Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

“To finish off today’s meal, we’ll have a bowl of noodles.” Peiqin was holding a huge bowl of soup with slices of pink Jinghua ham floating on the surface.

“What’s that?”

“The across-the-bridge noodles,” Yu said, helping Peiqin place a big platter of transparent rice noodles on the table, along with several side dishes of pork slivers, fish fillets, and green vegetables arranged around the steaming hot soup.

“Nothing fancy,” Peiqin said, “just something we have learned to make as educated youths in Yunnan Province.”

“Across-the-bridge-noodles-I think I’ve heard of that unusual dish.” Chen showed a gourmet’s curiosity. “Or I have read about it somewhere. Very special, but I have never tasted it.”

“Well, here’s the story about it.” Yu found himself explaining. “In the Qing Dynasty, a bookish husband studied in an isolated island cottage, preparing for the civil service examination. His wife made one of his favorite dishes, chicken soup with noodles. To bring the noodles there, his wife had to cross a long wooden bridge. When she got there, the noodles were cold, and had lost their fresh, crisp taste. So the next time she carried two separate bowls, one bowl of hot soup with surface layer of oil to keep the heat in, and one bowl of rinsed noodles. She did not mix the noodles with the soup until she was in the cottage. Sure enough, it tasted wonderful, and the husband, feeling energetic after finishing the noodles, did a good job of preparation, and succeeded in the examination.”

“What a lucky husband,” Chen said.

“And Peiqin’s an even better chef,” Yu chuckled.

Yu, too, had enjoyed the noodles, the soup rippling with the memories of their days in Yunnan.

Afterward, Peiqin served tea from a purple sand pot on a black-lacquered tray. The cups were as dainty as lichee. It was the very set for the special Dark Dragon tea. Everything was as wonderful as Peiqin had promised.

Over the tea, Yu did not say anything to his guest about the Party committee meeting. Nor did Peiqin make any reference to their work. They just talked about trivial things. Chief Inspector Chen did not seem to be a status-conscious boss.

The tea leaves were unfolding like satisfaction in his small purple sand cup.

“What a wonderful meal!” Chen declared. “I almost forget I’m a cop.”

It was time to talk about something else-a subtle signal- Detective Yu got it. That was probably why Chief Inspector Chen had come. But it might be inconvenient to have the subject brought up in the presence of Peiqin.

“I left quite early yesterday,” Yu said. “Did something come up at the office?”

“Oh, I’ve just received some information-about the case.”

“Peiqin, can you excuse us for a minute?”

“That’s all right. I’m going out with Qinqin. He needs to buy a pencil sharpener.”

“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Yu,” Chen said. “Yu and I can take a walk outside. It may not be a bad idea-after a full meal.”

“How can you think of it, Chief Inspector? You’re our guest for the first time. Have a few more cups of wine, and talk with Yu here. I’ll be back in about an hour-to serve you our home-made dessert.”

She put on a blue denim vest, and walked out with Qinqin.

“So what’s up?” Yu said after he heard the door close after Peiqin.

“You talked to Wu Xiaoming,” Chen said, “didn’t you?”

“Wu Xiaoming-yes, I remember, the photographer of the Red Star. Just one of the people who had known Guan. A routine checkup at the time.” Yu took out a notebook, thumbing through a few pages. “I made two phone calls to him. He said he had taken a few pictures of Guan. The pictures appeared in the People’s Daily. A political assignment. Anything suspicious about him?”

“Quite a lot,” Chen sipped at his tea, while summing up the new development in his investigation.

“That’s really something!” Yu said. “Wu lied to me. Let’s get hold of him.”

“Do you know anything about Wu’s family background?”

“Family background?”

“His father is Wu Bing.”

“What are you saying?”

“Yes, no other than Wu Bing, the Shanghai Minister of Propaganda. Wu Xiaoming is his only son. Also the son-in-law of Liang Guoren, former governor of Jiangsu Province. That’s why I want to talk to you here.”

“That bastard of an HCC!” Yu burst out, his fist banging on the table.

“What?” Chen seemed surprised at his reaction.

“These HCC.” Yu was making an effort to calm himself down. “They think they can get away with anything. Not this time. Let’s issue a warrant.”

“At present, we only know there was a close relationship between Guan and Wu. That isn’t enough.”

“No, I don’t agree. So many things fit. Let’s see,” Yu said, draining his tea, “Wu had a car, his father’s car. So he was capable of dumping her body in the canal. The plastic bag makes sense, too. Not to mention the caviar. And as a married man, Wu had to keep their affair a secret, and for the same reason, so did Guan. That’s why Guan made such a point of concealing her personal life.”

“But all this is not legally sufficient proof that Wu Xiaoming committed the murder. What we have so far is just circumstantial evidence.”

“But Wu has been withholding information. That’s enough for us to interrogate him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. A lot of politics will be involved if we are going to confront Wu Bing’s son.”

“Have you discussed it with Party Secretary Li?”

“No, not yet,” Chen said. “Li’s still in Beijing.”

“Then we can go ahead without having to report to him.”

“Yes, we can, but we have to move carefully.”

“Is there anything else you know about Wu?”

“Just these official files.” Chen produced a folder out of his brief case. “Not much, general background information. If you want, you can read it tomorrow.”

“I would like to read a few pages now if you don’t mind,” Yu said, lighting a cigarette for Chen and then one for himself.

So Yu began to read the documents enclosed in the folder. The most comprehensive one was an official dossier Chen had obtained from the Shanghai Archives Bureau. The dossier did not offer much of immediate interest, but it was more thoroughly compiled than what Yu had been used to seeing in ordinary bureau files. Wu Xiaoming was born in 1949. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father Wu Bing was a high cadre in charge of the Party’s ideological work, living in one of the most luxurious mansions in Shanghai. Wu Xiaoming grew to be a “three good” student in his elementary school. A proud Young Pioneer with the streaming red scarf and then a Communist Youth League member with a golden badge shining in the sunlight of the early sixties. The Cultural Revolution changed everything. Wu Bing’s political rival, Zhang Chunqiao, a Party politburo member, was merciless toward his opponents. Wu Xiaoming saw his parents dragged out of the mansion, handcuffed, and thrown into prison, where his mother died a miserable death. Homeless, Wu and his sister were left struggling on the streets. No one dared to take care of them. For six or seven years he labored as an educated youth in Jiangxi Province. In 1974 he was allowed to move back to Qingpu County, Shanghai, on the grounds of his father’s poor health. In the late seventies, the old man was let out of jail, and rehabilitated-more or less symbolically, since he no longer had the strength for his office. Wu Xiaoming, too, had been assigned a good position. As a photographer for Red Star, he had access to the top Party leaders and made several trips abroad. With praiseworthy diligence, the report went on in some detail about Wu Xiaoming’s own family. Wu was married in Jiangxi province in his educated youth years. His wife, Liang Ju, was also from a high cadre family. They came back to Shanghai together. Liang had a job in the city government, but suffering from some serious neurosis, she stayed at home for several years. They had no children. As Wu Xiaoming had to take care of his father, he and his wife lived in his father’s mansion.