Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

“I see. You must protect your source.” She stuffed a bun into her mouth. “I’ve no objection to that. I owe him a favor. Who is this mysterious man we are going to see?” She added, “And what will my role be?”

“He is the owner of the Dynasty Karaoke Club. It’s a hot place for young people. To sing along, to dance along. You won’t need to do anything. Just relax and enjoy the place as our American guest.”

They pulled onto the road. He checked his rearview mirror from time to time. A half hour later, they reached the intersection of Shanxi and Julu Roads. There, he made a right turn and pulled up by the half-open gate to a wall-enclosed mansion. A vertical white sign read: shanghai writers’ association. The doorman recognized Chen and opened the gate wide.

“You’re bringing an American guest today?”

“Yes, for a visit.”

She looked at him in puzzlement as the car rolled along the driveway to a stop alongside of a parked car. “Did you want to show me around the Writers’ Association first?”

“There’s no place to park near the Dynasty. We’ll leave the car here and take a shortcut through the back. It’s only a two or three minutes’ walk.”

It was only one of the reasons for leaving the car at the Association. Chen did not want to park a car with a bureau plate at the club. It might be recognized. And he could not shake off the feeling that they had been followed, though he wondered how a Fujian gang could have been so resourceful so far from their home territory. As they drove, he had been checking in the rearview mirror, but with such heavy traffic, it was difficult for him to be sure.

He let her through a hallway, and then out of a back door.

The new five-story building of the Dynasty Karaoke Club came in sight. Entering the spacious lobby, they found themselves standing on a vast marble floor that shone like a mirror. At one end of the main room, there was a stage with a band sitting underneath a huge TV screen, which showed singers performing along with the captions. In front of the stage were about thirty tables. Some people were sitting, drinking, while others were dancing in the space between the stage and tables. At the other end a marble staircase led to the second floor. This was different from the arrangement of the other clubs Chen had visited.

A young man in a white T-shirt and black jeans appeared on stage and made a gesture toward the band. The band started playing a jazz piece adapted from the modern Beijing Opera Taking Tiger Mountain by Surprise. It had been extremely popular during the early seventies, and told of a small detachment of the People’s Liberation Army fighting the Nationalist troops. Never had Chen imagined that a melody about PLA soldiers chasing tigers and bandits in snowstorms could be adapted so successfully into a piece to dance to.

“Chairman Mao’s words warm my heart,/ bringing spring to melt the snow away…”

How many times had he heard this refrain, sitting with his high-school friends in the movies? For a second, the past and the present were fused into one swirling scene. The fashionably dressed dancers, but also the soldiers in uniforms, pranced frenziedly before his eyes-trendy young people doing wild, exotic steps.

Then a stout, unshaven man glided to the center of the floor, clicking his fingers, drawing a great roar from the bystanders. The dancer’s features were oddly similar to Comrade Yang Zirong, the hero of the original Beijing Opera.

Chen gestured toward a young hostess in a purple velvet dress, who came over, bowing. “What can I do for you?” she inquired.

“We need a private room. The best.”

“The best, of course. There’s only one left.”

They were led upstairs, and along a curving corridor lined with private chambers, into a lavishly decorated room, with a flat Panasonic TV screen set into the wall. A high capacity Kenwood stereo system with several speakers stood beside it. A remote control and two microphones lay on a marble coffee table in front of a black leather sectional sofa.

The hostess unfolded a menu for them.

“Bring us a fruit platter. A coffee for me and a green tea for her.” He turned to Catherine. “The food here is okay, but we’ll dine later at the Jing River Hotel, a five-star hotel.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, intrigued by this proclamation of extravagance. And how did he know if the food was good or not?

The room was decorated like a rendezvous for lovers. A crystal vase on the corner table held a bouquet of carnations. The floor was thickly carpeted. There was also a liquor cabinet on the wall, whose glass shelves displayed bottles of Napoleon brandy and Mao Tai. The light was lambent, adjustable to different intensities. The floral-papered walls had been specially soundproofed. With the door closed, they could not hear any noise from outside, though all the other rooms must have been occupied by karaoke singers.

Little wonder business was thriving, even at a price of two hundred Yuan an hour, Chen thought. And this was not the peak time-period price. From seven p.m. to two in the morning it could be as high as five hundred Yuan an hour, according to Old Hunter.

The hostess brought them another sort of menu-a list of song titles in both English and Chinese. Underneath each name was a number.

“You may choose any song you like, Catherine,” he said. “All you have to do is push the number on the remote control, and sing along with the captions on the screen.”

“I did not realize that karaoke was so popular here,” she said.

Karaoke had been imported from Japan in the mid-eighties. Originally, it had been confined to a few large restaurants. Then entrepreneurs saw an opportunity. They converted restaurants into karaoke halls, open twenty-four hours a day. Next, the private room came into vogue. The hall was partitioned into many small chambers, each nicely furnished to give a sense of privacy. Some entrepreneurs went so far as to have a whole building redesigned for the purpose. Soon, people came not just for the karaoke, but for something else in the guise of karaoke.

With hotels still requiring I.D. and marriage certificates before people could check in, these private karaoke rooms, with their locked doors, met the understood yet unstated needs of the city suffering from a housing shortage. People did not have to feel awkward here. Ostensibly, they were only attending a karaoke party.

Karaoke girls, often abbreviated as K girls, also appeared. Nominally, they were supposed to sing with a customer who did not have a female companion. When the door was locked, however, the other services the K girls provided could well be imagined.

Chen did not see a single K girl that afternoon. Perhaps this was due to the time of the day. Or perhaps it was because he was with someone already.

He did not explain any of this to Inspector Rohn.

When the hostess came back with their order, he said. “Who is your boss?”

“General Manager Gu.”

“Tell him to come here.”

The hostess asked in astonishment, “What shall I say to him?”

He cast a glance at Catherine. “I have some international business opportunities to discuss with him.”

Almost immediately, a middle-aged man appeared, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses, sporting a beer belly as well as a diamond ring on his finger. He held out his business card to Chen. It read: Gu Haiguang.

Chen handed over his card in return. Gu seemed shocked, but he controlled himself, quickly waving the hostess out of the room.

“I’m here to introduce myself to you, General Manager Gu. This is my friend Catherine. I wanted to show her the best karaoke club in Shanghai.” Chen continued, “There’s a lot we can do for each other. As the old saying goes, ‘The mountain is high, and the river is long.’”