by Qiu Xiaolong
So the “lead” led nowhere. No one knew where the woman got off, nor whether she was, indeed, Wen.
Chapter 21
Later, Chief Inspector Chen entered the Dynasty Karaoke Club with Meiling, his former secretary in the Shanghai Metropolitan Traffic Control Bureau. Their visit to the club was prompted by a phone conversation with Mr. Ma, the old herbal doctor…
Ma had given him additional background information about Gu. Gu had been born into a middle-ranking Party member’s family. His father had served as a manager of a large state-run tire company for more than twenty years. The outbreak of the Cultural Revolution turned the veteran manager into a “capitalist roader,” wearing a huge placard around his neck, on which his name was crossed out in red. He was sent to a special cadre school to reform himself through hard labor, and he did not return home until after the Cultural Revolution, a shrunken shadow of the former Bolshevik, with a crippled leg, a total stranger to Gu, who had grown up on the streets, determined to take a different road. Gu went to Japan via a language program in the mid-eighties, where, instead of studying, he worked at all kinds of jobs. After three years, he came back with some capital, and in the new market economy, he soon became a successful entrepreneur, the class his father had spent his life fighting against. Gu then expanded into the karaoke business, and through a large donation to the Blue, the triad that controlled such activities in Shanghai; bought an honorary membership as security for his business. He rubbed elbows with various triad heads at the Dynasty.
Gu had initially gotten in touch with Mr. Ma because of his K girls, who would be reported to the city authorities if they went to state-run hospitals for treatment of their venereal diseases. Mr. Ma agreed to help, provided Gu would not allow those sick girls to give any private service until they had recovered.
“Gu is not a totally rotten egg. At least he cares about his girls. Yesterday he asked me several questions about you. I don’t know why. These people can be unpredictable and dangerous. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Mr. Ma concluded gloomily. “Personally, I don’t believe in meeting force with force. The soft is stronger than the hard. There are not too many decent cops left today.”
Chen believed that Gu had withheld information. If he squeezed harder, more might be extracted. Meiling’s position in the Traffic Control Office might make a difference. She agreed to accompany him without asking a single question, a truly understanding secretary. So at the shadowy back door of the Shanghai Writers’ Association, he met Meiling and walked with her to the splendidly lit club.
He was pleased to see her wearing contacts for the evening. Without her silver-rimmed glasses, she appeared more feminine. She also wore a new dress, sharply nipped in at the waist, accentuating her fine figure. The old saying was right. ‘A clay Buddha image must be magnificently gilded, and a woman must be beautifully dressed.’ She merged into the fashionable crowd effortlessly, unlike the ordinary business-first secretary, but she carried her business cards, handing one to Gu when they were introduced.
“Oh, you overwhelm me,” Gu exclaimed. “I never guessed both of you would come tonight.”
“Meiling is always so busy,” Chen explained. It was not the moment for him to worry about what Gu might think of him, first bringing an American girl, and now his Chinese former secretary, to the club. Actually, this might help to convince Gu that the chief inspector was someone he could make a friend of. “She happened to have some time tonight, so I brought her over to meet you.”
“Director Chen is giving his personal attention to your parking lot,” Meiling said.
“I really appreciate it, Chief Inspector Chen.”
As they arrived at a sumptuous room on the fifth floor, a line of K girls in black slips and black slippers appeared, welcoming Chen like the imperial maids at a palace entrance. Their white shoulders flashed against the saffron walls.
Apparently, Gu no longer minded Chen’s seeing the other side of his business. The large karaoke room was furnished more elegantly than the one Chen had visited the previous day, and there was a master bedroom adjoining it.
“The suite is not for business, but for my friends,” Gu said. “Give me a call any time, and this suite will be reserved for you. Come with your friend or by yourself.”
It was a hint. Chen noticed a sly smile playing over Meiling’s lips. She understood, though she sat demurely on the huge sectional sofa.
At Gu’s nod, a slim girl came into the room. “Let’s start with an appetizer,” Gu said. “Her name is White Cloud. The best singer in our club. And a Fudan University student. She performs only for the most special guests here. Choose any song you would like to hear, Chief Inspector Chen.”
White Cloud had a piece of dudou-like red silk, no larger than a handkerchief, wrapped around her breasts, tied with the thinnest straps at her back. Her gauzy pants were semi: transparent. With the microphone in her hand, she bowed to Chen.
Chen chose a song entitled “Sea Rhythm.”
White Cloud had a beautiful voice enriched by a singular nasal effect. Kicking off her slippers, she began to dance to the song, swaying voluptuously to the ebbing and flowing of the music. At the beginning of the second song, “Weeping Sand,” she extended her hands to Chen. When he hesitated, she leaned over to pull him up. “Won’t you dance with me?”
“Oh, I’m honored-”
She took his hand, propelling him toward the center of the room. He had taken the required dancing lessons at the bureau, but he had had little time to practice. He was amazed at how easily he could be guided around by her. She danced with a sensual, effortless grace, her bare feet gliding along the hardwood floor.
“Your clothes are like clouds, and your face is like a flower.” He tried to pay her a compliment, but he regretted it as soon as he uttered it. His hand was on her bare back-”jade-smooth”-another quotation, but any reference to her clothes sounded like a joke.
“Thank you for comparing me with Imperial Concubine Yang.”
So she knew the origin of the lines. Indeed, a Fudan university student. He tried to hold her at some distance, but she pressed her body against him, melting into his arms. She made no effort to conceal her ardor. He felt her pointed breasts through the light material.
He did not know when the microphone had come into Meiling’s hand. She was singing as captions appeared on the screen. It was a sentimental piece:
“You like to say you are a grain of sand, / occasionally fallen into my eyes, in mischief. / You would rather have me weep by myself / than to have me love you, / and then you disappear in the wind / like the grain of sand…”
White Cloud also quoted a couplet from Li Shangyin, the bard of star-crossed lovers, whispering in his ear, “It is difficult to meet, and to part, too. / The east wind languid, and the flowers fallen …” She said it to evocative effect as the song was coming to a stop, her hand lingering in his.
He chose to comment on the poem, “A brilliant juxtaposition of an image with a statement, creating a third dimension of poetic association.”
“Isn’t that called Xing in the Book of Songs?”
“Yes. Xing does not specify the relationship between the image and the statement, leaving more room for a reader’s imagination,” he expounded. He had no problem talking to her about poetry.
“Thank you. You’re really special.”
“Thank you. You’re marvelous,” he echoed in his best dancing-school manner, bowing before he moved back to the sofa.
At Gu’s insistence, a bottle of mao tai was opened. Several cold dishes appeared on the coffee table. The liquor was strong, suffusing Chen with a new warmth.
Between sips, Meiling started to talk about the zoning issue with regard to the parking lot.
She was clearly conveying that it was in the power of her office to decide the future of the parking lot. She left a form on the table for Gu to sign as the first step.
In the middle of their talk, White Cloud came back with a large black pla
stic bag. Carefully, she untied the string around the neck of the bag, reached her hand in as fast as a lightning, and came out with a snake twitching in her grasp, hissing, its scarlet tongue protruding.
A monstrous snake weighing perhaps five or six pounds.
“The heaviest big king snake available,” Gu said proudly.
“It’s the custom,” White Cloud explained, “for our customers to see the living snake before it’s cooked. In some restaurants, the chef will kill the snake in front of the customers.”
“We don’t have to do that today,” Gu said, waving the girl out. “Tell the chef to do his best.”
“Is she really a Fudan student?” Meiling asked.
“Oh yes. She’s majoring in Chinese literature. A clever girl. And practical too,” Gu said. “In one month here, she can earn about one year’s salary as a high-school teacher.”
“She works to support her studies,” Chen concluded rather uncomfortably.
White Cloud came back carrying a large tray with several small bowls and cups on it. One bowl contained snake blood, another held something like a small greenish ball immersed in liquor. At Gu’s request, she started listing the wonderful effects of the snake as medicine.
“Snake blood is good for blood circulation. It is useful in treating anemia, rheumatism, arthritis, and asthenia. Snake gall bladder proves especially effective in dissolving phlegm and improving vision-”
“You have to have the gall, Chief Inspector Chen,” Gu insisted. “The gall is associated with yin and has a special effect on human health.”
This medical theory did not appeal to Chen. He knew it was customary to save the gall for a distinguished guest. Kneeling, White Cloud held the cup out to him in both hands, respectfully. The gall looked a ghastly greenish color in the clear liquor. It was hard to imagine what it would taste like.
With one determined gulp, he swallowed without tasting, as he used to swallow an oversized pill in his childhood. He did not know whether it was the effect of his imagination, or whether the snake gall was really that potent. It produced in his stomach an instant chill that contrasted with a burning sensation in his throat. Yin, in traditional Chinese medical theory.
“Now you must have the blood. That’s yang,” Gu urged.
In kung fu fiction, drinking wine mixed with rooster blood was part of the triad initiation ceremony, like a blood oath: to share weal and woe. Gu had a bowl in his hand too, perhaps in a gesture with a similar connotation. Chief Inspector Chen had no choice but to drain the bowl, trying his best to ignore the strange smell.
Then a platter of fried slices of snake meat was set on the table. White Cloud fed him a slice with her fingers. Tender, under a golden crispy surface, it tasted like chicken with an unusual texture.
He tried to lead the conversation in the direction he wanted.
“We did not have enough time yesterday, Gu. There’s a lot more we could have talked about.”
“Exactly, Chief Inspector Chen. As for what you wanted me to find out yesterday, I have done some legwork-”
“Excuse me, General Manager Gu,” Meiling said, rising. “I think I need to take a close look at the parking lot. White Cloud may accompany me there.”
“That’s a good idea,” Chen said gratefully.
When they were left alone, however, Gu did not provide much new information. Gu discussed what he thought suspicious about the way Mr. Diao, that Hong Kong visitor, had appeared. A Flying Ax would not have come to Gu, since he was not really a Blue member. Diao should have gone to the Eldest Brother of the Blue. Gu was out of his element when trying to play detective, but he had learned that Diao had also visited the Red Capital Bathhouse.
Apparently, Gu had really tried hard to get information. Chen nodded, sipping his wine. If that Fujianese was a Flying Ax looking for Wen, Diao might be from a rival organization. A third party, as Inspector Rohn had suggested.
“Thank you, Gu. You have done great work.”
“Come on, Chief Inspector Chen. You have taken me as a friend,” Gu declared, “and for a friend, I’m willing to have my ribs pierced with knives.” Gu had turned red in the face, beating his chest with a fist, not a gesture Chen had expected to see in a private karaoke room.
When Meiling returned with White Cloud, another bottle of Mao Tai was opened.
Gu kept toasting “Chief Inspector Chen’s great achievement and prosperous future.” Meiling joined in the toasts. Kneeling by the table, White Cloud busily added wine to his cup.
Chen could not remember how much he’d had to drink. Warmed with gratification at such recognition, he was coming to terms with his status here.
Seizing the opportunity when Meiling excused herself, he posed a question to Gu, “Has Li Guohua been here?”
“Li Guohua, the Party Secretary of your bureau? No, not here. But one of his relatives has a bar in a very good location. It was the Eldest Brother of the Blue who told me this.”
“Really!” That his brother-in-law had a bar was not news, but Gu had specifically mentioned the Eldest Brother of the Blue as his source. This was disturbing. Heretofore Party Secretary Li had been a prototype of Party correctness for Chen as well as a political mentor.
Was this why Li had been so reluctant to have him pursue an investigation dealing with the triads? Perhaps why Li had insisted on assigning Qian to him as a temporary assistant?
“I can find out more for you, Chief Inspector.”
“Thank you, Gu,” he said.
Meiling came back into the room. A new piece of music played. It was a tango. White Cloud, kneeling with a cup for him in her hand, looked up at him. There was a small bloodstain on her bare sole. Maybe it was blood from the big king snake. He felt tempted to have another dance with her.
He was not drunk-not as drunk as Li Bai, beneath the Tang dynasty moon, who had written about dancing with his own shadow. In a lonely moment, Li Bai must have enjoyed his intoxicated departure from humdrum existence. Escape, though no more than momentary, seemed to be desirable tonight at the Dynasty.
At the sight of Meiling checking her watch, Chief Inspector Chen thought about asking her to go home now, on her own. However, he rose to leave instead.
Chapter 22
Detective Yu was wakened by a hoarse, long-drawn-out sound.
As he roused himself from the dream, blinking in the half-light of the room, the sound was repeated several times in the distance. Still disoriented, he had a feeling that the eerie sound came from another world. Was it the cry of a white owl? It was probably not unusual in this area. He reached for his watch. Twenty to six. Gray daylight was starting to filter through the plastic blinds.
An owl’s hoot was supposed to be ominous, according to folklore, especially when it was heard first thing in the morning.
In Yunnan, he and Peiqin had sometimes awakened amid nameless birds’ twittering. Different days. Different birds, too. After a night’s wind and rain, the slope outside their window would be covered with fallen petals. He was missing Peiqin again.
Rubbing his eyes, he made an effort to shake off the feeling the owl’s cry had induced. There was no reason to suspect that it was going to be a bad day.
Chief Inspector Chen had discussed with him the likelihood that the Flying Axes would take desperate measures. It was alarming, but understandable. Considering the huge profit in human smuggling, the gang would make every attempt to get hold of Wen, on its own or through connections, to prevent her husband from testifying.
His phone started ringing. The number on the LCD display was a local one. The call came from Manager Pan, the first time they’d spoken since the food poisoning accident.
“Is everything all right, Pan?”
“I’m fine. I entertained a customer last night in a bathhouse in Tingjiang Village. And I saw Zheng Shiming playing mah-jongg there with several good-for-nothing guys.”
“Who is Zheng Shiming?”
“A Flying Ax. He did some business with Wen’s husband Feng two
or three years ago.”
“That’s a piece of news. You should have called me last night.”
“I’m not a cop. I did not associate Zheng with your investigation there and then,” Pan said. “But it may not be too late. A mah-jongg game can last all the night. If you go over right now, I bet you’ll still find him there. He has a red motorcycle. A Honda.”
“I’m on my way,” Yu said. “Anything else about Zheng?”
“Last year Zheng was in jail for gambling. He’s just out on probation for medical treatment. Playing mah-jongg is way out of line.” Pan added after a short pause, “Oh, I have also heard stories about Zheng and Merry Widow Shou, the owner of the bathhouse. She loves to have her legs entwined with Zheng’s.”
“I see.” That was why Pan called him so early in the morning. A sly dog. After a night of mah-jongg, a six-thirty visit was well-calculated to catch them off guard.
“Oh, you didn’t hear anything from me, Detective Yu.”
“Of course not. Thanks.”
“Thanks to you. If you hadn’t saved me, I would have died of food poisoning at your hotel.”
Detective Yu was past the stage of feeling disappointed with the local police for withholding information from him. A person like Zheng could not have been overlooked. He decided to go to Tingjiang Village without notifying Sergeant Zhao. After a second’s thought, Yu also took his pistol with him.
The village was no more than fifteen minutes’ walk away. It was difficult to believe that there was a public bathhouse there. Indeed, the wheel of change turned nonstop in the world of red dust-that of the common people-both forward and backward. The renewed prosperity of the bathhouse business in the nineties owed less to old people’s nostalgia than to its new service. For the newly rich, it was a place where they were able to buy the satisfaction of being served from head to foot, and sometimes served in other parts as well. Detective Yu had received reports about those indecent services. There must be some wealthy customers in this area as money poured in from abroad.
