by Cai Jun
He noticed there was a copy of The Da Vinci Code on Huang Hai’s bookshelf. He was certain that Shen Ming had been killed by a psychopath obsessed with human sacrifices; only knowing the killer’s knowledge and psyche would help catch him. Shen Yuanchao used to love reading, going so far as to earn a bachelor’s degree in literature. But he’d only read world classics like Anna Karenina and books by Lu Xu, Mao Dun, and Ba Jin. He knew nothing about religions and iconography. That’s why he researched The Da Vinci Code. In his theory, because the book had sold sixty million copies, at least 1 percent of the population were potential killers.
Everyone thought he’d lost it, but he was committed to his quest.
“Mr. Huang, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m just here to thank you. I want to thank you on Shen Ming’s behalf, for the years you spent looking for my son’s killer!”
Si Wang piped up. “The killer will be caught.”
“Quiet,” Hang Hai said. “What do you know about such grown-up business?”
Shen Yuanchao pointed to the copy of The Da Vinci Code. “This book would be great for your son to read, too. Good-bye.”
Shen Yuanchao was still thinking of the boy’s face and his flickering eyes; were they sending a message?
Shen Yuanchao returned home late, still thinking of Huang Hai’s son and his flickering eyes. Had they been sending him a message? His daughter had waited up. She was a beautiful fourteen-year-old who looked older than her age. For some reason she’d turned down all the invitations she’d received to Christmas parties.
She’d just had her birthday a few days ago, which was also the anniversary of her mother’s death.
Shen Yuanchao first found out about his wife’s pregnancy on June 17, 1995. It was the last time he saw Shen Ming.
He remembered the feast his wife had made for his twenty-five-year-old illegitimate son that day. He knew his son was in trouble, but he did nothing to help him. Shen Yuanchao was more worried about who knew of their relationship. He was afraid if the news got around, his job as a prosecutor would be jeopardized.
Now, he regretted his behavior on that day. The only consolation was that he’d actually hugged his son before they parted ways.
Neither of them could have known that parting would last forever.
When he came back after seeing his son out, his wife told him, “Yuanchao, I’m pregnant.”
He didn’t know what to do. They’d been married for more than a decade, but doctors had said his wife couldn’t conceive. He never blamed her; he just became a workaholic. He spent his days catching corrupt criminals, and rarely spent time at home. He was grateful that his wife tolerated him, especially about the illegitimate son.
But when she did get pregnant, his wife wanted to keep the baby, even though it was high risk.
Five days later, Huang Hai came around with his stern face and told him that Shen Ming had been murdered.
He expressed no emotions. He just nodded and provided what information he knew. He was a cold-blooded man facing his problems. He returned to work and acted normal; only late at night, when he was alone, did he kneel down and sob.
Six months later, his daughter was born. His wife died of a hemorrhage during childbirth.
Holding her lifeless body he couldn’t help but think of the devastating losses he’d been made to suffer that year. Did any man have a worse fate?
He named his daughter Shen Min.
He was a middle-aged widower whose duty it was to raise his daughter and find his son’s killer.
When it was late, after his daughter went to bed, he was always exhausted but couldn’t sleep. He often thought of Xiao Qian, Shen Ming’s mother.
Shen Yuanchao met her when he was twenty. Xiao Qian was a maid’s daughter who’d dropped out of school after only a few years. She sold food on the street, and he bought rice cakes from her for breakfast. As the rice cakes turned golden in the wok, he watched her beautiful face. Every time she blinked, her big eyes made his heart flutter.
That summer, he took her fishing in Suzhou River. He took her to shows at Daguangming Theatre, and they kissed on park benches in People’s Park . . . which led to Shen Ming.
A few months before Shen Ming was born, Shen Yuanchao left the city to go to the Great Northern Wilderness as one of the educated youth. There by the border of China and Russia, he couldn’t receive letters or calls. He was stuck in the deep snow and faced the Russian soldiers across from the river daily. He didn’t know he had a son until he visited home the following year.
He accepted his son as soon as he held him, but he couldn’t marry Xiao Qian, and he couldn’t let the secret get out. If it did, he’d lose his chance to join the Communist Party. So he abandoned his girlfriend and their son and returned to the Great Northern Wilderness.
Seven years later, the esteemed Party member Shen Yuanchao was given the chance to return to the city. He returned to his parents’ side like a released prisoner and was awarded the job at the procuratorate.
Xiao Qian was dead by then. In order to support her son, she’d married the bastard who poisoned her.
Shen Yuanchao came to realize that his son was looking more like him all the time. The boy’s name was changed to Shen Ming, but they had to keep their secret in order for Shen Yuanchao to keep his position at the procuratorate. Once a month, he visited his son and gave the boy’s grandmother twenty yuan—half his earnings back then. The money he gave increased every year until Shen Ming went to college.
Eventually, he was able to achieve his dream and become a People’s Prosecutor. The woman he married was from a more respectable background. And he became the incorruptible Prosecutor Shen.
Within a year of their wedding, his wife found out about Shen Ming. He admitted to his mistake and was prepared for a divorce. But after crying for a bit, she never mentioned it again. When she found out she was unable to conceive, she wanted to meet Shen Ming—she even wanted him to move in. But Shen Yuanchao refused. He was afraid of people finding out.
Now his daughter was in the eighth grade.
Shen Ming had been dead for fourteen years. Shen Yuanchao often fantasized about seeing him again, but he had no idea what he’d say if he did.
If Shen Ming had another life, would he still remember his so-called father?
CHAPTER 39
Late fall 2010.
It was the weekend. Yi Yu came looking for Si Wang. She still wore a blue tracksuit and still kept her hair short like a man. Si Wang came downstairs; he was taller than her now.
“Wow, you have whiskers! You’re looking more and more grown-up.”
She punched him in the chest, but he was prepared to take the blow.
Yi Yu had been at Nanming High for two years. She still scored best on all of the tests, but she didn’t kiss up to the principal. The teachers weren’t nice to her, either. The only thing she liked about the school was going to the library. Once she snuck into the attic and found a stash of old books. She’d heard the story of how a student had been poisoned with oleander juice and the killer was never found. Her math teacher was Zhang Mingsong. She noticed that he read bizarre books about iconography and history; was obsessed with American, European, and Japanese suspense novels; and was a rabid fan of zombie movies.
Si Wang asked her to help him find someone: Lu Zhongyue. He showed her the police photo and shared what he knew.
“This guy killed at least two people,” she said. “He would be long gone by now. Why would he hang around here?”
“It’s what my gut tells me.”
He was serious, so Yi Yu promised to help. “Can you come with me?” she asked.
The two rode bicycles down a secluded path. There was a brick wall with a fence. An old-style house could be seen through the black iron gate. They locked up their bicycles and pressed the doorbell. The door opened.
The small yar
d was full of plants, and golden leaves fell from everywhere like rain. The two-story house was a bit dilapidated, but the staircase and sculptures in the entryway indicated previous glamour.
“What is this place?”
Yi Yu didn’t reply. They walked into a cold, damp living room with mosaic tiles on the floor and peeling walls—though it wasn’t dusty and there weren’t any cobwebs. A corridor smelled like dried orange peels. A stream of light poured out of a half-open door. They tiptoed inside. It was a room with three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with very old books.
They found a woman in there, too. Though it was hard to think of her as a woman, just like it was hard to think of Yi Yu as a woman.
She was wrapped up in a thick scarf. Her skin was paler than most and lined with deep wrinkles. Her droopy eyes still hinted at previous beauty. Her teeth were all gone, her mouth shrunken. It was hard to tell her age, but she was definitely very old.
Yi Yu was familiar with the place, and the old lady treated her casually. But Si Wang’s presence did surprise her. Her murky gaze briefly flickered.
“Don’t be afraid.” Yi Yu went behind the old lady to massage her shoulders. “He’s my good buddy. We went to the same junior high.”
“How are you? I’m Si Wang, Si as in ‘general,’ Wang as in ‘lookout.’ I’m in ninth grade now.”
“Si Wang—what a great name. You can call me Miss Cao.”
She spoke classic Mandarin. But her speech was garbled from her lack of teeth, and her voice was hoarse. She spoke very slowly, as if she was pulling the words out of a deep well.
“Finally, Yi Yu, you have a friend now. This is wonderful, I’m very happy for you.”
Yi Yu kept massaging the old lady as she said, “I hope you like him, too. He may seem dumb, but he actually knows a lot!”
The old lady lifted a shaky twig-like hand to touch Yi Yu’s hand. The two hands were on top of one another; one was about to pass on, the other was youthful, but the moment they touched, they seemed to belong to the same person.
“Child, you look like you have stories,” Miss Cao said.
The old lady turned to look at Si Wang. There was something witch-like about her. She could have been two hundred years old.
“No—no, I don’t.”
“Any friend of Yi Yu’s would have stories. I’m almost ninety years old—I’ve heard them all.”
“We don’t need to put him on the spot.” Yi Yu picked up an antique-looking wooden comb to brush Miss Cao’s white hair. She said a long string of French. The old lady replied. They looked like a great-granddaughter with her great-grandmother, but they sounded like good friends.
Miss Cao closed her eyes, clearly enjoying having her hair brushed. “All these years, you’ve always come this time every week to comb my hair. When I die, you’ll be combing someone else’s hair.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll live for another twenty years at least. I’ll be old then, too.”
This made Miss Cao smile. She said to Si Wang, “Child, Yi Yu is a good person. Don’t be alarmed by her. Treat her as a real friend. She’ll help you with any problems you have.”
“OK, Miss Cao, this will be our secret.”
“There are no secrets.” She sounded like a sage mountain telling Si Wang that he was just a child who hadn’t even found the path yet.
Yi Yu started boiling water and organized some boxes of medicine. She unpacked some vegetables and prepared a very good mostly vegetarian meal.
“Eat.” As usual, she bossed around Si Wang.
Yi Yu, Si Wang, and Miss Cao sat down like a family in a restaurant. An old painting hung behind them.
The old lady picked up her chopsticks. “Aye, my teeth are bad now. I really miss the Ba Bao Spicy Paste from Rongshun Restaurant.”
After eating, Yi Yu got up and said, “We have to go now. Please be careful here on your own.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll not die here by myself.”
“Don’t say such nonsense.” Yi Yu took the old lady’s hand and held it like she never wanted to let go.
“Time to go you two.” Miss Cao turned to Si Wang. “Child, when water from the pipes runs into the ocean and is refiltered, it is not the same water that went past your hand.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll understand one day.”
They walked out of the house and into the night. As soon as they got back on their bicycles, it started raining.
“Should we go back in and wait out the storm?”
“We’ve left already—let’s not bother her.”
The fifteen-year-old boy and the eighteen-year-old girl quietly sat on their bikes under the shadows of the fence. Random raindrops fell and chilled their cheeks like needles.
“So you used to be a man?” Si Wang asked, breaking the silence.
“She was the last woman who ever mattered to me.” Yi Yu sounded like an old man just then.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Fine, we’re best friends. I don’t want to lie to you. I still remember what happened in my previous life. But my former life was too long, so I was so happy to die and be set free.”
Si Wang looked back at the trees inside the fence. “You’re lucky she’s still alive and you can see her.”
“I had many women in my past life. Everyone left me. I was like Don Quixote. Only she was left.”
“Was she your wife?”
“I never wanted that, except when I wanted just that.”
“I don’t understand.”
Yi Yu laughed bitterly at the sky, sounding especially maudlin. “You’ll understand in another twenty years. Men and women, parting and separation, waiting and the end of waiting. It is too late. Soon after we met, I was sent into the desert of the Tsaidam Basin. We were apart for thirty years. When I got back, I was almost too old to walk.”
“So it was a tragedy.”
“Every life is a tragedy.”
Yi Yu reached out to feel the raindrops on her hand. She put on her hat and rode out of the lane.
The street was quiet. The wheels rolled over the golden ginkgo leaves. The street sign read Serenity Road.
Si Wang followed her and yelled, “Do you know this street well?”
“I spent the last twenty years of my previous life on this block.”
“With Miss Cao?”
“No, she lived on the east end, and I lived on the west end. There were four hundred meters between us. I’ll show you.”
One minute later, they rode up to a big mansion. The three-story building had lights on; a lot of people lived there. There was a half window by the ground, probably for the basement.
“I lived on the first floor.” Yi Yu pointed to the spot right in front of her. Sounds from a soap opera came from a TV inside.
Si Wang looked at the basement window. “Do you still have any family from your past life?”
“How would I know?” She sighed from her bicycle. “Maybe none from this lifetime, either.”
“Endless traveling toward a far land, countless tents with lights at night. Wind howled, snow fell, why did my homeland never make such noise?”
“Nalan Xingde’s ‘Eternal Longing’? What made you think of that poem?”
He didn’t answer. When he brought his bicycle around, he noticed a row of houses across the street. They stood ominously in the rainy night. Roof tiles were missing, the paint was peeling, and weeds grew out of the windows.
Yi Yu came up right behind him and said, “A murder happened there. It was years ago. No one could figure out who owned the house, so it’s been empty since then.”
“A murder?”
“Let me think. I remember stuff from my youth easily but not so much from later. Yes, it was 1983, also a rainy fall night. The owner of the house was a well-known translator wh
o hung himself in the late seventies. The house was taken over by a Cultural Revolution rebel faction leader who died in 1983 when his throat was slashed by broken glass. There was lots of speculation that the ghost of the translator had killed him. Some said it was a revenge killing by his victims’ family members. The police investigated for a long time and never found anything.”
Si Wang pushed his bicycle up the stairs. He touched the building all over, from the rusty iron doors to the rotten wooden mailbox and drooping door sign.
Number 19 Serenity Road.
Yi Yu had a sensation that something in this house related to her friend.
Si Wang’s hand fell away as if electrocuted. He quickly rode away from Serenity Road.
The rain came down harder, but Yi Yu followed him until they got to the locust tree outside his house.
“Go home,” Si Wang shouted.
“Wait, I have something to tell you.”
He ducked inside the doorway and nervously looked around. Was he worried about being seen by neighbors?
“Si Wang, remember how you asked me to look for Lu Zhongyue? You were right! There’s a tiny DVD store on Nanming Road, right by the new shops. It was closed the first few times I went there. But one time it was open. It only sells old movies like Hong Kong action movies, romantic comedies from the eighties, and spy dramas from Russia and Eastern Europe. The store owner is just some guy. I can’t tell you anything special about him. He has a face that would get lost in a crowd. But he had a light birthmark on his forehead. I got a copy of Battle of Moscow. He didn’t even count my money, just gave me change. He smoked nonstop. He had at least two cigarettes in just a few minutes, there was a huge ashtray full of cigarette butts.”
In the cold night, Si Wang couldn’t help sneezing.
Yi Yu kept talking. “Most people get music and movies online now, so no one else was in the store. I have no idea how it stays open. One night when it was raining hard, I was walking around by myself. You know that guys aren’t even as brave as I am. There was no one on Nanming Road, but I saw someone coming out of the store. He had a big umbrella and was walking toward the old factory. I followed him. The rain helped hide me. It was the owner of the store. He knew the place well and didn’t get lost. He got to the Demon Girl Zone and went underground. I stayed outside for at least an hour. He never showed up again. It was like he time-traveled to Qing dynasty. I was really hungry and tired, so I finally left.”
