Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

Three hours later, Yu was ready to head back to the hotel, alone.

Pan had to stay in the hospital, though he was pronounced out of danger. The doctor’s diagnosis was food poisoning.

“In an hour,” the doctor said, “it would have been too late for us to do anything.”

The result of the tests of the contents of the crab urn were highly suspicious. The crab contained bacteria-many times more than was allowable. The crab used must have been dead for days.

“It’s strange,” the nurse said. “People here never eat dead crab.”

It was more than strange, Detective Yu reflected, as he plodded along the country road. There was an owl hooting somewhere in the woods behind him. He spat a couple of times on the ground, a subconscious effort to ward off the evil spirits of the day.

The moment he got back to the hotel, he checked at the hotel kitchen.

“No, we didn’t send that food to you,” the chef said nervously. “We don’t have that kind of room service.”

Yu dug out a hotel brochure. Room service was not mentioned. The chef suggested that the lunch might have been delivered by a nearby village restaurant.

“No, we never got such an order,” the restaurant owner whined over the phone.

They could have made the delivery by mistake, and were now trying to deny responsibility. But that was unlikely: the delivery man would have asked for payment.

Detective Yu was sure that he had been the target. If he had stayed alone in the hotel and eaten all the food himself, he would have ended up in the hospital, or the morgue. No one would have bothered to test the leftovers in an urn. The gang would not have had to worry. Food poisoning accidents happened every day. The local police wouldn’t even have been called in. The schemer could not have known that Yu did not eat raw crab.

So he was getting on someone’s nerves. Someone wanted to put him out of the way. This was now a battle for Detective Yu. He was determined to fight, though his enemy had the advantage of prowling in the dark, watching and waiting, striking out at any opportunity. Like the lunch-

Suddenly, he detected an alarming hole in his theory. The gangsters should have seen Manager Pan come into his room. They should not have made the attempt. Had they received incorrect information that Detective Yu was alone in his hotel room?

Nobody but Sergeant Zhao had known his plans for the day. He had told Zhao he would be alone. And the lunch tray was meant for one, with only one pair of chopsticks.

Leaving Zhu Xiaoying’s place, Inspector Rohn started to grope her way down the stairs with Chief Inspector Chen in the lead.

Following Lihua’s list, they had interviewed several of Wen’s schoolmates: Qiao Xiaodong at Jingling High School, Yang Hui at the Red Flag Grocery, and finally Zhu Xiaoying at her home. None of them provided any relevant information. People might have been emotional at their class reunion, but they were too busy with their daily lives to really care for a schoolmate with whom they had long lost contact. Zhu was the only one who had kept sending New Year’s cards to Wen, but she, too, had not heard anything from her for years. If there was anything new, it was about why Wen had failed to come back to Shanghai after the Cultural Revolution. Zhu attributed it to her brother Lihua, who had balked at the prospect of Wen having to squeeze in with his family in that same single room.

Moving down the ancient staircase, Catherine raised one foot when a step suddenly caved in under her. She stumbled, lost her balance, and pitched forward. Before she could stop herself, she bumped into Chief Inspector Chen. He reacted by positioning himself in front of her, his hand grasping the rail. Pressed against him, she tried to steady herself as he turned back so that he was holding her in his arms.

“Are you all right, Inspector Rohn?” he said.

“I’m fine,” she said, disengaging herself. “Maybe I’m suffering from jet lag.”

Zhu rushed down holding a flashlight. “Oh, those ancient steps are totally rotten.”

One of the treads was broken. Whether Inspector Rohn had stumbled first, or that step had inexplicably crumbled, was not clear.

Chen was about to say something, but checked himself. He ended up apologizing mechanically, “I’m sorry, Inspector Rohn.”

“For what, Chief Inspector Chen?” she said, seeing his embarrassment. “But for your intervention again, I could have hurt myself.”

She took a step and swayed. He put his arm around her waist. Leaning heavily against him, she let him help her down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, as she tried to lift her damaged foot for a closer look, she winced at a sharp pain in her ankle.

“You need to see a doctor.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“I should not have taken you out today, Inspector Rohn.”

“I insisted on it, Chief Inspector Chen,” she said a little testily.

“I’ve an idea,” Chen said with a determined expression. “Let’s go to a herbal drug store. Mr. Ma’s. Chinese medicine will help.”

The herbal drug store in question was located in the old town of Shanghai. A golden sign above the door frame displayed two big Chinese characters in bold strokes: “Old Ma,” which could also mean “Old Horse.”

“Interesting name for a herbal drug store,” she said.

“There is a Chinese proverb: ‘An old horse knows the way.’ Old, experienced, Mr. Ma knows what he’s doing, though he’s not a doctor or pharmacist in the conventional sense.”

An elderly woman in a long white uniform came toward them and broke into a smile. “How are you, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Ma. This is Catherine Rohn, my American friend.” Chen introduced them to each other as they moved into a spacious room furnished as an office. Its white walls were lined with large oak cabinets sporting numerous tiny drawers, each of which had a small label on it.

“What wind has brought you here, Chen?” Mr. Ma, a white-haired, white-bearded man wearing silver-rimmed spectacles and a long string of carved beads, rose from his armchair.

“Today’s wind is my friend Catherine, a wind from across the oceans. How is your business, Mr. Ma?”

“Not bad, thanks to you. How is your friend?”

“She has sprained her ankle,” Chen said.

“Let me take a look.”

Catherine slipped off her shoes and had her ankle examined. It ached under his touch. She doubted whether the old man could tell anything without an x-ray.

“Nothing on the surface, but you never know. Let me apply a paste to your foot. Better remove it after two or three hours. If the inner injury comes to the surface, you don’t have to worry.”

It was a sticky yellow paste. Mr. Ma spread it around the injured part. It felt cool on her skin. Mrs. Ma helped to wrap her ankle in a roll of white gauze.

“She also feels a little giddy,” Chen said. “She has had a long trip. And she’s been busy since her arrival. An herbal drink may boost her energy level.”

“Let me take a look at your tongue.” Mr. Ma examined her tongue and felt her pulse for a couple of minutes with his eyes closed, as if lost in meditation. “Nothing seriously wrong. The yang is slightly high. Maybe you have too much on your mind. I’m writing you a prescription. Some herbs for balance, and some for blood circulation.”

“That’ll be great,” Chen said.

Mr. Ma flourished a skunk-tail-brush pen over a piece of bamboo paper and handed the prescription to Mrs. Ma. “Choose the freshest herbs for her.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, old man. Chief Inspector Chen’s friend is our friend.” Mrs. Ma started measuring out a variety of herbs from the small drawers-one pinch of white stuff like frost, another of a different color, almost like dried petals, and also a pinch of purple grains like raisins. “Where are you staying, Catherine?”