Qiu Xiaolong - When Red is Black

It was also true that Peiqin had helped a great deal. Chief Inspector Chen had praised her perception when she had shared her insight into the textual problems of Death of a Chinese Professor, which proved to be a crucial lead.

Even Old Liang had contributed in his way, pushing and pressing his theories, by the ironic causalities of misplaced yin and yang, a phrase Yu had recently learned from Chen.

As Party Secretary Li had declared, “The homicide case would have remained unsolved but for Detective Yu’s hard work.” What the Party boss did not admit was that but for Yu’s hard work, the case would have been “solved” by the arrest and conviction for murder of an innocent man. Li would not say a single word about this at the press conference, of course, and he had taken pains to arrange for Yu to take a break at home while the conference was being held. As Chief Inspector Chen was still on vacation, it made sense for the senior Party cadre to talk about the significance of their work to the media. Yu readily agreed.

It was still a moment of triumph for him, Yu thought; a moment of redemption as well, in spite of his pathetically low pay, of his bottom-level rank, and of the fiasco that had taken his promised new apartment from him. What’s more, it was a moment that might reinspire him to hang on to his position as a policeman.

The telephone calls kept coming as he sat in the courtyard. He had no more time to think about himself. There was still plenty to do to wrap up the murder investigation.

Whatever defense Bao might drum up, it was all over for him. Not only the city government, but the central government too, had expressed concern over the tragic death of Comrade Yin Lige. The murderer had to be punished. That was a foregone conclusion.

It remained for Yu to notify Hong, the poor mother who still had all her hopes vested in Bao. It would not be a pleasant job, and he was not in any hurry to do it.

The remaining loose end to the investigation was the manuscript Bao had stolen, even though it was Yang’s rather than Yin’s. It had at once been seized by Internal Security. To his puzzlement, Chief Inspector Chen had made no protest. Later he would have to discuss this with Chen, Yu decided.

Then, in accordance with the terms of Yin’s will, whatever was left of Yin and Yang’s money would go toward a scholarship for college students writing in English. It would not amount to a great deal, and it was not police business, but Yu had volunteered to help with this arrangement. To his surprise, Party Secretary Li had not objected.

The neighborhood committee was so pleased with the special commendation from the city government that they honored Yu by asking him to make a speech at the entrance to Treasure Garden Lane.

Lei, the food stall proprietor, telephoned to express his thanks to Yu for his investigative work. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Comrade Detective Yu. Finally, Yin may rest in peace. She must be in heaven, I know, looking down at this lane and at my business at the lane entrance, with a smile.

“And you know what? My lunch business is growing. So I am going to give it a formal name: ‘Yin & Yang.’ That will be my way of commemorating that remarkable woman, and it may also bring in more business. A magazine has already contacted me for the story of how she helped me at the lowest ebb of my fortunes. She’s the guiren -important person-in my fate.”

“We can never understand the workings of fate,” Yu said, “but the restaurant’s new name is catchy and should even attract customers who know nothing about the story behind it.”

“Exactly. Yin & Yang. And it goes without saying, Detective Yu, whenever you come to the lane, lunch is on me-on the Yin & Yang Restaurant.”

It had been much tougher, on the other hand, to deal with the two men who were in custody, Cai and Wan.

Cai should have been released days earlier, the day Wan turned himself in. Old Liang had objected, insisting that there was still something suspicious about Cai, for he had never provided an alibi for the night of February 6 or for the morning of February 7.

Finally, Yu had to put his foot down. “If Cai was detained as a suspect, he must be released now that the case is closed. I’m in charge, and that’s my decision.”

Grumbling, Old Liang realized that he had no choice but to let Cai out.

But for Wan, the situation seemed far more complicated. To begin with, no one could understand why Wan had come forward. He did not utter a single word when he was informed of Bao’s arrest. He sat with his chin on his chest, like a statue, offering no explanation as to why he had confessed to a crime he had not committed.

According to one neighborhood committee member, Wan must be assumed to be more or less demented-Alzheimer’s disease or something like it must have been behind his confession. Another suggested that Wan had sought the limelight he had long missed. According to a third, Wan must have imagined himself to be the last soldier of the Cultural Revolution. And, finally, according to neighborhood hearsay, Wan was secretly in love, and he confessed in order to impress his undisclosed lover. Or a combination of various factors might have motivated him. For, as Chen had pointed out, Wan was like a fish out of water in present-day China, a factor that must have influenced his thought processes.

Old Liang was furious with Wan. The residence cop insisted that some charge should be pressed against him. “He should be sent to prison for at least three or four years. Wan deserves it. Deliberate false testimony! This ex-Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member is crazy. He must believe he can do whatever he likes and get away with it, like in the days of the Cultural Revolution He’s simply lost in his spring-and-autumn dream! Our society is a legal society now.”

It was Party Secretary Li, however, who decided against prosecuting Wan. “Enough is enough. We have had so many stories about the Cultural Revolution. There is no point bringing Wan into troubled water, too. People have to move on. Let the old man alone.”

Politically, it was not a good idea to harp on the disastrous aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, or even to remind people of it. This was the very card Chen had played, though Li did not say this in so many words. Anyway, Wan’s case was not to be interpreted politically, so Yu did not have to say anything. Outraged as Old Liang might be, Party Secretary Li had the last word regarding Wan’s fate.

Still, the unsolved mystery of Wan’s confession kept intruding itself into Yu’s thoughts.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Yu got up and carried his phone into the kitchen area.

Peiqin was busy cooking, moving about in a maze of pots and pans. There was hardly enough space for the two of them.

She was genuinely pleased with the outcome of the investigation and with the part she had played. “So everything is finished,” she said, turning to him with a bright smile, her hands still stuffing tofu with ground pork.

“There is still a lot to do to wrap it all up.”

“Imagine I-imagine both of us-having done something for Yang,” she said. “Yin was his only comfort in his last days. Now her murderer has been caught. In heaven, if there is a heaven, Yang must be pleased.”

“Yes, the conclusion…” Yu found it hard to complete his sentence- that his grandnephew killed the woman he loved.

“Can you take out his poetry collection for me? It is in the second drawer of the chest.”

“Of course. But why?”

“I think I have just gained a new understanding of Yang’s poetry while I was busy cooking,” she said. “Sorry, my hands are not clean. But when you bring the book here, I have something to tell you that is related to the case.”