Qiu Xiaolong - Don't cry Tai lake

There’s also something that may sound absurd, but it’s important to me, so let me say it: even at our closest moment, I had a curious feeling that you were still thinking of something related to your work, something essential to you, but about which I know nothing.

Early that morning, I read the lines you’d written in the dark, as I lay beside you. It is a great poem, and you have to complete it-for me. You see, I’m already taking pride in being the one in your poem.

It reminded me of a favorite poem of mine. So let these lines say what I cannot say. After all, you have your destination, and I have mine, like in the poem.

A cloud in the sky, inadvertent, I cast

a shadow in the wave of your heart.

Don’t be so surprised,

nor be so overjoyed-

In an instant everything is gone.

We meet on the night-covered sea;

You have your destination, and I, mine,

If you remember, that’s fine,

But you’d better forget

The light produced in the meeting.

Because of the light produced in our meeting, however transitory, over the night-covered lake, can you forgive me for this upset and stay friends?

Shanshan

The poem quoted at the end of the letter was one entitled “Inadvertent,” written by Xu Zhimo, a celebrated modern Chinese poet. She, too, had liked poetry in college.

To his surprise, the letter didn’t surprise him that much.

She said what she could say. It explained, at least partially, her unexpected visit to him that night, and her sudden decision this morning. Also, she touched upon things he himself had been contemplating. For one, the position that enabled him to make a difference in today’s society. He didn’t care enormously for the “position” per se, but when looking at the situation closely, he realized that there was a responsibility in being a chief inspector. As long as he held the position, he could strive for justice and security-however small, however limited-for the people.

Was there any point in pushing for a meeting now?

Better to hold on to the image of her in that unfinished poem, in the fragmented memory of the cloud turning into the rain, and the rain into the cloud, with the lake water lapping against the night.

It was time for him to leave, he thought. He folded up the letter.

An occasional siren reverberated in the distance. It began drizzling, just a little. Still, he remained sitting at the table, an empty cup beside him, staring at the gray iron gate in spite of himself.

You’re leaving, a cloud drifting away / across the river, the memories / falling like a willow catkin / to the ground, clinging, after the rain .

But was he going to give up so easily?

No, he didn’t set that much store by his so-called position or career. Not if he couldn’t make a difference in his own life by being with the woman he cared for.

Nor did he think that she made her decision simply because she cared for Jiang more than for him. Rather, it was in the best interests of Chief Inspector Chen, at least so she might have believed. That was why she came to his room that night, and why she let him go this morning.

The gray iron gate began to open with a loud scraping across the street.

She appeared, her face pale, her black hair streaming disheveled over a white dress, holding a plastic bag full of newly purchased food, striding hastily out of the grocery store.

It had been arranged by Huang. How long she had been in there, Chen had no idea. He didn’t think she’d seen him sitting behind the tree, waiting. She was waiting as well, but not for him.

A black police van rolled out. It had barely turned to the right when it slowed to a stop close to the grocery store. Huang got out of the vehicle, waved to his colleague in the driver’s seat, said something inaudible there, and headed into the store.

A window in the back of the vehicle rolled down and Shanshan hastened over in unsteady steps.

From where Chen stood, he couldn’t see clearly. But she was leaning into the car, her face drawn, infinitely touching, and her bare shoulder dazzlingly white against the blaze of the transparent pear blossoms …

For a split second, Chen felt as if he were watching a movie, spell-bound and from a distance, and the realization hit that she still cared deeply for Jiang, a fighter for a worthy cause.

The moment belonged to the two of them.

It was unthinkable for Chief Inspector Chen, who was but a spectator here, to step out from behind the scenes.

He wondered if he was worthy of this moment. It was Jiang-together with Shanshan-who was fighting, suffering, and sacrificing for the cause of the environment. Chen might have unknowingly taken advantage of the situation-sweeping her off her feet when she was lonely and vulnerable, all by herself.

It was a battle, however hard and difficult, that she wouldn’t give up and in which Jiang, with the common language and interest between them, might be the ideal comrade. If she could forgive Jiang for the upset and reach out to him again in his time of need, what was Chen supposed to do?

Questions stretched on like those side streets, turning and twisting, leading him to an overwhelming question: would she ever be able to really forget about Jiang?

For the sake of argument, what was it about her being eventually won over for the chief inspector? If they were together, she’d have to change herself for his sake. A rising political star couldn’t afford to have a dissident wife at his back. However “successful” he might prove to be in China’s one-party system, would it be fair to expect her to be a good wife and give up the fight that meant so much to her?

Of course, Chief Inspector Chen could change himself for her sake-throwing to the wind all considerations about his career or position. But would he be a good companion for her? At the beginning of his vacation, he’d composed a couple of stanzas, playing with the idea of one’s identity existing in others’ interpretations. It was true, but not the whole truth. To Sergeant Huang and others, Chen was a capable cop; for all his idiosyncrasies Chen knew that he did make a difference, as he had in the present case, even if it wasn’t as much as he would have liked.

In her letter, Shanshan was right about one thing. Chief Inspector Chen was in a position to do something, but probably not if he was by her side, not if he was engaged in something beyond his experience or expertise.

Huang poked his head out of the store for a couple of seconds.

“One more minute,” he shouted to the van driver before he disappeared from the scene again, perhaps disinclined to break the two lovers apart that soon.

Chen thought about waiting around until the end of their meeting, but he was changing his mind. After all, what could he say after their meeting?

For that matter, what could she say, while still gazing after the police van receding into the dust?

He had no clue. It was too much for him to think about at the moment.

His Wuxi vacation had started abruptly, and in the same manner, it ended. Forgetting I’m away from home, / in a dream, I was carried away / in a moment of pleasure .

He was attempting to put the vacation behind him, recalling some lines he’d read long ago, anxious to use the ancient fragments to shore himself up against the present waste and to let the curtain fall over his conflicting impulses of struggle and flight.

Nothing can avert the final curtain’s fall . A line from another poem came to him. It sounded like a far-off echo. He wondered if it could yield a clue, or a cue, to the acts being schemed around him.