Qiu Xiaolong - Don't cry Tai lake

Talking, they crossed an old stone bridge in the shape of a crescent moon, which looked to be in bad repair, and skirted along the bank where willow tree limbs hung like a curtain.

“I’m no expert,” he said deliberately. “But I’ve seen green algae in other lakes, I think. Even in the tiny pond in the Old City God’s Temple Market in Shanghai. Of course, never anything so serious as here.”

“Let me tell you something. The water in Tai Lake contains two hundred times more harmful material than the national standard, and even the Wuxi disease control center can’t deny that figure,” she said, taking a drink from her bottle. “Of course, there’s more than a single cause. In addition to the industrial pollution, sewage treatment measures also lag far behind the social and economic development of the Yangtze River delta. In the early nineties, the annual industrial sewage entering the lake was estimated at 540 million tons, and household sewage at 320 million tons. But nowadays, the total sewage is more than 5.3 billion tons. Only thirty percent of the household sewage is treated before being dumped into the lake.”

“Wow, you keep all of those figures in your head?” With an apologetic smile, he asked, “Do you mind if I smoke? I need to digest those figures. This is a serious problem for China.”

“Go ahead,” she said, noticing that he took out a soft pack of China , one of the most expensive brands. Then she realized that she must sound like a research report. “Sorry for the lecture. I forget you’re on vacation.”

Perhaps it wasn’t just a subject that she was passionate about; talking about it also gave her a sense of self-justification. She was unpopular at the company, where people took her as something of a Cassandra figure, and that morning she almost became a murder suspect.

“No, you don’t have to apologize. On the contrary, I’m grateful for your conversation-or your lecture, if you want to call it that. It’s something I could never have learned from the official publications. It’s really shocking.”

She couldn’t help noting the look of serious attention on his face, bookish yet sincere. She hadn’t had an attentive audience like Chen before. Nor one where she didn’t have to worry about the consequences of talking openly. He wasn’t local, and would probably be gone in a week.

“Your work is truly important, Shanshan,” he said in earnest.

“I’m a nobody in the company. No one cares about what I say. If anything, it only marks me as a troublemaker.”

“Because of your work?”

“It was naive of me to take the job so seriously. I was hired for the sake of appearances, which I found out after I started work. All my research was put into a newsletter available only to the company executives. I doubt whether they ever read it, or whether they did anything about it if they did read it. Time and again, I felt obliged to speak out against Liu’s business decisions, like shutting down the waste treatment facility or fabricating the reports being sent to the agencies. But what difference did it make?” She smiled a bitter smile. “It’s strange that I’m telling you all this.”

“There is one line in a Confucian classic, Shanshan. Some people may never really know each other even if they’re together until white-haired, but some people may be true friends the moment they meet each other, taking down their hats .”

“Yes, I remember that line too.”

“Now,” he said, “do you think the phone message you got was because of your work?”

“That’s possible, but I doubt Liu would have gone to the trouble. He could have easily fired me.”

A siren sounded not too far away, and Chen looked up. The street they had just turned onto was lined with food stalls and souvenir kiosks. They were close to the ferry.

“Wait a minute,” he said and walked over to a stall.

She saw him talking to a man behind the counter at a snack stall under a white-and-red striped umbrella. Chen pointed at something, then came back carrying a large brown paper bag.

“Slices of roast beef and steamed buns. You can’t drink only water, Shanshan.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chen, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I promised Uncle Wang. You can break the bun into two and put the beef in between, which is a very popular way to eat them in the northwest. The sauce is also in the bag.”

“You’re an impossible connoisseur. I’m sorry about spoiling your appetite back at Uncle Wang’s place.”

“It was for my own good, and I really appreciate it. Here is my cell number,” he said, copying his number on a scrap of paper torn from the top of the bag. “I would love to continue our conversation, because, as in the old saying: to listen to your talk for one day is more beneficial than to read books for ten years . I hope I can have another chance during my stay here.”

“Well, in that old saying, it is ‘ for one night ’ rather than ‘ for one day ,’” she said teasingly, amused by his pedantic way of saying things. “Bye.”

She found herself walking, light-footedly, in an improved mood as she turned to the plank that led to the ferry boat, flashing over her shoulder a smile at him who was still standing there watching her.

The ferry boat disappeared into the mist-enveloped distance.

Chen turned away and started strolling back to the center, whistling, when his cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from her: “Now you have my number too, Shanshan.”

That’s good, he thought with a smile. Her text showed an enthusiasm for new technology that was perhaps characteristic of one of her age. It had taken him a couple of days to learn how to write and send a Chinese text message properly. He’d persisted because he had no choice. It was necessary for his work. But he didn’t enjoy doing it. However, a lot of young people seemed to be text-messaging all the time.

He couldn’t help looking back in the direction of the ferry again, and when he did so, he was struck with a feeling of being watched. Someone else was looking in his direction, raising a cell phone as if to take a picture, but then turning away abruptly when he became aware of Chen’s attention. It might be a coincidence, but there was something about the man. He was middle-aged, medium-built, wearing a short-sleeved white shirt. Chen might have seen him before, though at the moment he couldn’t recall where.

But maybe his suspicious nature was getting the better of him. In Wuxi, he was an anonymous tourist on vacation, not a cop investigating a crime. There was no reason to believe someone would be shadowing him here. Chen resumed walking, and after passing several booths, he looked back over his shoulder. The man was no longer in sight.

What he had just learned from Shanshan, he contemplated, might go into his report for Comrade Secretary Zhao. He would have to do some homework first, but he was in no hurry and felt sure it was relevant.

Soon he got lost again. The map he pulled out didn’t really help. After wandering for two or three blocks without any real sense of direction, he saw a group of tourists heading to a willow-lined road, their guide holding a tourist group banner. They were talking, gesticulating, pointing at a roadside sign that indicated the way to the park, through which, he guessed, he could cut back to the center.

He followed them to the front gate of the park, where a large billboard declared that an entrance ticket cost thirty yuan. He showed his center pass and got in for free. Another advantage available only to high-ranking cadres.

The park was alive with tourists, most of them from nearby cities. He was pretty sure some were from Shanghai for he heard a young couple speaking in the unmistakable Shanghai accent. The woman was four or five months pregnant and beaming contentedly, clutching in her hand a pair of tiny earthen babies in colorful costumes-wares that were a specialty of Wuxi.