by Qiu Xiaolong
Peiqin was at a loss. She had no idea how she could manage to pass her remaining information to Chief Inspector Chen. She observed that a waitress was talking to him. He was listening attentively, and then he exchanged a few words with the American couple. They both nodded. To her surprise, Mr. Rosenthal came over to her table, followed by Chen, who interpreted for him.
“Would you like to sing karaoke with us in a private room?”
“What?”
“Professor Rosenthal thinks we need a partner for karaoke,” Chen said. “He also says you can speak English beautifully.”
“No, I have never been to a karaoke party, and I can only say a couple of the simplest sentences in English,” she replied.
“Don’t worry,” Chen said. “I’ll interpret for you. And we can talk among ourselves in the private room.”
“Oh, I see.”
Earlier she had noticed several bamboo huts at one side of the hall. She had thought that they were Dai-style decorations. They turned out to be “private rooms.”
The one they went into was luxuriously carpeted, with a TV and VCR system set in the wall, two microphones on a table by the leather sofas, and a basket of fruit on the table.
Outside, people could select their songs on the big TV by paying a fee, but with so many people, a long wait was to be expected. There was also a lot of background noise.
“It must be very expensive, the private room and the service,” Peiqin said. “Do you have to pay for it?”
“Yes, it’s expensive,” Chen said, “but it’s a delegation activity, a government expense.”
“It’s the first time for us,” Mr. Rosenthal said. “Karaoke is popular in Japan, we’ve heard, and it seems to be so popular here, too.”
“Something to do with our culture,” Chen said. “We would think it too assertive to sing in front of other people without some music in the background.”
“Or maybe we do not sing too well,” Peiqin said, waiting for Chen to interpret, “but with the background music, it does not matter that much.”
“Yes, I like that better—because I do not sing like a lark,” Mrs. Rosenthal said.
A waitress brought them a menu of songs in both English and Chinese, and underneath each of its name a number was indicated. All they had to do was push the number on a remote control. Chen chose several songs for the Rosenthals to sing in duet.
As Peiqin and Chen bent over the song menu, pretending to discuss their choices, she was finally able to pass to Chen a copy of the gas coupon and the tapes of Yu’s interviews with Yang Shuhui, the gas station attendant, as well as with Jiang and Ning.
Chen listened carefully to the end of her account, jotted something on a napkin, and said, “Ask Yu not to make any move during the conference. I’ll take care of the case as soon as I finish this assignment.”
“Yu wants you to be very cautious.”
“I will,” Chen said. “Don’t disclose the information to anybody. Not even to Party Secretary Li.”
“Anything else I can do in the meantime? Old Hunter also wants to do his part. The old man has gotten a temporary assignment— traffic control, so he is patrolling streets instead of markets.”
“No, don’t you do anything, neither you nor Old Hunter. It’s too . . . dangerous,” Chen said. “Besides, you’ve already done so much. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”
“No, you don’t have to,” she said.
“Well, Lu will probably come to your place a lot as a gourmet customer for the noodles in your restaurant.”
“We’ve got many regular customers. I know how to treat someone like him.”
Their talk came to an abrupt end again. Mr. Rosenthal was looking at his watch. Chen said that the Americans were fully scheduled for the following day.
So they emerged from the private room.
People were leaving the large hall. Yu had left, too. Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was not too pleasant for him to watch his wife being so popular with other men—including his boss and the elderly American.
She bid good-bye to Chief Inspector Chen and the Rosenthals.
It had been a wonderful night for her. If there was one thing she had missed, it was that Yu had not danced and sung with her. A short man also rose from a table near the entrance, following Chen and his companions out of the hall. She might have been too suspicious, but she made sure that she was not followed before she started to look for Yu outside.
The summer night breeze was pleasant. Yu was waiting for her under a blossoming dogwood tree, still wearing his glasses and smoking a cigarette. There was a black car beside him. To her surprise, she saw Shi Qong waving to her from the car. One of their colleagues in the Yunnan years, Shi had worked as a driver at a petrochemical company since coming back to Shanghai.
It was not the only car waiting along the curb. Nor was it a luxurious one. It was a Dazhong, a product of a Shanghai and Volkswagen joint venture. It was enough, however, that a car was waiting for them. A perfect finishing touch to the night. Yu had been thoughtful to make the arrangement—so romantic.
There could be nothing more repulsive than having to squeeze into a bus—especially on such a summer night—in her borrowed dress.
The tall girl also came out, smiling at Yu with renewed interest, but she strutted away at the sight of Yu holding the door for Peiqin.
“Have you had a wonderful evening?” Shi asked.
“Yes. Thank you for your car.”
“You’re most welcome,” Shi said. “Your husband says you’ve been so popular tonight. He had no choice but to wait for you outside.”
“No, he just wants to smoke outside.” She smiled.
On their way home, Yu did not mention the case at all. Nor did she. They talked about the songs they had sung tonight— though not together. They had to be discreet in the presence of others. She was learning fast.
Instead, she played her right hand lightly over the front of Yu’s white shirt, a shirt he himself had carefully ironed for the party. Then she tilted her head to one side in a mock-serious assessment.
“Not too bad,” she said, pouting her lips provocatively.
All she needed was the feeling of Yu holding her hand tightly in the backseat.
* * * *
Chapter 33
M
onday was Chief Inspector Chen’s first day back in his office.
Nominally, Chen was still head of the special case squad. Most of his colleagues greeted him cordially, but he sensed a subtle change in the office. No one mentioned the case to him, nothing but empty, polite talk. People must have heard about the twists and turns of the investigation.
Commissar Zhang, who was not in the office, was said to be on vacation, but how long or why, no one could tell him.
Detective Yu was away on a temporary assignment—temporarily suspended—just like him.
Presently Party Secretary Li telephoned. “Comrade Chief Inspector, welcome back to the bureau. You have done an excellent job. The American guests have just sent us a fax expressing their thanks, especially for your hard work. They have a very high opinion of you.”
“Thank you for telling me this.”
But the Americans’ praise could easily be interpreted as another indication of his affiliation with Western bourgeois culture.
“Take a break,” Li said. “We’ll talk about your work in a couple of days, okay?”
The Party Secretary’s voice sounded smooth, but his words merely confirmed Chen’s suspicion.
“Fine,” he said, “but I’ve been away for several days already.”
“Don’t work too much, young man. We are actually thinking about a vacation for you.”
“I don’t need a vacation, Party Secretary Li. I’ve had enough of sightseeing and opera-watching.”
“Don’t worry, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. I’ll talk to you next week.”
It was nothing new—the always-politically-correct Party Secretary discourse. The case had n
ot been mentioned. There was no point in discussing it on the phone, they both understood only too well.
There was nothing he could do now in the Guan investigation, and nothing else he could really bring himself to focus on. There was some routine political paperwork on his desk, accumulated during his absence. Signing his name to the Party documents he was supposed to read was increasingly vexatious. Once more, his temples started drumming. He pulled out the drawer and found an aspirin bottle. Tapping two pills into his palm, he gulped them down. He looked out of his cubicle. Most of his colleagues had left for lunch. After locking the door, he took out the cassette of Yu’s interview with Jiang. He listened to the cassette from the beginning once more.
If Jiang had discovered those pictures, so could somebody else—Guan. Jiang’s reaction was that of an avant-garde artist, but what about Guan? Guan wanted Wu all for herself.
What would Guan have done?
After looking at his watch, Chen went down to the canteen, which would close in half an hour. He bought a small portion of noodles with a soy-sauce-braised steak. The canteen was crowded, but still he had a table for himself. People were distancing themselves from him, he realized. No one wanted to share his table. And he did not blame them. It was just politics.
By the time he had almost finished, however, Little Zhou come over to him with a bowl of sweet and sour pork rice. “You’re not eating much,” Little Zhou said.
“I’ve stuffed myself,” Chen said, “dining with the Americans.”
“Oh, those banquets,” Little Zhou laughed. “But you do not look too well today.”
“No, just a little headache.”
“Well, go to a public bath and immerse yourself in hot water for as long as you can. When you are sweating all over, wrap yourself in a thick blanket, drink a large cup of ginger tea, and you’ll be a brave new man in no time.”
“Yes, that may help, especially a cup of herbal tea.”
Then Little Zhou said in a whisper, leaning over as if to clean the table, “Yesterday afternoon I drove Party Secretary Li to a meeting. He got a phone call in the car.”
“Yes?”
“Not too many people have Li’s cellular phone number. So I was curious about it. And I heard your name mentioned a couple of times.”
“Really!”
“I was driving along the Number One Overpass. The traffic was crazy there, so I did not catch all of their conversation. Li said something like—I think—’Yes, you’re right. Comrade Chief Inspector Chen has been doing a great job, he’s a wonderful, loyal young cadre.’ Something to that effect.”
“You must be kidding, Little Zhou!”
“No, I’m not. That’s what I heard. Whoever made that phone call, it must be somebody in a high position. Li’s tone sounded so respectful.”
“What about the second time my name was mentioned?”
“I was even more alert, but I did not understand the context of their conversation. It was in connection with some young woman in Guangzhou, I guess. Anyway, it’s not your problem, but hers. Again Li seemed to be putting in a word for you, or agreeing with whatever was said to him.”
“Anything else about that woman?”
“Well, she seems to be in some kind of trouble—in custody or something—for illegal business practices.”
“I see. Thank you so much, Little Zhou, but you should not have gone out of your way for me.”
“Don’t mention it, Comrade Chief Inspector.” Little Zhou added earnestly, “I’m your man, and have been so ever since my first day in the bureau. Not because you’re somebody, but because you’re doing the right thing. Your buddy, and my buddy too, Overseas Chinese Lu swore that he would smash my car if I did not help you. You know how crazy he can be. I’ll contact you if I have some more information. You just take care of yourself.”
“Yes, I will. I appreciate your concern.” He added in a raised voice, “In fact, I’m going to a herbal drug store during the lunch break.”
Instead, after leaving the bureau, he turned into a side street, then a small lane, where there was a kiosk for a public phone station, like the one at Qinghe Lane. Looking back, he made sure that he was not being followed before he stepped into the kiosk. A disabled phone service man nodded at him, coughing with his palm against his mouth, as Chen dialed Overseas Chinese Lu’s number.
“You have ruined me, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen,” Lu said.
“How?”
“The fried eel noodles there are so good, the soup creamy, thick, with a handful of chopped ham and green onion, but so expensive,” Lu said. “Twelve Yuan a bowl. Still, I go there every morning.”
“Oh, you mean the Four Seas Restaurant.” Chen sighed in relief. “Well, I’m not worried about it. Nowadays, with your pocket full of money, you can afford to enjoy yourself there like a true Overseas Chinese millionaire.”
“It’s worth it, buddy. And I’ve got some important information for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Old Hunter, your partner’s father, has observed a white car driving around in Wu’s neighborhood. A brand new Lexus, just like Wu’s. As a temporary traffic patroller, the old man positions himself around Henshan Road. Wu’s not in Shanghai, so the old man wonders who’s been driving the car.”
“Yes, that is something worth observing. Tell him to keep an eye out for the license plate number,” Chen said.
“Nothing is too difficult for him. He’s eager to do something, Peiqin tells me. And so is Peiqin, willing to do anything. A wonderful wife.” Lu added, “Another thing. Don’t forget to give Wang a call. She has made several calls to me—she’s worried about you. You know why she does not contact you herself, she says.”
“Yes, I know. I will call her today.”
Chen telephoned Wang, but she was out on an assignment. He left no message. He felt relieved that she was not there. What could he tell her?
Then he checked his messages at home. There was only one— from Ouyang in Guangzhou:
“Sorry I cannot reach you today. How I miss our poetry discussion over morning tea! I have just bought two volumes. One is a collection of Li Shangyin.
“When, when can we snuff the candle by the western window again, / and talk about the moment of Mount Ba in the rain?”
“The other one is Yan Rui’s. I particularly like the poem from which our great leader Chairman Mao borrowed the image: “What will leave leaves, / What will stay stays. / When mountain flowers adorn my hair, / Don’t ask where my home will be.”
This was so characteristic of Ouyang, who never forgot to adorn his speech with poetic quotes. Chen listened to the message for a second time. Ouyang surely knew him well, quoting Li Shangyin—but why Yan Rui? The poem had survived in classical anthologies mainly because of a romantic story behind it. The poet was said to be a beautiful courtesan in love with General Yue Zhong. She was thrown into jail by Yue’s political opponent, but she refused to incriminate her lover by admitting their relationship. The poem was said to be about her unyielding spirit in the midst of her trouble. Could that be a hint about Xie Rong to let him know she would not incriminate him?
Of course, Ouyang was wrong about one thing. There had not been anything between Xie and Chief Inspector Chen. But Ouyang’s message confirmed Little Zhou’s information. Xie Rong had gotten into trouble—she was in custody. Not because of her massage business, but because of him, with Internal Security behind it.
Was it possible that Ouyang had also found himself in trouble? Perhaps not. At least Ouyang was still out there, with enough money to make the long distance call, and enough composure to cite Tang and Song dynasty poetry, though the way the message was delivered suggested he was in a difficult situation.
Chief Inspector Chen decided to ask Lu to call Ouyang for him, and to cite another poem for caution’s sake.
When he got back to the office, he thought of a couplet by Wang Changling: If my folks and friends in Luoyang ask about me, / Tell them: an ice-pure heart,
a crystal vase.
That would do. He then settled down to work.
* * * *
Chapter 34
A
t seven o’clock, Chief Inspector Chen was about to leave the bureau. The doorman, Comrade Liang, leaned out of his cubicle by the gate, saying, “Wait a minute, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. I’ve got something for you.”
It was a large express envelope that had been lying on the top shelf.
“It came two days ago,” Liang said apologetically, “but I could not get hold of you.”
