Qiu Xiaolong: Death of a Red Heroine

“Now what are you two talking about-another crisis?”

Wang was returning to the living room, Ruru following her.

Lu did not reply. Instead he moved to the head of the table, clinked a chopstick against a glass, and started a speech: “I have an announcement to make. For several weeks, Ruru and I have been busy preparing for the opening of a restaurant. The only problem was our lack of the capital. Now, with a most generous loan from my buddy Comrade Chief Inspector Chen, the problem is solved. Moscow Suburb, the new restaurant, will be open soon-very soon indeed.

“From our newspapers, we learn that we’re entering a new period in socialist China. Some old diehards are grumbling that China is becoming capitalist rather than socialist, but who cares? Labels. Nothing but labels. As long as people have a better life, that’s all it is about. And we’re going to have a better life.

“And my pal, too, is most prosperous. He has not only received promotion-a chief inspector in his early thirties-but also he has this wonderful new apartment. And a most beautiful reporter is attending the house-warming party.

“Now the party begins!”

Raising his glass, Lu put a cassette into the player, and a waltz began to flow into the room.

“It’s almost nine.” Ruru was looking at her watch. “I can’t take the morning shift off.”

“Don’t worry,” Lu said. “I will call in sick for you. A summer flu. And Comrade Chief inspector, not a single word about your police work either. Let me be an Overseas Chinese in truth just for one night.”

“That’s just like you.” Chen smiled.

“An Overseas Chinese,” Wang added, “drinking and dancing all night. “

Chief Inspector Chen was not good at dancing.

During the Cultural Revolution, the only thing close to dancing for the Chinese people was the Loyal Character Dance. People would stamp their feet in unison, to show their loyalty to Chairman Mao. But it was said that even in those years, many fancy balls were held within the high walls of the Forbidden City. Chairman Mao, a dexterous dancer, was said to have had “his legs still intertwined with his partner’s even after the ball.” Whether this tabloid tidbit was fictitious, no one could tell. It was true, however, that not until the mid-eighties could Chinese people dance without fear of being reported to the authorities.

“I’d better dance with my lioness,” Lu said in mock frustration.

Lu’s choice left Chen as the only partner for Wang.

Chen, not displeased, bowed as he took Wang’s offered hands.

She was the more gifted dancer, leading him rather than being led in the limited space of the room. Turning, turning, and turning in her high heels, slightly taller than he was, her black hair streamed against the white walls. He had to look up at her as he held her in his arms.

A slow, dreamy ballad swelled into the night. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she slipped off her shoes. “We are making too much noise,’’ she said, looking up at him with a radiant smile.

“What a considerate girl,” Lu said.

“What a handsome couple,” Ruru added.

It was considerate of her. Chen, too, had been concerned about the noise. He did not want his new neighbors to start protesting.

Some of the music called for slow two-steps. They did not have to exert themselves as the melody rose and fell like waves lapping around them. She was light on her bare feet, moving, wisps of her hair brushing against his nose.

When another melody started, he tried to take the initiative, and pulled her around-but a bit too suddenly. She fell against him. He felt her body all the length of his, soft and pliable.

“We have to go,” Lu declared at the end of the tune.

“Our daughter will be worried,” Ruru added, picking up the ceramic pot she had brought.

The Lus’ decision was unexpected. It was hard to believe that half an hour earlier Lu had declared himself “Overseas Chinese” for the night.

“I’d better be leaving, too,” Wang said, disengaging herself from him.

“No, you have to stay,” Lu said, shaking his head vigorously. “For a housewarming party, it’s not proper and right for the guests to leave all at once.”

Chen understood why the Lus wanted to leave. Lu was a self-proclaimed schemer and seemed to derive a good deal of pleasure from playing a well-meant trick.

It was a pleasant surprise that Wang did not insist on leaving with them. She changed the cassette, to a piece he had not heard before. Their bodies pressed close. It was summer. He could feel her softness through her T-shirt, his cheek brushing against her hair. She was wearing a gardenia scent.

“You smell wonderful.”

“Oh, it’s the perfume Yang sent me from Japan.”

The juxtaposed awareness of their dancing alone in the room, and her husband in Japan, added to his tension. He missed a step, treading on her bare toes.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said. “Actually, I’m glad you are inexperienced.”

“I’ll try to be a better partner next time.”

“Just be yourself,” she said, “the way-”

The wind languished. The floral curtain ceased flapping. The moonlight streamed through, lighting up her face. It was a young, animated face. At that moment, it touched a string, a peg, deep inside him.

“Shall we start over again?” he said.

Then the telephone rang. Startled, he looked at the clock on the wall. He put down her hand reluctantly, and picked up the phone.

“Chief Inspector Chen?”

He heard a familiar voice, somehow sounding as if it came from an unfamiliar world. He gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders. “Yes, it’s Chen.”

“It’s Detective Yu Guangming, reporting a homicide case.”

“What happened?”

“A young woman’s naked body was found in a canal, west of Qingpu County.”

“I-I will be on my way,” he said, as Wang walked over to turn off the music.

“That may not be necessary. I’ve already examined the scene. The body will be moved into the mortuary soon. I just want to let you know that I went there because there was nobody else in the office. And I could not reach you.”

“That’s okay. Even though ours is a special case squad, we should respond when no one else is available.”

“I’ll make a more detailed report tomorrow morning.” Detective Yu added, somewhat belatedly, “Please excuse me if I am disturbing you or your guests-in your new apartment.”

Yu must have heard the music in the background. Chen thought he detected a sarcastic note in his assistant’s voice.

“Don’t mention it,” Chen said. “Since you have checked out the crime scene, I think we can discuss it tomorrow.”

“So, see you tomorrow. And enjoy your party in the new apartment.”

There was certainly sarcasm in Yu’s voice, Chen thought, but such a reaction was understandable from a colleague who, though senior in age, had no luck in the bureau’s housing assignments.

“Thank you.”

He turned from the phone to see Wang standing near the door. She had put on her shoes.

“You have more important things to occupy you, Comrade Chief Inspector.”

“Just a new case, but it’s been taken care of,” he said. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I’d better,” she said. “It’s late.”

The door was open.

They stood facing each other.

Behind her, the dark street, visible through the corridor window; behind him, the new apartment, aglow in the lily-white light.

They hugged before parting.

He went out to the balcony, but he failed to catch a glimpse of her slender figure retreating into the night. He heard only a violin from an open window above the curve of the street. Two lines from Li Shangyin’s “Zither” came to his mind: The zither, for no reason, has half of its strings broken, One string, one peg, evoking the memory of the youthful years.