Qiu Xiaolong - Shanghai Redemption

“But you know what?” Chen said, barreling ahead. “I haven’t been a cop all these years for nothing. I’ve put something away, in case there was a need to protect myself.”

“Whatever you may have put away-” Li said tentatively, before changing direction. “I knew so little about your work, about those special cases you worked on. Nobody else in the bureau knew anything about them either, except for your longtime partner, Detective Yu.”

“That’s another reason I’m calling you today. Whatever I’ve put away, it’s not with Detective Yu. You can be assured of that. I’ve worked on too many special investigations to make such a mistake. And don’t think I’ve kept anything on the office computer. I definitely didn’t leave it in any of the obvious places that others could lay their hands on. If I fall, then what I’ve stored away will automatically come out on the Internet.”

This time, there was no response from Li.

“For what I’ve done, I’ll take responsibility. My late father used to say, ‘There are things a man will do, and things a man will not do.’ But if anything happens to Detective Yu because of me, then anything is possible. Then we’ll all learn what it’s possible for me to do.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Detective Yu is doing a great job as head of the Special Case Squad. How could anything happen to him?” Li managed with difficulty. “You must have overworked yourself. I’ll have a word with the leading comrades about the stress of your job.”

Li was playing dumb. But there was no point in pressing him too hard. Events must have been planned at a level way above him.

“Take care, Director Chen,” Li said, in a hurry to get off the phone. “Bye.”

With a dial tone suddenly sounding in his ear, Chen put down the phone. He wondered whether the call, made on the spur of the moment, would make any difference. Perhaps his enemies might have to slow down a bit and think about their next moves more carefully. Optimistically, it could make Chen’s opponent narrow down his “enemy list.” Pessimistically, well, it could hardly be any worse than it already was.

But it was a call he had to make, for Detective Yu’s sake.

The young attendant was coming over to him, carrying two saucers on a stainless steel tray. One saucer contained fried watermelon seeds, and the other, white-sugar-covered yang mei berries.

“I saw you were on the phone,” she said, “so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

It had been a long time since he’d had a sweet bayberry. When he was a child, his mother once bought him a tiny bag, which he finished, to her chagrin, in less than ten minutes. Now he picked up only one berry from the saucer, satisfied with both the taste and service.

“Your room number?” she asked.

So it would be charged to his room. But it had been naive of him to think otherwise. When she presented him with a slip, he signed his name without bothering to check the amount.

He got up, wrapped the remaining berries in a paper napkin, and walked back along the winding trail like any other tourist.

A black bat flitted around overhead, first circling, then uttering a strange sound that sounded just like Chinese character shou , and finally disappearing into the dusk. The heat was steady, enclosing him like a grasp. The eerie noise reminded him of another garden-the Qing Dynasty Summer Palace. The Empress Dowager Cixi had the palace in the north built lavishly, imitating the southern landscape, thereby spending all the money in the treasury that had been reserved for the navy. In the Summer Palace, the shou sound made by the bats, a character that could mean longevity in Chinese, was so pleasant to her that she kept a skyfull of them.

China changes, and China doesn’t change. Apparitions of the emperors and empresses seemed to be presenting themselves again in the flickering light in the ancient garden. Dusk was spreading out against the sky, and the last pale cloud began to retreat.

He thought of the rapid emergence of the princelings, the children of the party elite assuming high positions of their own. That was something new and yet old in China’s political landscape. And he thought of the newly resurgent red songs and their call for the Party to rule for thousands of years.

He left the garden and strolled out of the hotel. He turned right onto Ten Perfections Street, moving past small local stores and a bookstore tucked in behind the landing of a stone bridge that spanned a dark green canal. It was a scene he remembered from a literary festival several years earlier, one session of which had been held in the bookstore. There was a peach tree blossoming near the landing, just as there had been the last time he was there. Like before, the bookstore seemed more like a café, with a blond waitress flitting among the chairs and tables outside. He wondered whether the waitress was the same one as before. It might not a bad idea to come here for breakfast tomorrow morning, perhaps stir up possibilities in a cup of coffee.

One block farther on, the stores were interspersed with small workshops and factories, all unsightly in the dimming light. He turned and walked back the way he’d come.

Soon he found himself at the entrance of the hotel, but he walked past it in the other direction and was soon in sight of an impressive-looking Suzhou noodle restaurant with a black and gold sign: CAI’S NOODLES. It was closed for the day, which struck him as strange, as it was almost dinnertime. He took a look at their business hours. From six a.m. to one p.m.

He recalled something the young woman named Qian had said the other day. She mentioned a really good noodle restaurant close to that hotel. That was probably why he’d thought of that hotel back in the cemetery office. She also mentioned an interesting detail about the restaurant being open only for breakfast and lunch, but if she’d explained why, he’d forgotten.

He made his way back, absentmindedly, to the hotel again. A bright red convertible sped past him just as he walked in one of the side entrances of the hotel. To his surprise, Chen saw something that looked like a nightclub on his right. Why was there a nightclub in an ancient-style hotel garden? As fragments of music came wafting over, he saw a flashing neon sign saying Southern Heavenly World.

A uniformed doorman hastened toward him with an obsequious smile.

“Welcome, sir. I can see that you’re a guest at the hotel. Now, let me tell you that we have the best girls in the city of Suzhou and an incredibly large number of them for you to choose from. Superior quality, affordable price. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

Grinning from ear to ear, the doorman spoke like an experienced salesman.

“So the nightclub is part of the hotel?” Chen asked.

“Yes and no. The nightclub was built in the hotel complex, and the profits are split with the hotel.”

“So the club was built on the grounds of the ancient garden?”

“There are too many old gardens in Suzhou, and no matter how ancient, a garden doesn’t bring in much income.”

“But don’t people choose the hotel because of the garden?”

“Well, truth be told, more guests stay here because of the nightclub,” the doorman said. He added in an exaggerated whisper, “It’s so convenient. After a couple of hours at the club, you may take a girl back to your room at no extra charge, since you’ve already checked in. And no one will say anything-”

His enthusiastic introduction was interrupted by a skinny girl who emerged from the club’s interior and scampered over to their side.

“So you’re a guest at the hotel, sir. Welcome.”

The doorman slipped inside, as if on cue.

“You’ve got nothing to do this evening, right?” she went on. “It’s lonely for a traveler, I know. So you need someone to keep you company-”