Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

“As expensive as 95 Supreme Majesty may be, it is not surprising or scandalizing in itself. The Chinese people have seen too much. You know the term socialism with Chinese characteristics , do you? A big shot like Zhou would have surprised people more if he smoked a less expensive brand.”

“Then why was Zhou chosen as a target for a crowd-sourced search?”

“The picture of the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty showed up after he spoke at an important meeting. Do you know what the speech he made that day was about?” She went on without waiting for an answer. “It was about the absolute necessity of keeping the housing market stable. What does that mean? It means prices cannot be allowed to fall. At present, a square meter at Lujiazui costs a 130,000 yuan. I would have to work for four or five years to earn enough to buy one square meter. Now, for our family, the present situation is not too bad. We have one and half rooms in an okay location assigned to us through the state housing quota, thanks to your help. But what happens to Qinqin after he graduates college? He will need an apartment for himself. How can people like us possibly afford a place to live if housing costs don’t come down? It’s more than probable that he will have to live like we did before we moved here. Remember, we lived with Old Hunter for years, with three generations squeezed together in one wing unit.”

“Don’t worry about the distant future, Peiqin,” Yu said, with a lame smile.

“You think only about your cases, but I have to think about our son. In today’s Shanghai, a young man with no apartment means no possibility of dating a young woman, let alone marrying her. People are all so realistic in this materialistic age,” she said, frowning, and turning back to Chen. “Back to your question, do you know why the housing prices keep rising?”

“Because of greedy developers.”

“No. Because of the even more greedy Party officials. The land belongs to the government. Under their control, it is sold off through a so-called auction system where the rights go to whichever developer has the highest bid. Rising revenue from the sale of the land keeps pushing up the city’s GDP, which the city officials point to as proof of their hard work-without mentioning that a substantial amount goes into their own pockets. Who gets the land, how, and at what price-it is all the result of shady dealings. Not too long ago, the premier made a statement about cooling down the overheated real estate market. Some developers, nervous about a possible downturn in the market, offered to bring prices down a little. Zhou, worrying about a snowball effect, highlighted the importance of keeping the market stable in his speech that day. He said that if some companies reduced prices irresponsibly, the government would punish them for causing economic trouble. Not only was this reported in several newspapers, they also ran a picture of him tapping a pack of cigarettes. That was the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty.

“That speech was like kicking a hornet’s nest. Zhou was supporting the interests of the city government, or the Party officials, but not those of the ordinary people. That picture of the 95 Supreme Majesty pack, once it was posted online, provided a perfect excuse for people to vent their anger and frustration.”

“Well done, Peiqin,” Chen said, raising the cup of Qingdao beer, “I’ll drink to that. Please go on.”

“Now, according to the official propaganda, a Party cadre is the ‘people’s servant’ and earns about the same as an ordinary worker. For one in Zhou’s position, the monthly salary would be about two or three thousand yuan. But a carton of 95 Supreme Majesty costs more than that. A photoshopped version of the picture showed up on the Internet with the retail price of a pack written underneath. It was posted as the evidence of an official living extravagantly beyond his means. It was both a legitimate criticism and an implied question: How could Zhou, if he wasn’t corrupt, afford that pack?

“The original post drew a flood of responses in no time. As if responding to a call to arms, the offers to help with a crowd-sourced search swamped the Internet. If Zhou could afford the cigarettes, what else?

“It seemed justifiable for people to approach the search from this angle. Before Zhou could come up with an explanation for the cigarettes, another picture popped up. This time he was wearing a Cartier watch. Then, in breathtaking succession, more and more pictures were posted online as irrefutable evidence of Zhou’s decadent lifestyle. Those were shots of the three luxury cars registered in his name-two Mercedes and one BMW-and of his son studying at Eton, a private school in London, and driving an Audi there. There were also more than five properties in the city under his name. Some capable hackers even managed to get hold of copies of the title deeds to his properties. Soon it was impossible for Zhou to defend the wealth he had amassed in the last five or six years.”

“I’m beginning to understand, Peiqin. It was a master stroke, that crowd-sourced search.”

“Yes, it really backed the government into a corner. They knew only too well why Zhou was being targeted. But with so many people protesting, without a legitimate excuse for his sudden wealth, and with the irrefutable evidence of it all, they found it hard to shield him anymore. They realized it was more important to protect the Party’s image, so they put Zhou into shuanggui-over a pack of 95 Supreme Majesty.”

“Thank you so much, Peiqin. You’ve thrown much light on the background of the situation.”

“So it’s a case you’re investigating?”

“No. Not exactly,” Chen said with a wry smile. “Shuanggui is not the territory of the police. It’s believed that Zhou committed suicide while under detention at a hotel. I’m simply serving as a consultant to the team investigating the cause of death.”

“Zhou’s dead?”

“Yes. It will be announced in the newspapers soon.”

“This will cause another storm on the Internet. Suicide while under detention. How will people online react?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You’ve been talking so much about Internet searches, Peiqin,” Yu said, changing the subject, “but what I’m searching for is the dessert.”

“Sorry, I forgot,” Peiqin said, rising in haste. “A friend from Beijing brought me some green bean-paste cakes, supposedly from Fangshan, the Forbidden City.”

“That restaurant in the North Sea,” Chen said, “on the island where chefs used to prepare all the delicacies for Dowager Empress Cixi toward the end of the Qing dynasty. The name of the restaurant alone, Fangshan, is more than enough to evoke the imperial majesty complex and its privileges from China’s collective unconscious. It’s just like the brand name of 95 Supreme Majesty.”

“Don’t worry, Chief. I’m not a Party official. The green bean cakes are just a gift from an old friend.”

“I know who it is,” Yu said with mock seriousness. “He was a secret admirer of Peiqin from the days when we were educated youths during the Cultural Revolution. He’s not an official, just an ordinary clerk in the Beijing Travel Bureau, otherwise I would be really worried.”

“But I am worried,” Chen said, putting a tiny cake in his mouth. “If the government is anxious to conclude that Zhou’s death was suicide, then why was I chosen to consult on the investigation?”

“You’ve conducted several high-profile anticorruption cases, which a lot of people know,” Peiqin said, putting the remaining green bean-paste cakes into a box for the departing guest. “So if you’re involved, people will believe the official report.”

“Having you on the case is an endorsement of their conclusion,” Yu cut in again.