Qiu Xiaolong: Enigma of China

“But why reassign you?”

“According to the page, Qiangyu was recommending me because of my unorthodox image and my ability to speak English. At the same time, he considered my performance in the police bureau to be innovative, yet not always in step with the political emphasis of the Party authorities. Needless to say, the transfer could be only the first step. What might follow is anybody’s guess.

“At least, that’s what Dr. H told me on the phone that afternoon.”

Lianping was at a loss for an appropriate response.

An ominous silence ensued. They could hear the water lapping against the bank outside, the screeching of white gulls hovering around the ships, and the blaring of a siren cutting through the dusk.

“In reality, this new position would be decorative at best,” Chen finally went on. “No one will pay any real attention to it. As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. From there, it’ll be easy for them to make me disappear completely. Such a scenario is nothing new. After getting the phone call from Dr. H that afternoon, I was reminded of a proverb: ‘When a clay Buddha statue sails across the river, it can hardly protect itself.’ So, I thought, what would be the point of dragging someone else into the muddy water with me?”

She looked up at him and said, “That’s why you suddenly wanted to go to the festival dinner instead?”

“Yes, I thought I’d better put in an appearance there, as a way of showing that I was in Shaoxing for the festival.”

“But you’ve been doing an excellent job, Chen. In fact, you were assigned to the case because of your extraordinary work-”

“It’s all because of the case.”

“How?”

“I haven’t discussed the details of the case with you, Lianping, because it’s so complicated. To begin with, the elements in the case lead off in too many possible directions. For that matter, there were too many investigators working on the case-Jiang for the city government, Liu for the city Party Discipline Committee, Sheng for Internal Security, and then the team of the Central Party Discipline Committee from Beijing, not to mention Detective Wei and me, representing the police bureau. Each of these investigators was approaching the case from his own perspective, and with his own agenda.”

“You’re right about that. Just this morning I heard stories about the possible mission of the Beijing team. But that’s probably old news to you. Please go on.”

“We can exchange notes about the Beijing team later. Regarding the Zhou case, when Wei and I first took over, I was reluctant. After all, it wasn’t unimaginable for someone in Zhou’s situation to commit suicide. Bringing me on as a special consultant might be nothing more than a political show or, as Detective Yu put it, an endorsement of the inevitable conclusion that it was suicide. For Jiang, Zhou’s shuanggui and Zhou’s death were clearly cause and effect. Detective Wei, however, didn’t think so, and he undertook his investigation in all seriousness. Wei suggested various theories about Zhou’s death as well as suspects who might have decided to bring Zhou down. It seemed to me, however, that none of them had sufficient motive to murder him in a well-guarded hotel like Moller. I have to emphasize one thing: while I was assigned to the case as a consultant, Wei did most of the work.

“Then, in the middle of his investigation, Wei died in a ‘traffic accident.’ This immediately raised the question whether or not Wei’s death was related to Zhou’s.”

“So you came to visit me at Wenhui ,” she said quietly, “because of the investigation?”

“I’m a cop,” he said, avoiding her question. “I came there to check out the scene, and I wanted to talk to someone familiar with the area. What you told me while we were at the Wenhui café really helped. At that intersection, according to your analysis, it’s not likely that a parked car would go from a full stop to running him down at high speed by accident. It wouldn’t be advisable, however, for me to discuss it with you at length. I hope you understand.”

“I understand. What I said to you was only common sense. But accidents do happen. How could you prove that Wei’s death was the result of his investigation?”

“Technically, the theory that Wei was murdered is as implausible as the accident theory. The SUV was parked on Weihai Road, about one hundred meters from the corner. Wei was walking in one of a few possible directions-he was either walking straight along Weihai to the west, or turning onto it from the south of Weihai, or had approached it from the north. Taking into consideration the time it takes for the traffic light to change, it would have taken Wei one or two minutes at the most to reach the spot at which he was run down. How could the SUV driver have spotted Wei from that distance, started the engine, raced to the spot, and run him down? Unless, of course, Detective Wei’s plans were already known to others. The SUV could have been waiting for him to arrive, and someone else could have been following Wei all along, to give the SUV the signal.”

“That’s so complicated.”

“That’s why it was so alarming. And who could have known Wei’s schedule? I talked to his wife, and she knew nothing about his schedule that day. According to his colleagues, Wei didn’t even come into the office that morning. I asked Party Secretary Li about it, and he was vague, saying that he couldn’t remember whether or not Wei had called him that morning-”

There was a light knock on the door, and through the door came a call, “Cold dishes.”

A young waitress in a scarlet silk mandarin dress stepped into the room. She served six dainty dishes on the table and glibly started introducing them.

“Deep-fried crispy rice paddy eel, live river shrimp in salt water, homemade tofu mixed with green onion and sesame oil, sticky-rice-filled dates, sliced xiao pork, spicy transparent beef sinew. This is all genuine Shaoxing cuisine. It’s all fashionable homestyle cooking, and the ingredients are all organic and fresh. Mr. Gu insists on it. There is also champagne in the ice bucket.”

“Shaoxing cuisine?” Lianping asked, looking at Chen.

“It’s what I asked for when I called Gu to reserve the room,” Chen said.

“It’s all very Chinese,” Lianping said, “except for the champagne.”

“I could bring some Shaoxing rice wine?” the waitress offered. “We have Maiden Red. Eighteen years.”

“That would be good.”

The waitress walked out light-footedly, carrying the champagne bucket.

“Why did you ask Gu to prepare Shaoxing cuisine?”

“Remember the festival dinner?”

“Yes-once you appeared at the festival, you were surrounded by well-known and not-that-well-known writers, as well as officials of the local writers’ association. They seated you at the distinguished-guest table, and you were the most distinguished one there, toasted by everybody.”

“That’s not what I wanted. Not at all. I didn’t insist that you be seated with me, Lianping, because I had no idea how much longer I’d be ‘distinguished.’ It might not have been good for you,” he said in a somber voice. “But that afternoon, I was thinking about a black-awning boat meal of Shaoxing local dishes and wine, just you and me.”

The waitress returned, carrying a small red-covered urn and cups.

“There was only one left.” The moment she tore away the urn cover, an intoxicating fragrance permeated the room. She skillfully poured wine for each of them into dainty white porcelain cups.

“If you push the top button on the wall, a small red light will come on outside. That red light is just like a ‘Do not disturb’ sign at a hotel. Whenever you’re ready for the hot dishes, push the button below,” the waitress explained, then bowed gracefully and left, closing the door after her.