Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

The newly materialistic society was shaping many aspects of life according to its own terms-even things like this temple service. The more expense, the more face. That was a type of competition the Yus couldn’t afford, which was why Yu, a non-Buddhist, had to bring Chief Inspector Chen-supposedly a high-ranking Party official-into the scene. It was all for the sake of face. Face was an important issue to the Shanghainese.

“Here we are, Longhua Temple,” Skinny Wang declared.

Because of the ever-expanding boundaries of the city, the temple, originally located near the outskirts, was no longer considered too far away. And because of that location, it was larger than other temples nearer to the city center.

The driver parked and followed Chen as he stepped into an enormous courtyard leading to an impressive front hall lined with the gilded Buddhist statues, all of which were wreathed in spiraling incense. The wings on both sides of the main hall were rented out as service rooms and fetched large fees for the temple.

“Chen Cao, Party Secretary of the Shanghai Police Bureau, and member of Shanghai Communist Party Committee,” said Peiqin. Not exactly surprised, she introduced him loudly to people as soon as he entered. “The legendary Chief Inspector Chen, head of the Special Case Squad, you must have heard or read about him-he is Yu’s boss.”

Peiqin’s introduction included all the new official titles Chen had acquired. Chen understood.

“It’s from our Party Secretary,” Skinny Wang chimed in, putting down in front of the service table a large flower wreath with a white silk banner bearing Chen’s name and official positions.

On the table were black-framed pictures flanked by burning candles, surrounded by a variety of Shanghai snacks and fruit.

“Both Yu and Peiqin are my friends,” Chen said to the others in the room, after bowing to the photos.

Yu and Peiqin bowed back to him as a token of their gratitude.

Chen then held a bunch of tall incense in his hand, bowing respectfully three more times.

As Chen did so, all the others in the room seemed to be staring, holding their breath.

There were several chestlike cardboard boxes stacked up against the table, Chen observed as he put the incense into a container. The boxes probably contained netherworld money for the dead. Years ago, money for the dead was simply placed in large red bags. The imitation boxes with padlocks vividly painted on them represented an “improvement with time,” showing sophisticated consideration for the convenience of the dead in the other world. Chen couldn’t help wondering whether his gift of the wreath, standing alone, was out of place. Then he noticed that the wreath bore several ribbons and bows folded to look just like silk ingots.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Party Secretary Chen,” Yu said.

“There’s no need for that, Yu. It’s an opportunity for me to pay tribute to my uncle and auntie.”

Like the use of “Party Secretary Chen” by Yu, “uncle and auntie” by Chen was for the benefit of others. Chen was becoming increasingly self-conscious, so he walked over to a monk arranging large envelopes on a side table. He tried to engage the monk in a conversation about Buddhism, but the latter simply stared at him blankly, without responding, as if Chen was an alien.

Peiqin moved over and whispered, “The service might lessen my guilt a little.”

So that was one of the reasons she wanted to have the service. Her father had gotten into political trouble in her elementary school years and had died in a far-away labor camp. During the Cultural Revolution, her mother also passed away. Peiqin hardly ever talked to others about her parents. Only once did she tell Chen that as a little kid, she had been secretly resentful of her parents because her family background had shaped and determined her life in those years.

A line of monks started to file into the room. Like the others, Chen began kowtowing again. To his surprise, the head monk pronounced his name and position solemnly at the head of the list of the service participants, as if it would mean a great deal to the dead.

It caused another whispered stir in the room. Some of Peiqin’s relatives began talking to one another, and her second aunt, a fashionable old lady with silver hair and gold-rimmed glasses, wobbled over using a bamboo stick.

She said to Chen, in earnest, “Thank you so much, Chief Inspector Chen. You have made the day for Peiqin, and for all of us as well. I’ve seen your picture in the newspapers. Perhaps we’ll also see a picture of you in the newspapers here at the temple…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence: she knew the request was preposterous. Any pictures of him in the newspapers were in conjunction with articles about his work. They were never about him, a Party member police officer, being at a Buddhist service in a temple.

But Chen simply nodded, pulled out his cell phone, and punched in a number.

“Are you free this afternoon, Lianping?”

“Yes. Why, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“I’m at Longhua Temple. My partner, Detective Yu, and his wife, Peiqin, are going to have a meal as part of a service here. Some of their relatives were talking about the possibility of there being some pictures of the event in the newspaper…”

“All for the sake of face-in this world or the other. I understand,” she said, but then added in a louder voice, “It’s a free lunch, right? Actually, I want to thank you for thinking of me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Party Secretary Chen.”

Both Yu and Peiqin appeared flabbergasted, catching only fragments of the phone conversation during the monks’ chanting.

In less than twenty minutes, Lianping walked in, her arrival heralded by a quick succession of flashes from the camera in her hands.

She came over to give Chen a hug, her cheek touching his. She was wearing a low-cut black dress, black heels, and a white silk scarf around her neck-along with a red-stringed Wenhui name tag.

“If Chief Inspector Chen wants me to come, how could I not?” she said with a sweet smile, shaking hands with Peiqin and Yu before she turned to the others. “I’ve been working on a profile of Chief Inspector Chen for Wenhui Daily , and these pictures will appear with the article. Chen is not just a hard-working policeman but a multifaceted person. The picture might well be captioned, ‘Chen kowtows with his partner at the temple-the genuine human side of a Party official.’”

It sounded almost plausible, but he doubted that she would really run such a picture in the Party newspaper.

With the service gradually reaching the climax, he managed to withdraw into a corner, where Lianping soon joined him. They were left alone for the moment. Others knew better than to bother them, except when some latecomers had to be introduced to the distinguished guest, Chief Inspector Chen.

“Guess how much the service costs?” she whispered.

“A thousand yuan?”

“No. Far more than that. I’ve checked out a brochure at the entrance. The hall rental alone costs more than two thousand-and that doesn’t include the fee for the service or the red envelopes for the monks.”

“Red envelopes for the monks?”

“Have you heard the proverb, An old monk chants the scripture without putting his heart into it ? That’s easy for a monk to do, chanting, as they do, 365 days a year. According to folk wisdom, that would make the Buddhist service less effective. To make sure that the monks perform the service wholeheartedly, red envelopes are absolutely necessary.”

In spite of her youth, she was perceptive, as well as cynical and opinionated, about the absurdities of contemporary social reality.