by Xiaolong Qiu
It was around four thirty when he got back to the hotel. Passing by the front desk, he lifted up his purchases in plastic bags like a satisfied tourist.
‘A young lady named Jin is waiting for you in the lobby,’ the front desk manager said with a smile.
‘Jin?’
‘Yes, she says she’s from Shanghai.’
He pivoted around to the sight of her sitting on a sofa facing the front desk, sipping from a cup of orange juice and listening to music with earpods. A shaft of late afternoon light was streaming in through the large window behind her, streaking her black hair slightly brunette.
From the very beginning, he’d known how capable she was, and then how understanding and caring, and then how surprising.
‘What a surprise, Jin. Sorry, I was taking a walk out in the mountains.’
‘I have to say sorry, Director Chen, for the unannounced visit. I tried to reach you, on both the hotel phone and your cellphone. No success. I was worried.’ She stood up, a bulging satchel flung from her shoulder like a young student.
‘Don’t be worried about my disappearance. The signal must have been bad in the mountains.’
‘A mail marked “extremely urgent” for you, Director Chen,’ she said, smiling, producing a large envelope out of the satchel.
‘A number of my mails are so marked,’ he said, taking the large envelope from her hand without tearing it open. ‘You did not have to hurry all the way to the mountains here. Not that I do not appreciate it.’
‘It’s from the Central Party Discipline Committee of CPC in Beijing. So it’s my responsibility, I believe, to deliver it to you as fast as possible,’ she said with a knowing smile. ‘That’s what a secretary’s for, right?’
‘But it’s not easy for you to come all the way from Shanghai.’
‘I checked the bus schedule online. A special bus all the way to the terminal at the foot of the mountains, and then a cable car to the hotel. It’s easy. I’ve never been to the mountains before. And I hope, with your approval, I could have the ticket reimbursed as a legitimate business trip.’
‘That won’t be a problem.’
But that was not the real reason she had hurried over here, he knew. The lobby suddenly became noisy with tourists moving in and out, talking in loud excitement about the wonders of the mountains.
‘Believe it or not, I have a grand suite here, the top floor of the hotel, with a super view of the mountains, and a full-stocked minibar as well, all included in the package. Let’s go up, Jin. Much more comfortable there.’
The moment they stepped into the suite, she kicked off her shoes and moved barefoot on the soft carpet of the living room like a dancer.
‘My poor feet! The cable car broke down this afternoon. So I had to hike all the way up to the hotel. My high heels were killing me.’
‘Sorry to hear that, Jin.’
‘Nothing for you to say sorry about. I left the office in a hurry, and I forgot to change my shoes for the mountains.’
He leaned down to fetch a pair of hotel slippers for her. She pulled them on, touching at a blister on her bare sole. He felt a touch of awkwardness, standing by her side as if being pulled by invisible strings.
‘What a grand suite! It really becomes a high-ranking Party official like you,’ she said, her glance sweeping around the lavish living room. ‘Almost fit for an emperor.’
‘Don’t say that. The words “Emperor Yuan” have recently become politically sensitive on websites in China,’ he said, raising a finger to his mouth cynically. ‘I’m just enjoying a break pushed on to me.’
‘I know. The emperor who tried to restore the monarchy system at the beginning of the twentieth century, but without success. And people know what it means in the politics of today’s China. Oh, but so many things in the office this morning. I too need a break.’ She perched herself on the sofa, taking down the satchel from her shoulder and tucking one foot underneath her.
‘Yes, it may be a good idea for you to take a break and look around a bit. It’s your first visit to the Yellow Mountains, isn’t it? The view here is fantastic. Let’s sit out on the balcony.’
She followed him to the balcony, where she noted a wine glass standing alone on a cedar table. He asked her to seat herself there before he turned back into the room. Looking through the balcony window, she could see him leaning over the hotel phone, talking to someone. It was a short talk, and he came back with another glass and a bottle of wine.
He poured out a glass for her, and then one for himself. They touched their glasses, the panoramic view of the mountain ranges unfolding before them like a silk scroll of traditional Chinese landscape painting.
‘Look, the celebrated pine blossoming into a pen in the dream,’ she exclaimed like a young student. ‘I’ve seen a postcard of it.’
‘Yes, after the original tree died, another tree must have been replanted there, and then still another, always on the same spot. The tourists must be so pleased at the sight of it, believing what they see is the original, the magical, the eternal, and they keep posing for pictures or videos with the celebrated pine in the background.’
‘For a tourist attraction, people have ways of reviving a legend, but it is meaningful as long as you believe in it,’ she said, echoing his cynical comment.
‘Anyway, it may also serve as a sign, if only psychologically, for me to start writing, with the relentless push from Kong for the Judge Dee story.’
‘So true!’ She was amused at the familiar self-deprecation in his smile. Instead of looking annoyed at her unannounced visit, he seemed to be quite pleased with her company on the balcony.
‘Now, before you tell me about things in the office, first, is everything OK with yourself? I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday.’
‘I’m fine.’ She reached across the table, abruptly, to take up his hand for a closer look. ‘It’s almost healed, but you still should not touch water.’
They would be in full view – holding hands like lovers – if people happened to look up to the balcony. Perhaps more like a Party official vacationing with his ‘little secretary’, or ‘sextary’ in the new WeChat slang, which was said to have been invented by a well-known scholar in his updated new entries for a popular English–Chinese dictionary.
Such pictures were not uncommon on the Internet. Like those in the Judge Jiao scandal, she recalled, blushing in spite of herself. She’d gone to Chen’s apartment for the first time because of the office statement for the scandal. It was just about a week ago, yet she felt like she’d known him much longer, though he was still an enigmatic Party-member boss to her at the same time. And she his secretary. That was all there was to it.
‘I went to the office this morning as usual, as you may have read in my messages sent to you from there. Oh, I forgot to mention one thing in those text messages. Director Ma promised me a great future in the city government.’
‘As long as you do what he wants you to do, I bet.’
‘But he doesn’t know what I want to do? Now apart from the things I told you in the messages, I checked and double-checked the news this morning. Only some very brief, vague mention of the conclusion of the Min case in the official media. Also, Judge Liu called in and he told me that Internal Security had contacted him about the latest development, and it may take some time for them to come up with ideas about how to spin it.
‘And then it’s Judge Liu’s turn to have his show about how great the judicial system works out in the socialism with China’s characteristics. Primetime appearance on TV. Another eloquent demonstration of our judicial system under the leadership of the great, glorious Party, and blah-blah-blah,’ she said, imitating a well-known anchorwoman on TV. ‘But Judge Liu also said to me that he would definitely touch on the excellent work done by our office.’
‘Well, what else could an office like ours possibly do?’
She noted the increasingly satirical tone of his question, and she chose not to push.
‘N
ot a single word yet about the release of Min, I presume.’ Chen went on without waiting for her response, ‘With Zheng in custody, her release should only be a matter of time. In a couple of days, possibly, but with her image so demonized, she would not be able to have those private kitchen dinners any more. Few would want to be associated with the negative coverage.’
‘I don’t know that much about her in spite of the research done for the office. By the way, just before I left the office, someone surnamed Gu called, leaving a message for you.’
‘What message – something to do with our office work?’
‘Not really. He said he was going to visit your mother today. He knew you were away on vacation in the mountains, but said you don’t have to worry about anything back in Shanghai. He would take good care of her, calling your mother his auntie.’
‘He’s just impossible. It’s all because of my translating a business proposal into English for him years ago, and he keeps saying that he got the first investment loan for the New World because of the English proposal.’
‘That Mr Gu! The head of the New World. I’ve heard such a lot about him.’
‘No mention of my Yellow Mountain vacation in any newspapers?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Mr Gu learned about my vacation really fast – through his connections, I believe. I may not have told you, he’s actually the one that provided me with the video of the garage, showing Zheng’s movements that night.’
So the ex-inspector had done his investigations without her knowledge. That was why he had rushed out to Huang’s residence the moment he got her message sent from Zheng’s car.
But she was far from being upset. It was a risky gamble for him. He did not know her so well as to tell her everything, and he might not have wanted to drag her through the mire. With all the conspiracies behind the scenes, the less one was exposed to the dire situation, the better.
At least he was sharing it with her now.
‘There are so many things connected to one another in this world,’ she said, taking a small sip at the wine before she produced another envelope – a smaller one. ‘Something else I got just a couple of minutes before leaving the office. The galley page of tomorrow’s Wenhui Daily. In the literature section it carries an announcement of your forthcoming novella about Judge Dee and the most sensational real murder case in the Tang dynasty. There’s also an editor’s note.’
Chen shook it out.
Readers have long waited for something new from Inspector Chen – now Director Chen – who has written and translated a lot in spite of his busy workload. Now Wenhui is going to have something new and surprising from him. Instead of a poem, this time we are going to carry the serialization of a Judge Dee novella about the most sensational real murder case in the Tang dynasty. For ages, Western critics have been saying that Chinese writers could not write crime novels, with the exception of the gong’an genre, but even in that particular genre, it’s a Westerner that did so much better in his Judge Dee stories than Chinese crime writers. So Inspector Chen’s going to prove something different for us.
‘It’s probably written by Kong himself,’ she said. ‘Indeed, so many things happening at the same time.’
‘Room service!’
The doorbell rang insistently.
Chen rose to open the door. A hotel attendant pushed in a cart with several covered platters. With Chen’s approval, he placed them on the table in the balcony.
‘I’ve ordered the room service for you,’ he said to her after the attendant left with the food cart. ‘It’s a generous vacation package here. All expenses covered. So why not? In your hurry to take the bus over here for the urgent office business, you may not have had your lunch.’
The deck table turned into a dining table with an impressive array of the mountain specials. Chen lifted the covers and introduced each of them.
‘The hotel brochure describes the wok-fried rock frogs as a must-have mountain special. Because of its constant jumping among the rocks, a rock frog’s legs are supposed to be particularly sinewy and tasteful. Fermented tofu is another highly recommended local special, like stinking tofu elsewhere, but with a hairy cover on the surface. As for the stinking bass steamed with dried mountain bamboo shoots, it’s also a celebrated Anhui delicacy, but I’ve never had it before. You don’t have to touch it if you don’t like the smell. And I don’t think I need to say anything about white rice porridge with a thousand-year-old egg, salted duck, mountain mushroom, organic cold tofu mixed with chopped green scallions—’
‘You should have been sitting at that private kitchen dinner table, Director Chen.’
‘So you were saying,’ he said, after placing a piece of the frog leg onto her plate, ‘so many things happening all at once.’
‘Yes. Detective Xiong also visited the office this morning, briefing me on the latest developments,’ she said, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue and taking a sip at the wine. ‘About the latest he had just learned from Internal Security.’
‘Really!’
‘According to Internal Security, Zheng has made a full confession. He killed Qing in the shikumen house that night, though he still calls himself an accidental murderer in this case. Done on a moment of impulse.’
Chewing on a frog leg, she ladled a small bowl of porridge for herself and finished it in three or four spoonfuls.
She then went on with a detailed account of what had happened in the shikumen house, the way Zheng had told Internal Security.
Long before that fatal dinner, Zheng had heard a lot from Huang about the private kitchen parties at Min’s shikumen house. Huang, a lone old man, was pleased to find an enthusiastic listener in Zheng, a division of labor that suited both of them. Zheng was not a gourmet, but Huang’s constant raving about Min as a consummate Republican Lady prompted him to search the Internet, which instilled into him a passion he had never known before. It soon developed into an obsession. He following her blog posts and collected the clippings about her. Far from being wealthy or powerful enough to be placed even on her waiting list, he knew better than to try to approach her. ‘It’s like admiring the moon in the night sky; it is more than enough to feel the streaming softness of the moonlight.’
But Zheng could not help blabbing to others about his infatuation. And to Huang, too. Any crumb of information from the old man about her came to him like another hopeful straw. When Huang decided not to go to her place that Friday night, he let Zheng fill the unexpected opening. It was an extraordinary opportunity for Zheng to cultivate some connections there for himself.
Sitting at the same table with her was more than Zheng had dreamed of. He was flabbergasted, not so much with the unheard-of delicacies, as with her unimaginable charm and gracefulness, as if he too had been transported to the Republican period in her company.
To his surprise, she started downing Maotai like water after making that unexpected toast to the maid. The scene broke his heart. He became so upset with the ungrateful maid, even though he hardly knew anything about her.
Shortly afterward, it became obvious that Min could barely sit still at the table, her hand trembling, spilling a spoon of chicken soup over Zheng’s lap. Looking at each other in embarrassment, the guests suggested that she should go to bed. Zheng, the youngest among them, offered to help her back to the bedroom.
Before he put her down on the bed, she began throwing up, making a mess of her mandarin dress. Trying to remove the soiled dress, he found himself incapable of taking his eyes away from her half-naked body – until he heard footsteps hurrying over to the bedroom. Seized by an inexplicable impulse at the sight of a bunch of keys on the nightstand, he pocketed them without thinking before the maid stepped into the room.
He had no choice but to leave. The maid dutifully saw him out of the shikumen house. Outside, he saw Kong of Wenhui Daily waiting for his car at the lane entrance. He exchanged a few words with him and headed to the garage of the Pacific Ocean Shopping Mall.
And for that night only, he would be able to have the chance of his lifetime – with her still wasted, unable to wake up anytime soon, with the keys in his pocket. He could sneak back into the shikumen house under the cover of night. It was an opportunity he could not afford to lose.
Afterward, he would put back the keys on the nightstand, as if nothing had happened.
