Qiu Xiaolong - Shanghai Redemption

“Watch Boss Yao-hold on, I know who you are talking about, I think. He was the unlucky city traffic bureau chief who got into trouble because of a Wenhui picture of him at the scene of a traffic accident, smiling and wearing an expensive watch. Overnight that picture turned him into a target on the Internet.”

“Yes, that’s Yao. After that photo appeared, people started asking a simple question, ‘How could he afford that gold Rolex watch if he’s not corrupt?’ That was even the caption for the picture when it was posted on some muckraking Web site. Soon after it was posted, other pictures of him showed up. Ultimately, photos turned up online showing him with a total of fifteen or sixteen other watches. Together they looked like window of a luxury watch shop, and it didn’t leave him with even a shred of credibility-”

“Okay, so that was Yao. But who is Shang’s wife?”

“She’s Little Red Star’s mother. You must have heard of Shang’s son?”

“Oh yes, I have. Shang’s son. I see. But how did she end up at the nightclub?”

“Before she married Shang, she used to sing professionally at a club.”

“Used to?”

“That was years ago. I don’t really know the details, but if you want, I can check. Nowadays, she might be just earning some money on the side. But it is strange that she was at the Heavenly World and performing at a private party for ‘distinguished guests.’”

“That’s strange indeed. I think I saw her singing on TV last year. She’s not exactly-”

“She’s not a beauty, I know. I wondered why she was hired for a private party as well, but I was told that the people throwing the party wanted to hear her singing red songs. That it was exciting for them.”

“That’s perverted.”

“The fact that she is a PLA general’s wife added to the kick. It was the juxtaposition of a red general’s wife singing red songs in the middle of all the decadence and over-the-top luxury of the club.”

“How absurd!” he said. “Can you find out more about her? Such as what was she paid for her appearance, and who paid her fee?”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Just more stories like that. All kinds of people come to the club, for all kinds of reasons. But there is one more big story going around-everyone is talking about the death of a client, an American client.”

“He died at the club?”

“No, somewhere else. It was in a hotel in Sheshan. One of the girls told me he was very well connected and spent money like water. There are a lot of clubgoers like that at the Heavenly World, but there was something special about this one. People have been whispering about it. Perhaps it’s because he was a regular at the club, and some of the girls knew him well.

“As for Rong, people there haven’t heard of him before-at least, not in connection with the nightclub. It’s possible that he knew somebody there and that that’s why he chose to hold the book launch party there.” She then added with a touch of hesitancy, “Finally, about Shen, the owner of the club. I don’t know him well, but I know how to get to him, if need be. He might have something to say.”

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough, White Cloud.”

“I wish I could do more.” The noise in the background was getting louder, and she paused. “Sorry, someone outside the booth is knocking, waiting to use the phone. I might be able to call you later with another message. Bye.”

After White Cloud hung up, Chen sat there for a few minutes staring at his cell phone. Her failure to find any real clues didn’t surprise him. Nor did the fact that no one was aware of the attempted raid or any other disturbances that night. As for the hot topics of discussion at the club that she’d uncovered, none of them seemed to be worth following up on.

For instance, Watch Boss Yao’s visit to the nightclub. A corrupt official, aware of his doom, Yao very likely wanted to have his last “heavenly fling” there before leaving the world. It was understandable that the visit was never mentioned in the official media. Chen hadn’t paid much attention to the situation. The punishment of a Party cadre was the responsibility of the Party Discipline Committee, not the police.

Chen also didn’t see anything relevant in the death of the American clubgoer. There were so many Westerners living and working in Shanghai these days that it was nothing shocking that some visited the club. That night he was at the Heavenly World, Chen himself had seen a foreigner chasing a half-naked girl down the corridor.

As for Shang’s wife, she would have been even less relevant except for the case of Shang’s son having been assigned to his former squad just before Chen was promoted out of the police department. While he didn’t see a connection, he couldn’t help feeling curious. Who were the clients paying her to sing red songs in that environment? Red songs supposedly meant a lot to the down-and-out, the people who missed the days under Mao. But why would they interest the elite who rented that private room?

What White Cloud was able to learn couldn’t help but be limited. The hair salon of hers was nothing compared to the high-end club. She had made her way up from the bottom, but she was still a long way from the top. Her current associates and contacts were mainly the girls who worked at places like the club. There was something vaguely disconcerting about the way she referred to her contacts as “girls like me.”

Opening the window, he saw that it was a fine day outside. A chirping note, off and on, came from the peaceful garden. It was still too early in the year for crickets, he thought.

Chen decided to go walk around the garden. He left his room, bought a pack of cigarettes at a kiosk in the hotel lobby, and headed out into the hotel’s garden.

Once he was in it, the garden somehow seemed smaller. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant scene. He cut across a white bamboo bridge, which spanned a pond with a shoal of leisurely golden fish, lit from below by lambent lights on the pebbled bottom. Chen stopped for a moment, leaning against the bamboo rail, and wondered whether the fish enjoyed the artificial effects.

Master Zhuangzi says, “You are not a fish, and how can you tell whether a fish enjoys itself or not?”

As he walked off the bridge, another hotel guest enjoying the garden nodded at him. Chen strolled farther, reaching the back of the garden, where he seated himself on a stone stool at a round stone table, partially obscured from the view of others by a bamboo grove. He took out a notebook and a pen and placed them on the table.

A go board was carved into the tabletop. Running his fingers over it, Chen found himself missing Detective Yu, his longtime partner. Yu was an enthusiastic go player, and his wife, Peiqin, was a great hostess and chef. Chen had spent many evenings at their home, playing go over tea and, sometimes, delicious appetizers. In Chinese, go was sometimes called “hand talk.” Sitting in the garden, Chen was tempted to give Yu a call, but he decided against it. The present situation resembled a go game in some ways. He was in trouble, waiting for the coming attack, without knowing when or where.

In a go game, however, one knew who was attacking and why. Chen did not have this advantage.

Once again, he thought about the cases recently assigned to the Special Case Squad, wondering which, if any, might have posed a real threat to someone powerful, who then neutralized Chen by removing him from the police bureau.

When a go player didn’t know how to respond, one option was to position a piece anyway. Though it was a questionable move, it added the element of confusion to the game, and an opportunity might arise from the opponent’s surprised response. It was sometimes referred to as a response-seeking move.