narrow it down further. For the present case, as we have discussed, we have reasons to assume the murderer is a young or middle-aged man, capable of killing with speed and force, knowledgeable about how to stay out of the way of the patrolling cops and the surveillance cameras; and the dead, a woman closely related to him, about the same age. That’s what pushed him over the edge.’

  ‘Anything else for the profile?’

  ‘In his mind, the tragedy should not have happened. Medical malpractice, for instance. Considering the first victim was from a hospital too, we may look into that very hospital.’

  ‘It’s so logical, Chief. Medical disputes make so many headlines online and off in today’s society. In the light of it, the first victim being one from the hospital also makes sense. It’s brilliant, that deduction of yours, Inspector Chen.’

  ‘No, it’s you that have drawn my attention to it. The yellowish mask from the hospital, though it may be something different from a medical dispute.’

  ‘I’ll be damned, Chief. I have to go to the hospital right now.’

  ‘Yes, I have to leave too,’ Chen said. ‘For a good meal with an old friend.’

  Staring at his boss, Yu said instead, ‘Come on, Chief Inspector Chen. You are sounding more and more like an impossible gourmet.’

  As Detective Yu was leaving the café, Inspector Chen glanced at his watch. Quite a while had elapsed since the ending of the preview. With nothing suspicious detected at the club entrance, he saw no point staying any longer at the café.

  There was something more urgent for him to do.

  He started moving toward the southern exit of the New World, where he noted a number of new restaurants, one of which showed a large ‘organic’ sign in the front with a smaller line underneath saying ‘private room for two’. He took a picture of the sign, like a card-carrying gourmet.

  Once out of the New World, Chen started looking for a public phone booth, but the area was too new, too luxurious for the existence of an outdated phone booth. It was not until after making a couple of turns that he spotted one in a small street. Glancing over his shoulder, he stepped in, closed the door and dialed the number of Melong, a ‘retired’ hacker.

  ‘Hi Melong, it’s me, another unfilial son under the sun.’

  ‘Oh, another unfilial son …’ Melong sounded instantly alert, recognizing Chen’s voice in the context known to them alone. ‘But I’m the truly unfilial son, not you. Anyway, what’s up?’

  ‘I’ve just walked past an organic restaurant in the New World, and I’m thinking of you as a pro on organic food. How about we have a delicious but healthy meal today? The restaurant is near the southern entrance of the New World. I can send you a picture of it with the address. It’s long time no see for the two of us.’

  ‘Long time no see indeed. But don’t be sucked in by those expensive restaurants in the New World. They simply rip off in the name of organic. I happen to know a restaurant that is definitely organic. Let’s go there. It’s on Tongchuan Road. Called Small River. You won’t miss it. My treat. Six thirty.’

  ‘Tongchuan Road?’

  Chen had been to one of
the restaurants there, which were known because of a live fish market on the same street, with stalls aligned in front of the restaurants. Customers could choose their favorite sea or river food in the market, which the chef would then have prepared and cooked in whatever way they liked. Fresher, cheaper, and also tastier.

  But organic? Chen had never heard anything about it in connection to those restaurants.

  ‘Yes, it will be a yummy surprise for you. That much I can guarantee you, but I’ll say no more for now.’

  ‘See you then, Melong.’

  The subway train to Tongchuan Road was so crowded, Chen had a hard time standing still, holding on to the railing overhead. More than half of the passengers there were young, wearing large masks which made their breathing even harder in the cramped space. Still, they were busy talking or typing or reading on their cellphones, as if unperturbed.

  People, like some passengers in the train, were simply getting used to the ‘new norm’, as it was called in the media. Officially, however, it was in reference to the beginning of the slowed-down economy.

  He took out his phone, seeing on the screen a chart indicating the air pollution level for the day as dangerously high – with the AQI index even worse than when one stands right behind a diesel engine exhaust.

  Thinking of what he had to discuss with Melong, he bookmarked the chart.

  And he could not help thinking about what he had just discussed with Detective Yu.

  Was it possible that the yellowish mask from the hospital had been planted as a protest against the air pollution? If so, what was the connection to the scenario he had developed out of the seven-seven ritual?

  There were still a lot of questions unanswered, but he had a hunch that it was connected to the environmental crisis in a way not known to him yet.

  All the more urgent for a documentary like Shanshan’s to be released for millions and millions of people to see.

  With his back pressed against a pole in the packed train, he typed out a short message to Zhao.

  ‘Have talked to a number of people about the air pollution, and heard several satirical jokes. One reads like this: A CCTV journalist tried to interview people on the street about the pollution problem, “What kind of effect do you think the smog has on your life, Auntie?” The interviewee snapped back, “Too disastrous an effect, you cannot even see through the smog, I’m your Uncle!”’

  It’s a joke he had heard among the audience in the Oriental Club.

  On second thought, he composed another text message, shorter, with just one sentence, but much more serious: ‘While doing the investigation under your guidance, I think I’ve been followed.’

  In The Thirty-Six Stratagems, number thirteen is called ‘to beat the bushes to startle out the snake’. He had no idea as to where the snake might be hiding, but Zhao might have, so he would start beating for the inspector.

  Small River turned out to be a two-story restaurant with several large red lanterns dangling over its door, decorating the façade in a rather vulgar way. Apparently not a fancy restaurant like those in the New World. With several of the stalls in front sporting fish still gasping and shrimp still jumping in wooden or plastic pails and basins, the restaurant presented a shabby, slippery, sordid entrance.

  Chen stepped in cautiously, looking around for Melong in the dining hall on the first floor, where a middle-aged man rose from behind the front desk and approached him.

  ‘So you’re Melong’s friend? Follow me. The private room upstairs. The best one in our restaurant. By the way, my name is Chang.’

  ‘A private room?’ Melong must have made the reservation, Chen realized. The place appeared so packed and plain, the wooden floor squeaky and sticky with the drippings from the plastic bags customers carried in, and with a not-too-pleasant tang continuously wafting in from the fish market.

  ‘Yes, follow me.’

  But the private room turned out to be quite a dainty one, with a silk scroll of traditional Chinese landscape on the wall, and a bouquet of chrysanthemums in a shapely vase on the windowsill.

  Chen had hardly seated himself when Melong burst into the room, carrying an extra-large black plastic bag in his hand, striding straight over to him.

  ‘Finally you’re here, Melong. We are expecting you like the most welcome rain after a prolonged summer drought,’ Chang said in excitement, pouring out the tea for the two of them.

  ‘Today is all for my distinguished friend, Mr Chen. Tell you what, his presence is an unbelievable honor to your place. Do your absolute best tonight, Manager Chang.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Nothing but your favorites. Wild turtle steamed with Jinhua ham and rock sugar, Asian carp fried with green onion, the seasonal vegetable in the free-range chicken broth, and we have the Japanese rice, superior quality, that’s usually reserved for my own family only.’ Chang added, scratching his head with a suggestion of embarrassment, ‘What have you brought us today, Melong?’

  ‘Everything you can dream of. Live wild turtles, needless to say, live fish and fresh vegetables too,’ Melong said, casting a glance at the plastic bag at his foot. As if on some mysterious cue, something seemed to start twitching in the bag. ‘Far more than usual today.’

  ‘How can I ever thank you enough, my savior?’ Chang scooped up the bag in his hand. ‘Indeed you have saved my neck again. A super Big Buck has just called in, insisting on the Small River special – the real wild turtle.’

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Chen said, baffled with the dialogue between Melong and Chang as the latter moved out of the room carrying the plastic bag.

  ‘About the turtles in the bag. The real turtle, not farm-fed with drugs and what not. So there’s a whole world of difference in the taste. And in the yin/yang boost to your body system, too. Do you think I’m here for the stuff from the smelling fish market outside? No, no way. You know I know better. For all the stories about the organic food, people immerse shrimp in formalin for better color, feed rice paddy eels with antibiotics, and so on and so forth. All things are imaginable in China. Not to mention all the chemical waste in the rivers and lakes. It’s suicidal to eat such toxic food.’

  ‘But what’s the big deal between the restaurant and your black plastic bag?’

  ‘It’s a long story. Because of my mother’s lung operation, and thanks to your help, the good doctor in the East China Hospital successfully operated on her in time.’

  ‘Don’t mention that again, Melong. I just gave him a phone call.’

  ‘A phone call from the legendary chief inspector made all the difference in the world. Anyway, after the operation, she’s still frail and vulnerable, liable to infection because of her low immune system. With so many healthy people having respiratory problems because of the horrible air, I was worried about her. Thanks to the sum the government paid for the unannounced control of my web forum, I was able to buy the villa in the suburbs for her recovery. And I was lucky enough to have a large backyard attached to the property – between you and me – in return for a special favor I had done for the developer.’

  ‘For a special favor of a hacking job?’

  ‘No worry about the devilish details, my Chief Inspector Chen. Suffice it to say that all the cogwheels for today’s society are oiled with the exchange of favors. Back to the backyard. There are so many articles online about the importance of organic food, I planted some of her favorite vegetables there. No chemical fertilizer or weed killer.’

  ‘What a filial son!’

  ‘I also learned there’s something else especially beneficial to a patient in recovery like my mother. The wild turtle. It’s all yin, natural yin in the light of the traditional Chinese yin/yang medical theory. And she happens to like the turtle soup. So I dug out a small pond in the backyard and started to raise the wild turtle and fish in it.’

  ‘Wild turtles can be quite expensive in the market, I know, but I don’t think you have to worry about money.’

  ‘Well, the turtles in the market are c
laimed to be wild, but it’s an open secret that they are fed with antibiotics and hormones. In contrast, I stock the pond with nothing but the good and natural feed. I cannot vouch for their “miraculous effect” like in some articles, but my mother has been doing fine for a woman of her age, especially after a large operation. It is not necessarily just because of the organic turtle or vegetables, but they may have helped a little.’

  ‘You’re talking like a Suzhou opera singer today, Melong, full of suspenseful turns and digressions. But what led you to this restaurant here?’

  ‘I’m coming to it, Chief Inspector Chen. You know I’m no chef. No way for me to prepare a live turtle that bites like crazy. So Chang, the owner of this restaurant, offered to prepare them along with other dishes for me. In return, he gets from me the “authentic” wild turtle. They became a well-known special for the restaurant.’

  ‘And also quite a profitable sideline for you, Melong.’

  ‘After selling the website to the Party authorities, I’ve washed my hands of my hacking business, as I told them – unless they want me to, you know that. I don’t have to really worry about money, but making a little more now and then won’t hurt. Also a good idea to let people know I’m busy with something – hacking a turtle’s head.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me a Liu Bei-like story in the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, about your being a meticulous, law-abiding man with no secret work going on. It’s none of my business whether you’re hacking a turtle’s head or something else. But given your once status in the field, you may be able to find out something for me—’