Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

That made sense but left unanswered the question of why Wei had been where he was.

“Let me ask a different question, Guizhen. Did he bring his lunch with him that day?”

“No, not that day. He frequently brought his lunch but only on the days that he knew he’d be at his desk in the bureau.”

So it was possible that Wei could have gone to the intersection for lunch, given those inexpensive food stalls on that corner. But that was a stretch. It was difficult to imagine that, after leaving the hotel, Wei would have climbed the overpass across the street just to get lunch.

In the short spell of silence that followed, Guizhen stood up to pour him a cup of tea.

“I’m sorry, but the water isn’t that hot, Chief Inspector Chen,” she said in apology.

For a poverty-stricken couple, so many things are sad.

“The thermos bottle no longer really works,” she said desolately. There was only one old-fashioned, bamboo-shelled hot-water thermos, which stood on the table like an inverted exclamation mark. There was no refrigerator or appliances like that visible in the small room.

He couldn’t help remembering the home of another widow he’d recently visited. Mrs. Zhou was heartbroken, too, but at least her family would be well taken care of. Some of the money embezzled by Zhou might eventually be recovered, but some would never be found.

“The reason I’m asking these questions, Guizhen, is because I’m trying to look into the possibility of compensation. If we could establish that he died on duty, I’d be able to have him acknowledged as a martyr with the due arrangement for his family.”

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough, Chief Inspector Chen. You’re sending a cart of charcoal over in the winter. Let me tell you something about Wei. You just mentioned that he entered the force at about the same time as you.”

“Yes, that’s what I remember.”

“Sometimes I couldn’t help nagging at him. He was nothing compared to you, even though it wasn’t exactly his fault. Like most people of his generation, he remained at a low level.”

“That was because of the cadre promotion policy with its overemphasis on higher education. I was just lucky, with an unfair advantage over some of my colleagues.”

“Do you know what Wei said when he was assigned to work the case with you? He said that there were things about you he didn’t like or agree with, despite your high-ranking position, but at the end of the day, he would rather work with you than with anybody else. Period. You were one of the few conscientious cops left in today’s society.”

“It means a lot to me to hear of his opinion. Thank you for telling me this, Guizhen.”

Chen felt even more wretched about what happened to Wei and about his inability to do anything for Wei’s family. He could tell Guizhen all the things he planned to do, but it wouldn’t make any difference unless he succeeded in doing something.

Suddenly inspired, like a magician he whisked out the envelope containing his mother’s gift card and handed it to the widow.

“Something small for your family,” he said.

She didn’t open it. That wasn’t the Chinese convention. Instead, she pushed it back.

“I can’t take it from you. It would be a different story if it were from the bureau, since Wei gave his best years to the job.”

“It’s not from me,” he said, believing that honesty would be the best approach. “It’s from a Big Buck friend of mine. In fact, I had been debating whether or not to accept it. Now I can use it for a good cause, so you’re actually helping me out.”

She stared at him for several seconds, incredulously.

“I was with Wei just the day before his death, drinking coffee and reviewing the case,” he went on, pulling out the Häagen-Dazs gift card from his wallet. “For our discussion, he picked an ice cream place, mentioning that it was his son’s favorite. This one is from me. Please accept it for both of them.”

“Chief Inspector Chen…”

He rose and took his leave without waiting to hear anything else she might want to say.

But he’d barely made it to the end of the lane when he heard footsteps rushing up behind him. It was Guizhen, still clutching the envelope.

“It’s way too much.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore. As I have said, you’re actually helping me out. The Big Buck friend gave it to me because of my position. I wouldn’t be able to live up to Wei’s trust if I took it for myself.”

“I shouldn’t-” Once again, she didn’t finish the sentence. “Oh, you asked me if there was anything unusual about Wei that morning.”

“Yes?”

“Before he left home, he examined and reexamined the picture in Wenhui Daily . The picture of Zhou and the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty, you know. He went so far as to look at it through a magnifying glass. At home, he seldom talked about his work, but that morning he showed the picture to me, asking whether I could make out the words on the cigarette pack.”

“Could you?”

“No, I couldn’t. They were too small and blurred.”

Chen’s Saturday started with something that had little to do with his responsibilities as a chief inspector.

Detective Yu had called the previous evening.

“It would be a great favor if you could come to Longhua Temple on Saturday-just for ten or fifteen minutes, no more than that. It’s the Buddhist service for Peiqin’s late parents-her father was born a hundred years ago. Peiqin says that I shouldn’t tell you about it. We know it’s not something appropriate for a Party cadre like you to attend. But one of her cousins recently held a similar service, spending money like water, and inviting as many big shots as possible. So I think-”

According to a popular Buddhist belief, the deceased, once they reached the age of one hundred, went on to another life. So on the hundredth anniversary of their birth, their children generally arranged a religious service, preferably in a temple. It was extremely important in the tradition of Buddhist reincarnation, since afterward, there were no further obligations to the dead on the part of those still living in the world of red dust.

Chen wondered whether Peiqin really held such beliefs, but that didn’t matter as long as her relatives did. Since Detective Yu never asked him for any favors, the chief inspector wasn’t in a position to say no.

Besides, it might be a nice change from the latest round of ever-depressing routine meetings. He’d had to spend most of Friday at a meeting of the Shanghai Party Committee. As a new member, he wasn’t required to say much, but all the political speeches by the leading members of the committee were not only boring but also inexplicably exhausting.

Qiangyu, First Secretary of the Committee, had made a long speech, emphasizing the great achievements in the city under the correct leadership of the Shanghai Party Committee. There might be something significant in the speech, Chen had vaguely sensed, so he had tried to read between the lines, but he soon gave up, surrendering instead to a dull yet dogged headache.

By Friday evening, Chen was glad of the chance to do something different, and something for Peiqin’s sake.

“Of course I’ll be there. I’ll stay for as long as the ceremony takes; you can count on me, Yu.”

* * *

Saturday morning, Chen was sitting in the back of a Mercedes driven by the bureau chauffeur, Skinny Wang.

“The Yus will have a lot of face at the temple today,” Skinny Wang said, “in front of their relatives.”

In the final analysis, Chen reflected, people had to believe in something-anything-in this age of spiritual vacuum. With no concepts such as the heaven or hell of Western religions, Chinese people took vague comfort in doing something like the temple service to help the dead in the next life.