Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

“They are saying that China is no longer on the road of socialism.”

“Capitalist or socialist, that’s none of our business. As long as we have three meals a day, we don’t care.”

“And Old Deng has made the difference in your meals, putting chicken, duck, fish and pork on your plates, right?”

“Yes, that’s what it is really about. We Marxists are proudly materialists.”

The difference could be seen in the way ordinary people talked about politics on the street. Comrade Deng Xiaoping became “Old Deng”; in the early seventies, people were thrown into jail for saying “Old Mao.”

In the bureau, Chen had also heard of Deng’s recent trip to the south. It might be a prelude to another dramatic political change, but he found it difficult to dwell on this at the moment. His thoughts were full of Guan, whose personal drama came nearer to him than all the political ones.

At the beginning of his investigation, Chen had cherished a vision of Guan as a poor victim. An alabaster statue smashed by a violent blow. Guan was a victim. On May 11, 1990, she had been murdered by Wu, but even before that, she had long been victimized-by politics. And she was not an innocent, passive statue either. She was in part responsible for her own destruction.

Likewise, he, once a college student dreaming of a literary career, had turned himself into Chief Inspector Chen. He came to this realization with a shudder.

To make no choice is, in existentialist terms, in itself to make a choice.

Guan could have married Engineer Lai, or somebody else. An ordinary housewife, bargaining over a handful of green onions in the food market, searching through her husband’s pockets in the morning, fighting for stove space in the common kitchen area… But alive, like everybody else, not too good, and not too bad. But politics had made such a personal life impossible. With all the honors heaped on her, an ordinary man was out of the question for her, not enough for her status or ambition. There was no way she could step down from the stage to pick up a man at a bus stop, or to flirt with a stranger in a cafe. On the other hand, what man would really desire a Party member wife delivering political lectures at home-even in bed?

And then she had came across Wu Xiaoming. In Wu, she believed she saw her answer. She also glimpsed the hope of holding on to the power through her connection with him. In politics, such a union could have worked out: A model couple in the tradition of orthodox socialist propaganda. Love based on common communist ideals. So her union with Wu appeared to be her last chance both for personal happiness-and for political ambition.

The only problem was that Wu was married, and that Wu did not want to divorce his wife to marry her.

She must have been stung by Wu’s decision, the pain in proportion to her passion. She had given everything to him, at least that was what she must have felt. When everything else failed she resorted to blackmail, turning his own weapon against him. In a crisis, some people will fight back by any means, fair or foul. Chief Inspector Chen could well understand that.

Or was it possible, he wondered, that Guan finally awoke to a passion she had never known before? And surrendered to it because she had never learned how to cope with it. Having been used to wearing a mask, she had come to take the mask as her true identity. She knew how politically incorrect it was to become enamored of a married man, but that was what she had become, a helpless woman groaning behind the mask, her hands and feet bound. Had she felt for the first time an overwhelming passion that gave her life a new meaning, which she had to keep at any cost?

Chief Inspector Chen was more inclined to the second scenario: Guan Hongying, the national model worker, had been carried away by passion.

What the truth was he might never discover.

C hief Inspector Chen did not expect much from meeting with Party Secretary Li the next morning, but he could not afford to wait any longer.

There was hardly any hope of pushing the investigation forward- with or without the new evidence, for in the light of the Party’s interests, even those pictures could be brushed aside as irrelevant. If it meant that his time in the force was coming to an end, he was prepared for it. He would have no regrets, and no bitterness. As a cop, he had served to the best of his ability, and as a Party member, too. When he became incapable of serving, he would leave. Or he would be asked to leave.

Perhaps it was time to turn over a new leaf. Overseas Chinese Lu had been doing well with Moscow Suburb. According to an ancient proverb, “You have to look at a man anew after three days.” In a couple of months, Lu had metamorphosed into the prototypical “Overseas Chinese,” confident, expansive, and ambitious, sporting a diamond ring on his finger. Now the position of manager of an international restaurant was waiting for Chen. “It’s not just for you, old buddy, but for me, too. It’s so difficult to find a capable, trustworthy partner.”

Chief Inspector Chen had said he would think about it.

Alternatively, he could start a small business of his own. A translation or language tutoring agency. So many joint ventures had appeared in Shanghai. This could be his niche, an economics term he had learned in his college days.

But first, he had to have a talk with Party Secretary Li.

Li received him cordially, rising from his seat. “Come on in, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.”

“It’s about a week since I got back from my assignment, Comrade Party Secretary,” Chen said. “I need to talk to you about my work.”

“Well, there is something I want to talk to you about, too.”

“It’s about Guan’s case, I hope.”

“You’re still working on that case?”

“I’m still the head of the special case group, and I don’t see anything wrong with doing my job. Not until my suspension is officially announced.”

“You don’t have to talk to me like this, Comrade Chief Inspector.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect to you, Comrade Party Secretary Li.”

“Well, go ahead, tell me about your investigation.”

“Last time we talked, you made a point about Wu’s motive. A good point. It was missing, but we have found it now.”

“What is it?”

Chen produced several pictures from an envelope.

“Pictures of Guan and Wu taken together-in bed. As well as of Wu with other women. They were concealed behind Comrade Deng Xiaoping’s portrait in Guan’s room.”

“Damn!” The Party Secretary heaved a distressed sigh, but said nothing further in the face of such depravity.

“Guan got hold of the pictures-in one way or another. Then she must have used them to blackmail Wu into divorcing his wife. The timing could not be worse for Wu. He’s at the top of the list for the position of acting Shanghai Culture Minister. At such a critical juncture, he could not allow any interference with his opportunity.”

“I see your point,” Li said.

“The committee member responsible for the promotion happens to be a comrade-in-arms of his late father-in-law’s, and his mother-in-law remains active in the Central Party Discipline Committee. So he had no choice, he could not afford a divorce.”

“Yes, your analysis makes sense to me, I have to admit,” Li said, putting the pictures back into the envelope. “Still, Wu Xiaoming has a solid alibi, hasn’t he?”

“Wu’s alibi was provided by his pal Guo Qiang, to help him out.”

“That is possible, but an alibi is an alibi. What can you do?”

“Bring Guo in,” Chen said. “We’ll make him tell the truth. At this stage, a search warrant is justified, and we may find more evidence at Wu’s home.”